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moonlight-canavalia · 1 year ago

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You're Human Too: Ch.1 Just Human Pair: Gojo x F!Reader Summary: After a difficult day, Gojo ends up knocking at your door, internally panicking you take of him. Feelings that have been ignored for years now make come to the surface. CW: Friends to Lovers, Twinge of Angst, Fluff If you'd prefer to read on AO3

He hated feeling weak, hated how every time he tried protecting people he cared about, it backfired. His feet felt heavy, making his way to your apartment. You were the first person that came to his mind after everything was done. Knowing it was late he hoped you were still up. It took him a second to register the feeling of your hands in his. You felt warm and comforting; compared to the cold and bitterness he was feeling. He heard you say his name, but when he tried speaking nothing came out. He couldn’t begin to form words to explain what he was doing there. Looking at you with eyes and face tinged pink, you could tell he’d been crying. Every hair and nerve in your body felt like needles, you felt as if a cold bucket of water was dumped on you. Calling out his name. Gojo looks at you in complete silence. You call out to him again in a much softer tone. But he still doesn’t answer.

You reach for his hands to lead him to the couch, giving him a slight tug signaling for him to follow you. Once he sat down on the couch you do give a quick once over. You don’t see any cuts or bruises on him. “Hey, Satoru, do you mind if I take your jacket off. I want to make sure you’re alright”. He looks at you and gives a small nod. Before thinking you asked “where are your bandages? Do you have your glasses? I don’t want you to over exert yourself. You’re gonna get a headache”. He says nothing, he’s just looking at you, you know there’s something troubling him but you don’t want to pressure him. Grabbing his hands again, you look at them, look up at his arms, neck and face. You try your best to maintain a calm demeanor.

Worry is eating you, your thoughts are getting loud while everything around you both is silent. You just want to take him into your arms and protect him from it all.

You can’t stand not knowing what’s wrong with him. He’s usually so talkative and upbeat. Not wanting to push him to talk if he’s not ready, you grab his hand and lead him to your sofa. “Hey, talk to me when you’re ready and only if you feel comfortable”.

Standing up, you give him a small smile. “Let me get you a glass of water” you make your way to the kitchen. Barely registering the presence behind you, too lost in your own thoughts on what could have happened. Feeling a sudden hand resting on your shoulder shakes you out of your thoughts. Surprised, you jumped — turning to him.

“Do you mind if I stay the night?” He asks lowly-barely recognizing his voice. He sounds so tired and defeated.

“Of course not, you’ve never asked before no reason to start now.” You smile at him and continue “You have some clothes here. I’ll get them for you; go take a shower”.

He says nothing, making his way to the bathroom.

After taking his spare clothes to the bathroom, you made your way into the kitchen. Thinking maybe a movie night, some snacks will bring some sort of serenity for his uneasy mind. Even if it’s for a short while.

You two have known each other for years, at this point. The trust between the two of you had been built little by little, growing as time went by. Gojo still struggles at times voicing his feelings. Sometimes needing a few minutes alone to gather his thoughts. Only then, can he come to you. His emotions can be caught at a glimpse on his face. There one second and gone the next. The need to always seem carefree and unbothered wining. “I’m the strongest” he always says smiling. Though true his statement, it annoys you and sometimes you want to shake him and yell at him that ‘it’s fine to be fucking tired and needing a break’.

You can see thru his guise, sometimes, late at night, during intimate conversations he lets the mask slip off. When the world is silent and seems still, when it feels like it’s just you two, he lets his humanity and feelings come out and take breath.

Filled with hope, you cross your fingers that tonight turns into one of those rare moments. Your worry keeps growing the more minutes pass by, just wanting your normal Satoru back. Mine you think to yourself. When did I start thinking like that, giving yourself a mental slap. The line between friendship and something more has been getting blurred for a while now. But neither of you have voiced anything about it. So the best thing is to just…keep going with whatever it is you both have going on.

Finishing laying some snacks on your coffee table you hear the bathroom door open. “Perfect timing” you murmur - sitting on the sofa. “Come over here let’s watch a movie” you tell him and loudly tap at the spot beside you - turning around to look at him. Hair still damp from the shower, towel around his neck, black joggers on, you take an involuntary sharp breath. No matter what he wears, he’s always breathtaking. Sometimes it’s envy inducing how effortless gorgeous he is. “What movie is it?” he asks in a curious tone. Snapping back - “It came out a while back but I’ve heard it’s good with an interesting twist!” you answer him as he makes his way to sit next to you.

20 minutes into the movie he speaks up “I saw this one, the brother isn’t actually dead. She wasted years looking for his “killer” - he air quotes- but he just wanted to escape their family and start a new life where no one knew him” You just stare at him with wide eyes “Satoru, you really have to STOP spoiling movies for me. I’m gonna ban you from watching movies with me if you keep it up.”

He chuckles and shrugs his shoulders “I saved you from the bad acting. Interesting story and twist but poor execution by the actors part. You should thank me.” and he smiles. The nerve this man has to smile after ruining a movie for before it even really started. You have moved away from him to the other end of the sofa and decide to lay down and take out your phone. Giving him the silent treatment…well you were gonna try at least. He’s not one to take silence so easily tho.

Giving you a few minutes “Come on Y/N...it wasn’t that good anyways don’t be mad” he pouts looking at you giving you puppy dog eyes. Lifting your head from where you were resting it a second ago “I wanted to see it. You could have told me you already saw it when you realized.” Now you’re pouting too and he feels a twinge of guilt in his chest just wanting to this be over. “Okay, okay I should have. We can try another one if you want. Is there anything else you wanted to watch?” he asks genuinely. “Nope” you say loudly while dramatically emphasizing the ‘p’ flopping back to where you had been laying before, jerking your body to face the back rest of the sofa, giving your full attention once again to your phone. Lightly kicking at his side making yourself comfortable.

He really does feel bad, but you look so adorable when annoyed that he can’t help wanting to push your buttons sometimes. Gojo really appreciates you putting up with his antics and how genuine you seem to enjoy his presence. Not used to people wanting to be around him for just him; most wanting something done. After they get what they need they cast him to the side until next time. Not minding it anymore since it’s something he’s become accustomed to; you’ve been a breath of fresh air ever since you two met. That’s why he’d crawl to the ends of the world for you if needed. Ask anything of him and he’d do it without a second thought. You have so much power over him and you don’t abuse it; never once taken advantage of it. Truly a gentle soul in this cursed filled world. Caring, sweet and understanding of him. Usually you’re the one to interject in conversations when people try to speak ill of him. Gojo feels undeserving of having someone like you in his life. There’s so much chaos that surrounds his daily life with being the strongest. Tapping one of your ankles to get your attention- you look away from your phone to focus on Gojo for a second and raise your eyebrow. “Mhm?”.

“Are you done ignoring me?” he asks with mild amusement. He just wanted to spend time with you and didn’t want this to stretch out and you two to actually end up irritated with one another. His hand has come up to rest at your calf - squeezing lightly he says “I won’t do it again. Pinky promise.” sticking out his small pinky. Rolling your eyes at him you sit up and make the pinky promise with him. “You better honor it or I’m cutting your pinky off” you tell him in a incisive tone. Gojo almost believes you’re truly mad at him until he hears the melodic sound of your laughter.

“Honestly? I’ll still watch the movie. I’ll just watch it alone some other day. Just wanted to mess around with you a bit. The plot line sounds interesting so I’m still curious.” you speak offhandedly. Laying your head on his shoulder he sinks deeper on the couch fixing his position so you could fit better next to him. Having one arm thrown over your shoulders he feels you adjust yourself too and he’s playing with your hair. Safety is the word he could use to describe what he’s feeling right now, he wouldn’t change it for anything. These moments with you help him push on when needed, always keeping them tucked away for when he needs the pick me up. But today, today was just too overwhelming for Gojo, even the strongest have their moments. That’s how he ended at your door, needing to see you and feel you. Thinking on how to start explaining why he showed up at your doorstep a little over midnight with signs that he’d been crying has him distressed. He doesn’t know how to say that his thoughts got overwhelming, how he wanted a break a moment for him to just be normal and not have so much weight bearing on his shoulders. How with you around could ground himself. You make the world bearable, you know the words to say to help calm the storm within him. He’ll tell you, he will, he just wants to listen to your voice a little more first. But Gojo being Gojo simply asks “why were you up late?” waiting for your answer he just noticed how close you two are. He’s resting his head on top of yours while you’re sat on his lap sideways…and he’s holding you so close to him. As if you’d vanish if he’s not careful. Not sure when or how you two ended up like that, you seem to not mind.

Angling your face to look directly at him “Couldn’t sleep” is your simple answer -adding in a whisper “I could ask the same y’know" brushing your thumb over his cheek in a back and forth motion. Feeling his arms around your waist get a bit tighter, you put your forehead on his and murmur with so much tenderness “I’m sorry, I’m just worried I don’t want to push you to tell me.” Waiting for Gojo to say something, anything really, feels eternal.

“Well” he starts- clearing his throat “I’m tired that’s all. Sometimes I want to destroy it all so I can fix the shit the higher ups have done. They care about power and their own old beliefs.” He hides his face at the crook of your neck and takes a deep breathe, not sure of how else he can continue expressing what he’s feeling.

“Toru” you say - that sweet nickname you gave him always makes his heart speed up a bit. Moving one of your hands to the back of his head and the other one around his shoulder you hold him tight. Knowing words can be difficult for him you think this is the best you’re getting for now. Speaking lowly, words just for him to hear “This world can be hollow and unforgiving, I’ve seen how you keep breaking yourself, going above and beyond for people you don’t even know. People are selfish, curses will come and go. The world continues, no matter how big the joys or sorrows are. It’s okay to admit you’re tired or need a moment to center yourself and focus on you. I sometimes wish I wasn’t a Sorcerer honestly, - you feel Gojo get stiff at this - “I sometimes think about the what if I’d never found out about all of this. It gets tiresome. I’ve seen some unfair things happen and I want to breakdown. But there are also good people and I want a better world for them; even if they don’t know Curses exist and what we go through. BUT I’m also glad I’m a sorcerer. The best thing I’ve gotten out of all of this is the amazing people I’ve met. I met you and I’m grateful for that too. You can be funny some times so you being annoying is bearable” giving his forehead a quick peck.

“I am not annoying I don’t know what you’re talking about” he says and can feel him relax against you. Enjoying the warmth his body radiates you’re grateful he trusts you enough to not have his infinity on around you. Gojo is so touch starved, skin sensitive to any touch, you notice how sometimes he shakes and goosebumps rise on his skin. With simple touches you give him.

You feel the need to reassure him how you’ll always be by his side so you gently grab his face so he can look directly at your eyes - “ I can’t take the pain away, I can’t make the stress go away and I really wish I could do that for you. Just let you stumble in and out of the grace of your power when you need to. I can’t imagine the weight you carry, the pressure you feel. That’s not easy and I can only imagine how you feel at the end of each and every day. You don’t have to be the strongest always, at least not around me. You can let the walls fall away here; when it’s just you and me.” You say with so much sincerity and conviction in your voice he wants to cry. He has made the act of looking unbothered so believable at this point; looking emotionless or detached is something he’s gotten too good at. He needs to ease peoples minds, he doesn’t like making others worry, he’s the chosen one for a reason. Bearing what others can’t. But your words stir something in him. Realizing it’s fine to have this moment for him, to be open to you, to allow himself to have someone to care for and go to. Your arms are his heaven, your existence is the balm his soul has needed, something he knew but has refused to succumb to. Maybe it’s time to make it real, just the idea of you seeing someone else leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The strongest sorcerer to exist is reduced to a nervous man before you, craving the taste of your lips. If he doesn’t gather the courage now he may never do it.

He whispers your name and it feels as if time has stopped for the both of you, just staring at one another. Gojo moves his hands to hold your face, brushing his lips gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting this, wanting you for such a long time. You don’t even know.” Looking down at your lips, he presses a soft peck. Keeping his lips close he waits for any sign of you wanting to stop, instead you pull him in and deepen the kiss. “Took you long enough, you had me confused for a while” you speak against his lips.

“Lay down for me” Gojo says, his heart is beating erratically, feeling the tip of his ears get hot. ‘Am I blushing’ he’s mentally asking himself. “Toru?” he’s whipped the moment he sees your hair a mess on the couch and cheeks a light shade of pink.

“You’re so pretty” Gojo says as he crawls his way up to your face. Caging your body with his larger one- kissing your neck he speaks in a husky tone “So many nights thinking about you when I’m alone. What I’d do with you how I would do it. You’re so sweet I felt bad after some of my thoughts.”

Your hands find their way to his hair and you pull him towards your lips “S-stop talking”. Feeling his hips pressing down on yours, kiss becoming more desperate, messier with teeth clashing. Pent up feelings finally coming to the surface and being embraced has you both feeling lightheaded. Hands desperately grabbing onto one another; touching any patch of skin possible. The touches felt electrifying, feeling like the first breath of fresh spring air. Neither of you wanted to stop but the burning in your lungs is getting stronger as the need for oxygen grew. You broke away from the kiss first. Taking a shaky breath and looking into his eyes you feel happy, excited now for what comes next for the both of you. You both seem to be lost in thought but suddenly the silence in your living room is replaced by Gojos airy laugh.

I'm gonna be reposting my fics on here since I switched blogs. Don't repost, translate or post my works on any other website.

Pt.2

Pt.3

Pt.4

Pt.5

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #gojo saturo #jjk fics #fluff #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n

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v-67 · 5 months ago

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JJK S2 SPOILER ALERT!!

Watching S2 of JJK and I'm actually scared

I've kinda seen spoilers (which is why I hate spoilers) which hinted that the ending is too much. (Don't tell me anything though, idk the ending, I've just heard it's brutal)

But it's like, now I know it's going to be something brutal and it's difficult to face that.

So I'm watching S2 after having postponed it for such a long time.

And I swear, it has me gasping and laughing and fearing and everything.

And why, wHy. Why every time a character goes like : I wanna see everyone, I wanna be with everyone. And bang. Killed. 🙃

Also, rip Mechamaru. That was sad. He had just gotten his body, and he wanted to see everyone and then, again🙃

The emotional torment is brutal.

And I'm so worried about these 3 idiots, and when I saw Gojo's past w Geto, and the whole thing of protecting the star plasma vessel, in this case, Amanai, and the thing that later on happened which I referred up above.

I kinda wanna pin point what exactly was it that triggered Geto.

Was it those monks who were laughing like that? Was it Amanai's death? Or was it this over all perception which just pushed him into thinking this way towards the end? And I know he wants to build a world only w sorcerers, which will in turn/ might in turn put an end to cursed spirits or atleast limit them but I'm not sure how exactly would that happen.

But when they showed Geto's perspective, the part where he says, Exorcise, absorb.... Repeat repeat repeat. And he explains how the taste of the cursed spirit is like the one of a cloth which was used to wipe vomit. And all of that. And that is the end of the future of him as a jujutsu sorcerer seeing the dead bodies of his friends. I kinda got him a little bit, of why he was being driven towards such a goal. But I'm still not absolutely clear. I want to know what exactly triggered him, the exact point. Was it Amanai, was it seeing the dead body of his friend, was it Gojo's words, was it those star something monks? WHAT exactly was it.

And what exactly is his end goal. How is he going to do it. And why did he say that to Gojo while going away. He tells him, Are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest, or are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru? And adds to that, that if he was him, this goal would be achievable. And that he has chosen his way of life/path or something along these lines. EXPLAIN ME WHAT exactly do you mean by that? It is a bit ambiguous or am I thinking too much within that.

Also Jjk has so much information dump in every single episode😗, Like pls wait, let me comprehend what exactly is happening. I still don't have a proper grasp on what exactly is Gojo's power. Like i know, but I want to know.

Young nanami looked so much like an emo kid

Yo, also I'm worried about what's going to happen next. I'm actually a little scared of watching the next few episodes.

And also also, as of now from the place I am at anime i am given to understand that Yuji will have to die in the end because it's like what the contract was and all of that. A part of me still hopes ah, that we'll figure out something and he'll survive. But within these probabilities, where 70% weighs on death due to Sukuna and that contract and etc, I get really really sad because I don't want him to die.

I'm also worried about Megumi, the man was hell bent okay w dying. No. Not allowed sorry. I also hope his sister wakes up and that they all live happily.

I'm worried about Nobara too, she's also very unhinged. I love her unhinged energy though.

I wanna see Inumaki. He's my 🫶

Will post this after I complete the whole season 2.

Or Maybe I'll post this and make another post when I watch more episodes.

I'll post them together because i don't want someone accidentally spoiling it for me🙃❤️

Do not spoil it for me. I hate and despise spoilers. Okay? Please. Sending warm hugs. So don't, okay? Thanks.

Isss time to conquer our fears so letssss watch ahead.

.......

Oh hey, it's not so bad

I was fearing that Gojo was going to get sealed and that was it and the thought made me anxious

But they're all fighting and would get him back

Also the fights are SO SO SO GOOD.

The action is so beautifully choreographed

And it's a relief that Geto is not really Geto, Geto's body reacting to Gojo's words really made me happy. So who is this bitch in Geto's body.

Also JJK 0 is canon and relevant to the current storyline, I had no idea, I've watched it 3 times, it's crazy good.

I'm on episode 14 right now. And it's intense and dark and the fights are crazy good.

I felt bad for Ino :(( and also Ichiji san :((

Felt really really great when Nanami just broke that stupid guy <3

Also somehow Toji is now resurrected???? I was happy he was dead because I was worried about him meeting Megumi or something but what

I hope they get to break Gojo's seal.

And I hope no one dies.

.....

So I finished watching it🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

Nanami died🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

Idk if Nobara is alive?🙃🙃🙃

Inumaki's arm🙃

Yuji sentenced to death🙃🙃🙃

What in the fuck🙃

Gojo is still sealed🙃🙃🙃

Not the principal also being sentenced to death🙃🙃

And Gojo as a co-conspirator???? Are they out of their mind???? I think all this passing of orders is instigated from one more guy who was a traitor who is in the higher ups.

Also found out that within Geto is that creepy guy obsessed with curses from over 150 years ago

I never disliked Choso, he is a curse but he's a little different, and in the end him calling Yuji his brother was just out of the books. There must be some sort of connection though. (That scene where panda asks Yuji if he's sure he's not releasing some kinda pheromones because first Todo and now this guy)

Also Toji coming back was so out of the books, and the way he just killed himself after, it was somehow so emotional and carried so much feelings and heaviness. He did care for Megumi after all. And he helped all of them a lot tbf

Also I hope Todo is okay, and in his locket was the picture of Itadori and that idol, it was weird and sweet both😭😭😭

The stupid guy in Geto's body put the curse on 2 people, 1 was Megumi's sister and who is the other one? And what's going to happen to Megumi's sister. It's scary. (Don't give me spoilers, I'm curious, but don't spoil it)

Everything took a dark turn and I have to wait for years now to see what happens next🙃 ( I mean I know I can read but I wanna watch anime) (don't give me spoilers pls)

But seriously what the fuck🙃

Not Nanami guys, not Nanami😭

The fights were indeed crazy good but the trauma is greater🙃

....

Completed watching JJK S2, I was right when I said in the beginning that I was scared to watch it.

30th June, 2024.

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cursedvibes · 1 year ago

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if it was up to you, how would you change the gojo vs sukuna fight?

Oh boy, that's a big project, but let me take a swing at it...

So first of all, I would split the group up. Yuuta, Yuuji and maybe Maki & Kashimo follow Gojo and stand there as backup. Angel can be there as well, but I think if she gets involved it should be later during the more personal fight between Yuuji & Sukuna. The rest can go with Hakari to keep an eye on Kenjaku or maybe even start engaging them depending on what they are doing at the time. If they follow the rules and are killing players, they could jump in to help or evacuate the people to another area. Do something to slow them down while Gojo is busy with Sukuna. The other group in Shinjuku can watch Gojo for now, but I would rarely cut to them unless Gojo is really in a tight spot and it makes sense to see their concern (them arguing over when would be the best time to act, how much damage Gojo or Megumi's body should be allowed to take etc.) Also maybe show some regular people that couldn't evacuate Shinjuku. Not necessarily for Gojo to save them, but remind the reader of the destruction they're causing.

The explanations we got regarding domains, domain amplification and RCT I would give entirely to Gojo and Sukuna. Make Gojo analyse Sukuna's movements more and try to figure out how to best handle an open domain. Show Sukuna learning how to "heal" his CT by watching Gojo (already avoided a lot of repetitive info dumping). Let us hear how Gojo came up with expanding and shrinking his domain by drawing upon his experiences in the Prison Realm. This could serve as a bit of character exploration on how he has changed since his imprisonment.

I'd cut down on the exchange of punches and focus more on trying to land heavy hitting attacks that actually force the other to expand a great amount of energy to overcome them. Gege brought out the gore for Hakari, do it here as well. Like with the first Gojover cliffhanger, Gojo actually gets a significant cut through his jugular and not just a scratch. Things like that would already force him to expand more energy. Show Gojo having more concern about Megumi and their plan. Outside of the Unlimited Void moment it seems most of the time like Gojo just forgot about Megumi and I can barely see a long-term strategy in what he did during his fight, most of the time he's just reacting to what Sukuna is doing or trying to unsuccessfully outplay Adaptation.

Both of them should be brought to the ground at multiple points to make them realize that the other is no pushover and they have to take this fight seriously. It's a matter of life or death. During that they realize how much fun they are having with being given a real challenge for once and forced to think on their feet. Only they can understand this feeling and connect over it.

The brain damage affects Gojo's CT as well or at least the output of it, since that is the place that was hurt the most by his constant healing. This also means that the boost through Black Flash can only do so much to restore his strength. He closes the wound where his arm was cut off, but he can't regrow the whole thing because he has to conserve energy for the final Ultimate Hollow Purple. The blast of Hollow Purple affects him as well and brings both of them to the ground. The kids jump in when they can tell Sukuna is trying to get up again. Gojo gets pulled away to recover a bit before trying to fight Kenjaku (he still can't use his domain, has only one arm and Limitless is impacted as well, i.e. he's at a more even level with Kenjaku I think they should have the honour of taking Gojo's eyes and/or killing him). The others will then have to deal with Sukuna when he resorts to other CTs besides Cleave and 10S and try to make an opening for Yuuji to do his soul magic tricks.

That's about what I can think of. Not very well phrased, more like bullet points of what I want to see. I was never that excited for this fight, it just seems like a convenient way to bring both of them down to a level where the other characters stand a chance against them. Still pretty underwhelming. I think Gege should read Meruem vs Netero again and let themselves be inspired by that (I mean the imagery alone is breathtaking). If you have more suggestions, I'm always open for them!

#asks #jjk leaks #jjk spoilers

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enkvyu · 1 year ago

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Nothing makes sense anymore I think gege forgot how to write good chapters people say gege killed gojo to make the story move but that doesnt make any sense after sukuna turned back to his og body and on top of that now he can basicaly cut the world how can others beat him non of them are on gojos level I shouldve stop reading jjk after shibuya it's emotional torture at this point

(Thinking about this making me angry my English is dead at this point)

NO SRSLY ANON i dont want to sound like im above gege bc he has experience writing stories and he has been going at it for years but what . is he thinking 😭😭

if THE STRONGEST cannot get sukuna at his weakest form what are the hopes that anyone else ever could ??? the whole reason why no one jumped in during gojo v sukuna was bc they knew they would only get in the way and die (lol) . going at sukuna one at a time ??? it wasnt even hakari and kashimo teaming up like MAYBE they stood a chance but they decided to split up ?? and now sukunas in his god mode or wtv and the chances r lower than ever

which is why im partly hopeful that gojo will resurrect bc i sincerely can’t reason another character succeeding in killing sukuna .

honestly the radio silence from yuuji is the only thing giving me hope bc he IS the main char after all . him being casted aside in all this should not come without a well thought out plot related reason. i will actually call it quits if there isn’t a scheme behind all this . i mean its the final battle, the last arc!! (unless it isnt but do we srsly see a future where readers will care abt another arc w the last remaining chars) there has to be one more trick up gege’s sleeve (praying its gojo coming back LOL)

one last thing bc this is getting long (oops) but i’m disappointed in yuuji’s character arc. gege definitely sacrificed his arc for gojo’s involvement w the plot and if we get dumped w yuuji lore all of a sudden i actually would not be able to find it in me to care . im gonna say it thats cheap fucking writing 😭😭 i rlly do not want to seem like ik what im talking abt considering gege is a mangaka and im js a fanfic writer but LORD

ig im js curious to see how gege will turn this back on us bc . he better

btw ur eng is perfectly fine anon!! emotional torture is definitely how its been lately .. but i have Hope

#( 💌 ) — en mail #anon #jjk manga leaks #jjk 237 #im ready to be proven wrong #im ready for gege to actually be heads above us all and prove us wrong #bc im ngl 2021 jjk had moments where things looped back around and it was GOOD #i may be unironically talking abt kenjuaku being yuujis mother but . wtv NOT FOR THE MPREG OK #theres gonna b a plot twist and things r gonna happen and its still gonna be good

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cruscribbles · 10 months ago

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okay so, there are a few brainrot ideas of a jjk × hp crossover that are currently occupying my head so i'll just dump right here before i forget (just in case i either want to actually write this myself or if someone wants to write it— please go ahead!)

for now, these are all gojo-centric because he's a little shit and i love him for it <33

[ p. s. as you can see, i am too lazy and demotivated to cook my own food /hj ]

1. gojo (ends up in the hp world and) goes to hogwarts :

a. as a student - okay, this is probably going to be a bit hard to pull off, considering the man is literally almost 30, but hear me out

i could see him in either the hp generation or the marauders generation (but mostly the former)

could be an age regression thing where he gets bombarded with a curse that propels him into the hp world and for some reason he's back to his younger self (child or teen, who knows, just as long as he's around the same age as the protagonists of that era)

or maybe an exchange student program (au where jjk sorcerers and hp wizards both coexist in the same world) so maybe when he's 15-16 he's a "spy" trying to learn things from the wizard side of things?

clashes heads with harry AND draco from time to time; harry because of their different morals and draco because he probably pokes fun at him

come to think of it, who WOULDN'T gojo beef with actually

the student teachers think is gonna fail because he looks so uncaring and aloof and then proceeds to be one of (if not) the top scorers on the board

probably bothers snape constantly in his office (and probably also gets detention from time to time for being so annoying to him)

minerva also being irritated on the outside but also heartwrench on the inside because he lowkey reminds her of the old marauders in a way

every time he comes across voldemort face-to-face, he will not hesitate to make fun of him (like he did with jogo)

gojo : haha you're such a loser. voldemort? really? that's your name? you couldn't have picked anything better? *freaking fortnite dances or some shit like that*

voldemort officially has an extra child added to his hitlist after that

b. as a teacher - some of the earlier points of him as a student also apply here, except he's obviously more mature and wise in this instance

possible mentor of harry? like i said, would bond over being the chosen ones

the teacher that is either well-loved or hated (both teachers and students alike)

always the one popping in and out of the faculty with new tea and gossip to dish out

tries to hold back a little bit on the hogwarts students because they're not his students but is still absolutely relentless to them (displaying powerful demonstrations and also teasing them a bunch)

mcgonagall and snape being his favorite staff members because they remind him of utahime and nanami (idk would be close in personality to shoko tbh, then again she has the same type of dead air energy as snape but feel free to correct me woohoo)

ironically probably beefs with albus bc they are kind of similar in a sense but idk hmmm (they could also have some tea on the weekends too)

gojo : i once had a person i loved dearly that turned out to be heavily racist towards the normal human race for something they can't help and we had a messy breakup to boot

albus :

2. gojo is reincarnated as/ends up in the body of harry potter - not gonna lie, i'm more of a fan of this idea because you could do so much with this + it would be funny as HELL

harry grows up "cocky" and "prideful" (obviously still with some trauma and kindness attached because it's gojo) and correlates to the next points :

dumbledore thinking that since the boy grew up in a muggle household that he'll learn to be humble and sweet and lo and behold, he was wrong

snape getting vivid flashbacks of james from gojo!harry because of how cocky he is (gojo doing this unintentionally by being his authentic self)

even better if gojo!harry ends up in slytherin LMAO

dumbledore also getting flashbacks but of a different person : he doesn't want another tom riddle to happen (esp if gojo!harry vocalizes his want to change the world) so he keeps a very watchful eye on him

from the earlier point : gojo!harry not missing a fucking beat trying to make fun of tom "tommy boy, voldymoldy the oldie" riddle every time they meet (and not hesitating to name drop him in almost every conversation out of spite)

okay obviously he'll have some form of self-control over it but i have a feeling he'll do it just to test him and his patience

i feel like he would be SO CLOSE to triggering the underage magic alarm (or maybe he does and that's a drama for a whole chapter)

i feel like he would absolutely have a habit of disappearing and reappearing (even without magic) and he does that alot at the dursleys (especially when he's older)

gojo realizing he could talk to snakes, and he gossips to them whenever he can

moreover, it would be interesting if he sometimes has conversations with the horcrux inside his forehead (back-to-back mockery)

gojo knows somewhat quickly maybe because the signature is likely the same as sukuna in yuji's body

a really crack idea where gojo solves (one of) the horcrux problems by just hollow purpling the darn thing (wouldn't push it pass him to do it in the battle in the ministry of magic tbh)

either never gets fooled by the quidditch cup or immediately rectifies it by being able to teleport back (a good idea for a crack fic, but maybe for a more serious one he could either be serious or really dazed/overstimulated from the previous events to even think of doing so)

3. gojo ends up in the same body as harry potter and acts as a co-resident — ngl i am warming up to this VERY idea because i know it would become HELLA chaotic

i composed the original draft of this post ages ago but what gave me this idea is this amazing jjk!/bnha crossover fic titled "a hero without limits" by anonymous567 (if you haven't already, please read it because it's absolutely AMAZING)

idk how this would happen considering the shard of voldemort in harry's head (third participant forced to watch maybe) but shhh

basically gojo popping in harry's head either from the start or a from an event that happens to him later on (like the inspo)

he also makes commentary from time to time in his head and harry's like "shut uppp" — and sometimes people look at him and go "yo what's up with him""boy who lived shenanigans maybe"

it sounds stupid but i like the idea of gojo manifesting either on harry's body like sukuna or his image and his spirit manifesting on reflective surfaces like mirrors (his friends going "WHO'S THAT" while they point at the mysterious man in the mirror)

harry's magic "retaliating" and defending him when he's near death which is just a shadowy, smokey manifestation of gojo with the brightest most piercing lights as his eyes

very curious about the chamber of secrets section bc now harry probably doesn't even have look at the darn thing ("don't worry harry, sensei's got it covered!" or smth like that idk)

harry automatically deciphering the sussiness of almost every sus character because, like i said, live gojo commentary (probably would have solved the pettigrew problem faster tbh)

any adult that was around during the marauder's era straight up being reminded of james from time to time, especially the times when gojo is in control

i can imagine gojo knowing the jig is up with the horcrux in harry's head, and maybe as part of a crack idea, "seals the soul" from time to time which is the magical equivalent of taping the webcam lens with a piece of paper

gojo and the hat duking it out with rebuttals during the sorting ceremony and harry slowly going insane because of it

commentary of the black family being similar to the zenin's in influence, attitude and power (feel free to correct me); in short, gojo noting down funny coincidences and similarities to his old world

anytime someone tries to use legillimens on harry, gojo goes "uh uh uh *wags fingers*" and promptly kicks them out, promptly leaving the caster confused (gojo being harry's built in occlumency security guard <333)

idk if i want him to still have six eyes and/or limitless when he's reincarnated as harry (because it doesn't feel like gojo without them, but also he'd be so op— then again he already is by default so why not)

i think i would keep them since they're both the core ability aspects of his character but obviously in this instance, he doesn't have the hang of six eyes yet (major sensory overload as a drawback if he doesn't cover his eyes with a blindfold or a pair of dark sunglasses) and he doesn't unlock limitless until he's a teen (maybe during the gof or ootp plotline)

either way, i'm sorry if this plotline is too ooc, and please pitch in your own ideas in the comments or if you want to correct me!!

+ a little sketch of #3 because i've grown really attached to the idea JENDJEJDJ

#glycherriirambles #jjk #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #harry potter #gojo the little shit #i still love him dearly #that's why i made this post #glycherriiart

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leavemyelevator-alone · 2 years ago

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Jujutsu Kaisen Chapter 212 Analysis

Okay, so, brain dump. I am assuming that if you are reading this, you’ve read chapter 212. If you haven’t, go do that first, and then come read this.

First of all, holy SHIT. Sukuna!Fushiguro??? Definitely not a twist I saw coming, even when reading the chapter. Fabulously done, Akutami-sensei. Overall, though, this chapter was a little hard to follow, time-skip wise. We start in the past, probably only a few hours or so, with “Tsumiki” still acting as Tsumiki. Clearly, the impersonator has to be a very good actor, because Megumi didn’t even notice his sister is possessed. To be fair, he hasn’t seen his sister in a year and a half, give or take, but I’d like to think any sibling would still have a good grasp on who their sibling is, even after a year apart. “Tsumiki” mentions that Megumi and Gojo were “working on something dangerous” after Megumi mentions the culling game. Megumi brushes it off, though, but for the impersonator to make a mention of it, that means it’ll either be very important, but most definitely probably come back in the future.

Moving on . . . We get a little bit of a short dive into Itadori’s psyche at the moment. His first thought (as per usual) is about Fushiguro. More specifically, it’s about Fushiguro’s safety. He’s thinking about what’ll happen after the culling game, presumably, but given that the following sentence is about offing Itadori himself, then his “once this is over” might actually mean “once I’m dead, Fushiguro will be safe.” Speaking of him talking about his death, he barely focuses on it, with his expression in the panel looking both resigned and serious. He seems to think that everything will be over when Gojo is released, showing that at heart, he is still a child and wants to have somebody -- specifically, an adult -- to rely on.

Interestingly, what he next says is “Maybe I should have done it sooner. I could have helped Fushiguro and disappeared.” The panel in the background is when Itadori first swallows the finger, implying that he almost wishes he had died when they first met. Why? The focus here seems to imply that he’s focused on all of the trouble he has caused not only the jujutsu world, but also Kugisaki and Gojo, and Fushiguro specifically. He thanks Gojo and Fushiguro, the two people who have had the biggest impact on him, for “giving him a role to play”. I’m not sure what this says in the original Japanese, or even the connotations, but in English, I’m guessing that he’s happy to have even had this short time with the jujutsu sorcerers, and was glad that he could be useful, at least for a little while.

But then, “Tsumiki” adds a new rule that totally screws up the plan that Fushiguro, Angel, and Itadori all had. Interestingly enough, I’m pretty sure this was actually one of the potential rules that the trio considered adding just a chapter or so ago, before discarding. This rule allows entry and exit across colony borders. We get confirmation that vessel possessors have access to the body’s innate memories and knowledge, so check on the good actor theory mentioned above. It also explains why different characters aren’t totally thrown by the modern times.

Also, the little tidbit of Megumi automatically assuming that his sister would wake up as, well, his sister is very appreciated, because to me, it’s both a subtle way of showing how not necessarily optimistic Megumi is, but how much he is looking forward to seeing his sister again. I mean, it was touched on in the death painting arc, but this is a different side of the coin, and I kind of like this take.

Fake Tsumiki’s name is released! I don’t know who Yorozu is, but I will do research and hopefully know more before the next chapter. Like most people in this arc, Yorozu wants to fight Sukuna, and they want to fight him on their own turf, explaining why they spent those points on that specific rule.

It’s nice to see things from early chapters show back up, especially considering that I don’t think Akutami-sensei has once re-mentioned the binding vow between Sukuna and Itadori. It was cunning and smooth to see Sukuna worming his way around the vow with technicalities, using the fact that he only promised not to hurt other people to tear off a finger and gain more power. It’s interesting to note, though, that Sukuna says it’s a gamble, meaning that the king of curses does not have a specific plan here. He’s aware of this, and he’s taking a chance anyway, knowing that it might not work in his favour.

It would be nice to see Fushiguro use something other than his Sacred Treasure on Sukuna, though. I am aware that the last time he tried to use something else, he got his ass soundly kicked, but seriously? Come on, I thought we were past this self-sacrificing bullshit. On the next page, though, I can’t quite tell what hand signs Sukuna’s making/forcing Fushiguro to make, but whatever it is make Fushiguro startle. (If anyone knows what it is, please let me know.) But the panel focusing on just Fushiguro’s eyes is a very good panel, and I think it was definitely a smarter choice to use a close-up instead of seeing Sukuna force Fushiguro eat the finger.

And! Speaking of! Sukuna!Fushiguro is fantastic. First of all, it’s kinda hot ngl. He really looks like Toji in the second panel. Second, the setup of those pages is wonderful. Only seeing half of both of their faces for the last page?? And Itadori’s panic-sorrow-fear mix?? And the small details make it better. The secondary eyelids missing from Itadori’s face?? Spot on. Absolutely a banger of a panel page, Akutami-sensei.

My only question is that Fushiguro’s only eaten one finger, versus Itadori, who’s eaten fifteen (I think). Why does that one overpower the many more inside of Itadori? Can Sukuna choose who to manifest in? If so, then why couldn’t he not manifest into the cursed spirits? Is it because that specific manifestation of Sukuna was present in the finger he force-fed Fushiguro? Going back even further, is this why he was so interested in Fushiguro, even from the start? We know that Megumi is powerful; for the Zen’in clan to have so much interest in him, he’s got to be strong. But does Sukuna know something we don’t? Or does he just want the Ten Shadows Technique?

Anyway, feel free to come talk to me about any of this! I would love to have somebody to chat with about theories, or talk about original Japanese connotations versus English translations. I want to keep doing analysis like these, so please leave feedback!

#analysis #jjk spoilers #jjk 212 #jjk manga #fushiguro megumi #itadori yuuji #ryomen sukuna

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authorautumnbanks · 1 year ago

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How To Tame A Sorcerer (13)

The silence is stilting during the drive to the apartment. Her skin itches as she thinks about the ease with which she's settled into this new home. It's only when the quiet sneaks in, does her mind wander to how–why she fell into this world.

"Kagome-san?" Yuji cuts through her thoughts. The reprieve is welcomed, so she turns and smiles through the shivers in response to the additional eye slit on his cheek. The red iris stares back at her, haunting, the same hue that Naraku once had.

"How are you feeling, Yuji-kun?" The jet lag must rest in her tone because he only deflates at the question.

"Thank you." He doesn't look at her, instead opting to stare down at his lap.

"For what?"

"Taking me in. I'm sure Gojo-sensei has told you…"

"Being a vessel for anything can be isolating if you let it." She leans her head against the window, the coolness of the glass is heavenly against her face. Seeing Yuji's dead body took her back to that life where death was so prevalent.

"Have you… Are you a vessel too?"

Kagome catches Ijichi taking, what he thinks is discreet peeks at them. She needs to tread carefully. "No, but I knew someone that was a guardian." She tilts her head to Yuji, her face clammy from the window. "It consumed her—the burden. Naturally, she grew to resent everything and fell further into isolation. Until…."

"Until what?"

"She and the burden became nothing more than a footnote, lost to time." The pang in her heart disrupts her train of thought.

"Um, Yuji." Ijichi's voice waves into the backseat, ebbing and flowing with each waver. "Know that we will all do our best." He catches Kagome's gaze through the rear-view mirror. Perhaps the driver is more perceptive than Satoru gives him credit for.

Yuji beams at them as Kagome ignores the snort coming from the eye slit. "I won't let you guys down!"

Her shoulders are stiff from the accumulating stress that this new world seems determined to dump onto her, or maybe it's because she got more rest on the airplane than in an actual bed. Sukuna's gaze hasn't strayed from her since Ijichi dropped them off at the apartment. It's different to be so close to an enemy and not be able to do anything about it.

"You can stay in this room, I'll just need to get some of my things out," Kagome says, arms crossed as she leans against the door.

"You and Gojo-sensei don't share a room?" Yuji walks into the room, spinning around. The action is actually kind of adorable, Kagome thinks.

"There wasn't enough closet space for all of our things, so I kept my clothes in the guest bedroom." The lie rolls off her tongue easily. For the sake of Yuji's survival, she figures she can take one for the team and just stay in Satoru's room. Besides, he'd probably insist on it with the unpredictable nature of Sukuna. "Is there anything that you need or want? I can make a list and go pick up some things for you." She gives him a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay, Kagome-san. Just having a roof and a bed is more than enough." Yuji sits down on the bed, patting the mattress.

"Memory foam," She offers up. "I'm going to make a list regardless." Leaving before he has a chance to refute her offer, Kagome makes her way to Satoru's room. The need to be behind a closed door away from Sukuna's prying stares shakes her core. What she–no, what they need is some kind of game plan. If the higher-ups would go out of their way to put two other students in danger, just to get rid of Yuji for being a vessel; it makes her wonder just how powerful is this king of curses?

She crawls under the cover, her eyes close briefly. The sheets smell like him, though the softness of them reminds her that he isn't there with her. Despite how lithe he is, he's surprisingly nothing but hard muscle. Get a grip, she tells herself as she rolls her eyes. There's no way this can end well. Not when there's so much uncertainty around why she was sent to this place, to begin with.

"Yo!" Satoru appears suddenly near the bed. Kagome lowers the covers, peering over at him. To anyone else, his smile would seem joyful–maybe even a bit mischievous, but she can see through the cracks of his facade.

"Come on, Yuji-kun is getting settled in." She scoots over, patting the space she created for him. "You need to rest more."

He slips his shoes off and slides into the space on the bed for him. Kagome reaches out towards his face, removing the blindfold. Not that she'll ever tell him, but his eyes are really captivating.

"Did someone die?" He whispers as if the moment will be broken if he speaks too loudly.

"Technically, Yuji-kun did." Her hands snake around him as she scoots in closer. "Where's Buyo Jr?"

"That's what I forgot." He laughs as he avoids looking at her. "Uh, well. He didn't want to leave Megumi's side."

"Are you saying that I've been betrayed?"

"Supposedly, he helped Megumi against Sukuna. Just how strong are the monsters in your world?"

"There're levels to them, like the curses here. Nekomata's are more supportive companions—"

"Like in an MMO, if you're playing a ranger class?"

"That's one way of putting it, yes. But what's this about Buyo Jr not wanting to come home?"

"I think Megumi needs him more than Buyo Jr needs to be at home." He nips the tip of her nose. Kagome tries to disengage herself from his embrace, but he only tightens his hold. "My poor students are traumatized. Think of the children."

"You're so dramatic for no reason."

"I need your help with Yuji," he starts. The switch of emotion is enough to give her whiplash. "I want to save him and exorcise Sukuna."

Kagome bites her bottom lip, eyes roving over his face. "You want me to purify him?"

His eyes widen as her words wash over him. Bumping his nose against her in a series of Eskimo kisses, he eventually covers her mouth with his own. "That's it! If you could purify the fingers before we give them to him, that should keep Sukuna from getting to his full strength." His hands run down the length of her. "He was pretty pissed when I gave him that finger."

"I don't know if I should be disgusted or relieved that Yuji can stomach eating one of those things."

"Can we stay like this for a bit?" He moves down, resting his head on her breasts. A loud sigh escapes his lips as he closes his eyes. "I've had such a hard, traumatic day."

"Now you're just taking advantage," she responds with no real bite to it. Her hands comb through his white locks, massaging his scalp with each pass through. The only response she gets is the sound of his soft snores and the feel of his chest rising and falling slowly. At least he's getting some rest, she thinks. She'll sort out these feelings some other time.

#gojo x kagome #gojo satoru x kagome #kagome fanfic #kagome higurashi #kagome crossovers #jujutsu kaisen x inuyasha #How to tame a sorcerer #gojo fanfiction

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elsecrytt · 3 months ago

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Okay I do get the horniness here, I myself am horny for pitiful mommy kink Gojo but I physically cannot resist the comedic potential.

Gojo killing his clan for taking his mommy away lsdfgsdgfs I am VIBRATING oh yes give me pitiful mommy issues man. Ironically this works with his actual mother too bc apparently his parents were just. Not allowed to be in his life bc they weren't exceptional sorcerers.

I have had gojo x babysitter!reader as a WiP/fic idea for AGES NOW it's SUCH a good idea,, creepy precocious child/preteen Gojo imprinting on you and maybe you're not even that much older djfkghlsdhg

but. the HUMOR. oh my god the HUMOR. Gojo infantilization kink but he wants to be the infant and you his mommy and he's trying to get you into it sdkfjhglshg GOD

Imagine this 6 foot plus adonis of a man showing up at your regular office job making a complete and utter fool of himself. Spilling hot coffee on his shirt and coming to you teary-eyed, shivering, shirt half-clinging to his unreasonably well-build body, acting like he's too fucking incompetent to just find a bathroom and take his shirt off sdjfhglshg

Gojo going feral every day planning the stupid stunts he's going to do. The entire office thinks he's an absolute airhead. Bimbo!Gojo who sneaks into your house to slip lactation inducers in your food and you just think he's a silly little guy and you are, technically speaking, not entirely wrong sdfkhgsldhg AAAAAAAA

Fully grown adult Gojo who gives you a pleading face like he cannot possibly be asked to operate a coffee machine. He unironically whines that his coffee tastes bad and you need to basically dump a cup of sugar and milk in it before he'll drink it.

Just. Seeing him act so completely incompetent and then seeing him break into your house?? You're genuinely not sure what to think at this point. He has huge pretty privilege here.

As someone who's not even into pregnancy kink I do also love the idea of pregnancy kink here. I remember your MILF reader series and it's just like "actually no wait Gojo would be worse" bc he would literally ship your child off to boarding school or smth, he just wants you lactating and hormonal. HE should be your only baby. awful AWFUL man.

"gojo age play" oh my goooood gojo mommy kink. i want gojo with the BIGGEST mommy issues, the loneliest most neglected rich kid who thinks he's hot shit and loses his mind at one (1) crumb of casual maternal-coded affection.

you are a barista and you hand him a hot drink with a warm smile "careful, sweetie, it's hot!" and he realizes mommy does love him after all and of course love means sex because the only reason anyone tolerates his personality is to bang him.

tw - fem!reader, non/con, unabashed mommy kink, stalking, breeding.

wait Actually you and me are on parallel wavelengths,,, my exact idea is an extra deranged gojo as michael myers in a halloween au with the reader as his sweet, older babysitter who fell out of contact with the gojo clan more than a decade ago and him tracking them down after murdering the rest of his clan (mostly bc they took Mommy away but for other reasons too) and going into hiding for ten-ish years, but more generally i just think he'd be an absolute sucker for any source of pure, unconditional love he can get his greedy little hands on. his #1 fear is that the people he loves will eventually leave him, so being able to trick himself that you're just too sweet to ever do something to cruel immediately send him spiraling.

it doesn't matter if you're literally less than a year older than him - he's going to be breaking into your apartment after less than a week of stalking you, crawling under your bedsheets and cuddling up to you, sucking on your tits while asking you to call him a good boy - your good boy. he'll insert himself into your life and make a deliberate effort to seem like someone desperately in need of your help, specifically the kind of help that'll have you cooing over papercuts and coffee burns and treating him like a toddler who just learned to walk, rather than a fully grown man. and, if you ever made an attempt to distance yourself from him, he'll just take it as a sign that he hasn't done enough to prove how much he loves mommy :(( his only solution is to, of course, spirit you away to somewhere private and do his best to pump a baby into you and make you into a real mommy, rather than just the poor imitation of one he's decided to latch onto.

#elsey rambles #yandere #gojo x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #*gestures wildly* i mean if you recognize daydreams' icon you know how it be #if u do not recognize the icon than just understand that's where u get the good fucked up stuff and it's not for everyone

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hawnks · 3 years ago

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first law of motion

gojo satoru x reader

r18

word count: 9,500

[soulmate identifying marks, canon divergence, reader is not a sorcerer, alcohol mention, shogi as a plot fixture, gojo is forced to reckon with his humanness, and everyone else’s for that matter, gojo goes from indifference to absolute obsession, and he discovers a need to take care of his lover on the way, reader is kind of a hot mess tbqh]

Things are bound to get a little messy when your soulmate is Satoru Gojo.

It’s a summer weekend, and Tokyo is swollen with August heat and tourists. Bodies brushing against bodies, skin gummy and damp. A lot is happening, and a part of him wants to tune it all out. He gets the instinctive urge to shield his eyes, even though they’re already covered.

There’s some convention going on, he doesn’t keep up to date on that kind of thing. All he knows is the swelter and the quiet unrest that comes with it.

Crime increases during heat waves; so do curse attacks. He’s been sent to deal with some disaster, well below his pay grade. It didn’t even cross his mind to reject the request. The last few months have clouded his sense of purpose. The near misses and injuries, watching people under his protection be battered and brutalized—

He can do this, so he does. He can do anything. So he does.

And he walks through the crowd, knowing what’s lying in wait out there, what could snuff out any one of their lives so simply and easily, and leave not a trace. He thinks about the causal cruelty of life, of everything.

Until his brooding is interrupted by —

Cans of grapefruit Fanta rolling across the sidewalk, continually kicked and lost under the feet of unaware pedestrians. And there’s you crawling on the ground, reaching for the cans as they continue to slip away. You’re wearing all black, formal not gothic. You’re clearly fresh from a funeral, or maybe the reception.

It’s all rather pathetic. He doesn’t even intend to make eye contact with you as you drag yourself across the ground, but you reach out as he crosses your path, bat his shin like a cat, looking up at him. Expectantly.

It’s been so long since someone’s touched him, he’s almost forgotten it was possible. He’s too on edge around other sorcerers these days, but his body comprehends you with a startling clarity. Absolute non-threat.

He picks up the can you gesture to, handing it over with a pointedly smarmy grin. “If you’re on your knees for piss flavored soda, I’d like to see what you’d do for a Klondike Bar.”

You blink at him. For a second, he thinks he’s genuinely offended you. But then you laugh. So hard the can slips from your grip with a dull clang, rolling off into the gutter, lost.

You wipe the tears from your eyes. You’re much nicer than him, of course. You say, “Thanks a lot for that one, cowboy.”

And he’s curious, more than anything.

He grabs you a plastic bag from a nearby convenience store for you to dump your stray cans in, doesn’t argue as you lead him to some back alley, where you can drink them together.

He’s right, they do taste like piss. You don’t seem to enjoy it much either, though, which makes him enjoy it just a smidge more.

You’re staring at him as you drink together, trying to divine answers from his inscrutable expression, the jet-black shades.

“I didn’t even know what a Klondike bar was until, like, highschool,” you say cordially. You’d offer to show him, but, “that’s a bit more stripping than I’m comfortable with on the first date.”

You glance up, checking his expression, which is unchanged.

But you see the truth in him, draw it out so easily it could only be the work of fate. Beneath his staunch nonchalance is a fine thread of uneasiness. About this. About you.

Your gaze turns evaluative, slightly salacious.

“You’re too tall for me.” The smile you wear is simple, blithe. Like you’re discussing the weather, rather than the will of the universe. “We’d never work.”

It’s easier, then, without the expectation of anything more. Conversation flows seamlessly, almost like the two of you are in some dream state. No one has to repeat themself, or explain it differently. It all comes with an effortlessness that makes him slightly wistful.

“This sucks,” you say, wiggling your half-drunk can. “Why would anyone make this?”

He wonders why you bought it, if you hate it so much. “Acquired taste?”

“Tastes awful,” you sigh, and take another suffering sip. He snickers.

You talk for the next few minutes, about everything and nothing. It’s filler conversation, funny without much substance, the easy humor between you two fluffing out the space.

“It’s too damn hot,” you groan, eventually. “I want kakigori.”

He’s not sure if it’s an invitation or you thinking aloud, but he feels the need to reject it, all the same.

“I have an appointment, after this,” he says, paying you another inscrutable smile.

And to his relief, you don’t falter.

You shrug, stretch your legs. “More for me, then.”

He doesn’t ask you about the funeral, or the shitty soda. He doesn’t ask you where you’re going after this. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

He likes you all the better for how little he knows. In your brief sojourn you’ve become something fleeting and ethereal. Like you hardly exist at all. Like he can hold the sliver of this moment up to the light and it will always be shiny and new.

It will never have to hurt. He likes you, best, for that.

The conversation has drawn to its end, and you rise first, brushing ineffectively at the dirt on your skirt, accepting the bag of leftover drinks he hands up to you with a murmured thanks.

You pause, standing before him, your shadow brushing his feet. You’re about to say something, but think better of it, adjusting your grip on the plastic handles, and turning away without another word.

And he should leave it be, allow you your moment of solitude, to end things with grace.

“Sorry about the piss thing,” he calls after you.

He thinks he hears you laugh, again.

Maybe he just imagined it.

He feels lighter, for the rest of the day. The heat doesn’t even bother him as he finishes his mission. Maybe it’s because he’d been dreading this day, ever since he knew what a soulmate was. How that was simply not him, how he could never be that for another person. He thought he’d have to break your heart; instead you slipped through the moment of contention like a cool breeze.

Or maybe it’s because every day he has walked this earth understanding sacrifice. What is more important than his own life. What is not. And that constant transaction woven through everything he touches, the math of life as constant and unerring as Caucasus Mountain eagles.

But tomorrow? He‘s going to eat kakigori.

…

Weeks pass. The days start to cool. He’s away from Tokyo for nearly the entire time, doesn’t have a second to breathe, let alone think about you.

His first day off in ages, he travels to the city, picking up as many sweets as he can carry, and a copy of a new movie for Yuuji. It’s simple, almost boring. But a part of him has been craving distance from the campus, and all its inhabitants, a kind of quiet disgust that he doesn’t care to investigate.

He’ll get over it. Eventually.

He’s about to turn to climb the stairs to the train when he spots you, ambling toward him. You don’t even pause, rolling your eyes as he falls in step beside you.

“Do I know you?” you say, and he could almost mistake you for being serious, if you weren’t smiling. “I told you, you’re not my type.”

“Shame,” he says. “Because you’re mine.”

“Alright, sweet talker. What do you want?”

“Nothing,” he says honestly. “This is pure coincidence.” You look skeptical at that, so he continues, “What’s that old adage about soulmates and lessons? Maybe we’re supposed to teach each other something, before we can move on.”

“I’ve already done that,” you say snidely. “If anyone’s got a lesson to learn here, it’s you.”

“Mmm, and what would that be, darling?”

“I dunno. Humility?” You pause to look him up and down, deciding on a course of action. He’s dressed in a button down and slacks. You look downright frumpy next to him, which is slightly mortifying. But there couldn’t be much more harm to him than that. You sigh, continuing on your way. “You can come, if you want. Although I imagine you’ll be bored out of your mind.”

He comes.

The shogi house is nearly empty today. It’s never been a particularly popular spot, but that’s part of why you like it. You’ve always had a great affection for underdogs.

Probably because you are one, yourself.

You’ve never played an official match, of course, but if you had to give yourself a definitive rating you’d say your skills are roughly equivalent to that of a ten year old. You’ve been coming here for months, and just recently gotten the hang of how all the pieces function. Actual strategy is still well beyond you.

Matches tend to be more of a party than an intellectual pursuit, when you’re involved. All of the grannies and grandpas gathering around, reminding you of rules and giving well meaning but ultimately fruitless advice. You haven’t won even once. Everyone fawns over you all the more for it, enamored with how green you are, how new everything is to you. “Good work” they say to you on the way out the door, every time, regardless of how accurate that is.

Today only three people are in the parlor when you arrive. A match is already in session at the far end of the room, leaving you to face off against the man in the corner. You know him, have played a few games with him, to brutal ends. His name is Mori, and he’s a ranked shogi player, a professional. He’s surprisingly high level, for someone just slightly older than you. He’ll definitely make something of himself, someday.

Your soulmate follows you to the board, settling into the background as you set up.

Greetings are brief. Mori asks you about your cat (a running joke between you), and you inquire about his last match (won with flying colors). Then you get started.

The difference in your capabilities is immediately clear. You’re on the defense after his first move, trying to make up for all the ground he’s gaining.

You hardly have time to think about the placement of the pieces, every move of his guiding yours. You expected this, of course. Losing fast and horribly was bound to happen in a mismatch like this.

The game is nearing its conclusion when you remember your soulmates presence. You glance at him, surreptitiously, as Mori considers his next move.

He sits, legs crossed, on a floor cushion that hardly fits him. He slouches, hands folded in his lap. You’re suddenly very aware of how unfortunate his size is. He probably doesn’t fit in a bed, or under a shower.

If he kissed you, he would need to bend down so far. His hands would be massive against your own.

Your next move is a fumble, which you know because Mori raises a brow, smiles. “You wanna take that back?”

In official matches, undoing moves is illegal. But everyone lets you do it, here. Insist on helping you learn, helping you grow.

But for some reason, doing that with Mori, now, seems childish. For the first time, you’re embarrassed of your skill level, of your innate inability.

You smile at him, coy, covering up the feeling. You gesture at him to continue.

That one move seals the game, and things wind to a close quickly. The two of you reset the board, and shake hands. Your opponent moves on to challenge one of the others in the parlor.

You’re gathering up your things, ready to leave, when your soulmate catches you by the sleeve.

“Teach me,” he says, more demand than implore. He’s already taken the seat across from you.

You’re not much of a teacher. Because you’re still a novice, at best, all you can really do is tell him the function of each piece, how it can move on the board. No schemes, no tips.

“I’m sure anyone around here would be happy to help you learn,” you say, wrapping up your spiel, and shifting to get off the floor.

But before you can rise, he’s moved a piece on the board with a decisive click. And the game has started.

He’s exceptionally poor at it, which is unexpected. You know, somehow, that he’s an excellent strategist. And it seems unlike him to be losing so spectacularly right out the gate, even if this is all new to him.

It makes it a bit hard for you to keep up, but in a different way then when you play with the other regulars. You’re used to being reactive, making your decisions based off the moves of others.

But there’s no logic to the way he plays, nothing you can build off. You claim one of his pieces, a promoted knight, one of the most valuable in the game. You frown as he sweeps it off the board — you’ve checked that piece only twice in your entire shogi career, and that was with the advice of better players.

He’s letting you win.

That fills you with an unexpected rage, and you take the knight from him with a scowl. His next move is pedantic, meandering. A nothing move, used to take up time.

You answer by moving your queen into a vulnerable position. He does the same.

The match caries on in that fashion, the both of you making increasingly stupid and brash moves, taunting the other to just finish things.

Finally you’re so incensed that you flick your own king off the board. He catches it, without looking. His gaze is steady on yours.

“Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“You’re stupid face should be illegal,” you snap. “I don’t need a consolation prize. I know I suck at this.”

His grin is strange. Pleased, but not in the kind, sweet ways of the older shogi players who pet your hair, tell you you’ve done well. Your soulmate smiles at you like he’s won, somehow. Even though the match must have broken some record for worst plays imaginable.

You look down at the board. With your king piece no longer in play, the pattern is clear. A perfect draw.

You’d made the worst moves possible, but you played smart. Anticipating his own moves, reacting with clever and unpredictable actions. You were on the offensive, maybe for the first time since you started coming here.

“You’re a formidable player,” your soulmate drawls. His expression is cat-like. Smugly gratified. “Afraid they won’t treat you like their precious little baby anymore if you start winning?”

He waits for a response, but it doesn’t come. You’re still looking at the board like it’s the first time you’ve seen one. Like you’re not understanding what’s in front of you.

His smile sinks the longer you stare, not expecting this from you.

Finally, he reaches over the board with a closed fist. You hold your own hand open for him without thinking, nearly flinching when the solid diamond of the king piece lands against your palm. It’s warm from his skin.

“This was nice,” he says, all artifice dropped. “I’m glad I ran into you again.”

“Yeah,” you agree, despite yourself. Because you know he’d know anyway, even if you lied. “This was nice.”

He says nothing, after that. Rises on those big stag legs, and pays you a parting grin. The day has begun to fade into night, and a beam of golden light floods the parlor as he opens the door and steps out.

You flick the king piece back onto the board, strangely satisfied, and strangely not.

…

The proceedings are complicated. They’re restructuring the way the Jujutsu Tech schools function, and the way they train young sorcerers. The values they instill in them.

It’s a lot of politics, which Gojo hates and excels at.

He makes demands, and they’re listened to. Things are going his way, but it’s a delicate process. Building a new society takes time; he’s never been one for patience.

He travels with Megumi on a trip across the prefecture, exterminating a nest of curses that has recently cropped up.

It’s simple work, but tedious and exhausting. They eat their fill of ramen that night, at the local place.

It’s been a long time since Gojo has had a conversation with his old pupil.

Megumi has changed, since moving up in years. He’s less high-strung. More sociable (though, not by much). He seems— happier.

Which complicates things, in some ways. Because Gojo could count the number of happy sorcerers on one hand, if there are any at all. Leave it to his protog�� to push the envelope.

Part of him wants to ask how, how is it possible to coexist with the never ending troubles they face. How can he give that to everyone? How can he remake the world of sorcerers to let them all have that?

But it’s clear as the conversations wears on that Megumi’s peace is all external. Fraught with contingencies.

His sister is doing well. For the first time in a long time. Megumi has put her up in a cottage in the countryside, nothing but rice farmers and friendly geriatrics for miles in any direction. No place for curses.

“I think she’s… happy,” he says. The ghost of a smile on his lips. “Or, at least she’s not absolutely miserable, anymore.”

There’s a warning on the tip of his tongue. Don’t get too relaxed. Bad things happen, and they’ll keep happening. Your life is about you, and what you can do, and what you must do.

But how could he possibly interrupt this, the only happiness his student has ever known?

Even if it’s bound to collapse like a dying star, eventually.

The most important rule of life Gojo has learned: everything is temporary. Good and bad.

…

He runs into you on the way back through Tokyo, because of course he does. The two of you relish blaming the other for who’s keeping you both tethered, playful arguing about who still has their lesson to learn.

His companion is introduced to you, briefly and poorly, between bickering.

“My former student,” your soulmate coos, “And isn’t he cute?”

That’s the last thing you would call the shadow glowering before you. “And who’s this, sensei?” he prompts.

“A friend,” he says smoothly, without hesitation. “We go way back.”

Megumi leaves the both of you, on his way South to visit Tsumiki.

Your soulmate invites himself to your afternoon plans.

“What have we got cooking today, love bug?”

You barely suppress an eyeroll.

“Sleepless in Seattle,” you say, holding up the dvd you rented for his inspection. “If you’re into this sort of thing.”

“One of my favorites,” he returns, grinning. You can’t tell if he’s lying.

You guess it doesn’t really matter.

The walk to your place is quick, and as you’re unlocking the door to let this relative stranger into your apartment, something occurs to you.

“I don’t even know your name,” you say, a firm hand on the ajar door, keeping him from entering.

He’s peering at you through those dark sunglasses again. Smiling. Playing a game you don’t know the rules to. “Call me Satoru.”

You hesitate. “Is that a first name?”

“Yes,” he says without shame. “Aren’t we friends?”

He catches the answer on your face, a sheepish wince. I didn’t think we were anything at all. You say, “Sure. But what’s your surname?”

His smile turns coy. He pokes the elbow supporting you against the door so it caves, grabbing you just before you fall. He draws you into the apartment with an arm around your shoulder. “Who knows?”

It’s not much. Certainly not the kind of lofty living aspirations you’ve seen on coworkers’ Pinterest boards. But it’s your space, and you’ve made it to your liking. That much is clear to Gojo as he investigates the place.

First and foremost, you are beloved. Your apartment is filled to the brim with the proof of this, nicknacks and souvenirs from friends, a stack of letters on the coffee table, pictures both framed and bare, lining the walls. Tucked between are the things you’ve bought for yourself, gaudy and vibrant, clashing because they’d be impossible to match anything.

He picks items up, turning them this way and that, observing all of the facets and idiosyncrasies. Inviting himself into the space in a way that should be rude, but you just find kind of endearing. Watching such a big man handle your belongings with such care. Like everything he touches is made of glass.

He picks up a loose postcard. The picture is a drawing of a bird, so ugly it almost makes him giddy that this exists at all. He turns it over to find smooth penmanship. A woman’s handwriting, signed Nozomi.

You don’t stop him when you spot him reading it. There’s not much to hide, anyway. It’s generically thoughtful and heartfelt in a way that would only matter to the people involved. Nozomi says she wishes you well, and that she’s happy to see you grow as a person. She’s proud of you. She always will be.

“She was the one who taught me to play shogi,” you say, as he returns the card to its spot, careful to get the placement just right. “Saw me on the street and just… took me in. Said I looked like I needed it. I thought she was crazy. Kept going back because it was kind of funny, at first. But it turned out she was right.”

Gojo nods, sagely. “Through shogi lies the meaning of life.”

You whack him on the arm, snorting. “I needed friends, dumbass,” you tell him. “Although I guess I wouldn’t mind some guidance to get me through the big clownshow.”

You leave him to go make tea. He stays where he is, staring at the postcard. The sight of it, that earnest, ugly little doodle, suddenly makes the back of his neck itch.

When was the last time he’d kept something, just because he wanted it? When has he ever enjoyed a thing except for its function, it’s usefulness? When did anything ever have meaning to him?

He gravitates toward a darker corner, where a small shrine sits on an eye-level shelf. It’s unobtrusive, less tacky than just about anything else in this place. A stick of incense waiting to be lit, a can of grapefruit flavored Fanta left in offering.

You return with the drinks, wait for him to join you on the couch.

He doesn’t ask. You don’t explain.

The two of you watch Sleepless in Seattle. He’s a good movie companion. Funny without being obtrusive. Surprisingly, doesn’t talk through the whole thing, just enough to remind you he’s there.

The two of you shift and move throughout the two hour runtime, until your feet are resting on his lap, his arms draped over your thighs.

As the credits roll and you stretch, he peers down at your toes. He pinches one, between his thumb and pointer, wiggling it. “Cold,” he notes.

“Maybe you’re just stupidly warm,” you return, nudging his thigh with your free foot.

He grabs that one, too, and through a bizarre display of athleticism, tips you bodily into your back, while grabbing a throw blanket from the back of the couch.

He wraps you up in it easily, turning you around as you squirm, laughing, fighting. Finally, he has you swaddle like a baby with your arms trapped against your sides, completely immobile.

Then he gets up and leaves.

…

The incoming first years are strong, but ignorant. One of them, the most promising of the bunch, tells Gojo she’s doing this to make her mother proud.

“She attended Jujutsu Tech, a long time ago,” she says. “But she lost both her legs in a fight. Her technique depended on being nimble; the amputation set her back too many years to recover.”

They’re meeting at a cafe outside Tokyo proper. The days have begun to cool, and this afternoon sings with a pleasant heat. He watches as the girl sits across from him, separating her meal into distinct piles of ingredients.

He can see it in her eyes. Love. So big and deep it looks more like desperation than adoration.

And that can be exploited.

Even in the absence of real enemies, it can get a person killed.

He tells the young sorcerer about another Jujutsu Tech student he taught. How he loved his childhood friend so much it cursed her. And that, in turn, cursed him.

“But it worked out, in the end,” she returns blithely. Gojo cocks his head, smiling inquisitively. “Yuuta Okatsu, right? No use trying to be obscure, sensei, there’s no mistaking Yuuta’s curse.”

“That’s true,” he agrees. “It almost killed him, first, though. Almost killed everyone.”

She hums, considering this. Yuuta’s abilities are legendary, but stories about his time in highschool vary in prolificacy. When he was at JJT, he was just another boy, with another too-big burden placed on his shoulders.

A gaggle of children rushes by, screaming, laughing. Gojo watches them, taking in their bruised knees, their scraped elbows. One of them is wearing a cast on his arm. He still chases after the rest, running recklessly, just as fast.

“Okatsu is a Special Grade, an exceptional specimen of sorcery. There’s very little he can’t do,” he says. “What can you do?”

The student grins. One of her teeth is chipped, almost completely gone. “I’d love to show you, sensei.”

…

Mori invites you to take a trip with him, the semifinals of the season, in Kyoto. It’s strange for a first date, but you’re kind of charmed by it, and by his sincerity as he asks you.

He likes you, he says, and he’d be honored if you’d spend those two days with him.

It’s easy, spending time with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to be yourself around. He doesn’t push boundaries, or laugh at you.

You sleep in separate rooms, which you tease him for, but are secretly pleased by.

In the end, he wins, taking home a championship cup and a hefty prize sum. The two of you are bubbly about it on the way home. At the Tokyo station, where you’re parting ways, he rests a hand on your shoulder.

You’re almost the same height. All he has to do is lean in, and your lips brush. A polite kiss, no tongue, no spit. It’s pleasant, almost friendly. You feel mildly warm from it, more with the sense that you’re being kissed than with any real lust. But that’s nice, in itself. The control you feel in this situation, over yourself, your emotions.

His expression is pleased as he waves you off, and it’s a good look for him.

You like Mori. You don’t even have to try that hard.

…

You’re wearing black again today.

Who died, he thinks of calling to you when he spots you, stealing your attention in another obnoxious way.

But he doesn’t have to. You turn to look at him, cheeks and lips swollen, eyes red. You’ve been crying.

You come to him, edging forward until you’re toe to toe, and it takes the space of a heartbeat for him to lift a hand, thumb off some of the smeared makeup under your eye.

“Kakigori?” he murmurs.

“Isn’t it too late?” you ask, looking up. The day has gone so cold that the sky has cleared, and the first freckles of stars are emerging.

“Never,” he answers.

It really is too cold for it now that the season has changed in earnest, but he seems to know the one place in Tokyo still serving it. He orders for you both, somehow guessing your go-to flavor. You loiter outside the shop, eating in silence as your fingers go numb.

You always forget the texture of kakigori, between indulgences. How delicate the ice flakes are, how quickly it melts in your mouth.

He’s staring at you the whole time. You wonder how he doesn’t miss his mouth with his own spoon, but the way he can control his body is different from a normal human, you know that much.

You people watch for a bit. It’s a weekday, and this is a shopping district, so not many people are out as night begins to crest.

Eventually you get sick of him staring, so you stare back. Eyes locked as you do miss your mouth occasionally. He doesn’t even laugh at you when it happens, too pleased with your attention to risk losing it.

“Wanna trade?” he asks, but he swaps your cups anyway, without waiting for an answer.

It’s too dark to see the color of the ice in his cup, now, but you recognize the flavor as soon as you take a bite. Your second favorite.

He’s looking at you like he’s taunting you to admit it. Like he’s won, again. But you’re honestly kind of glad for it, that he knows, somehow, what you like.

You finish both portions, still locked in that strange staring contest.

“What are you gonna do now?” he asks, taking the empty containers and tossing them, perfectly, into a nearby trash can.

You take him to a bar, a little hole in the wall you used to go in college when you were flat broke.

You order beer and edamame for you both, and when the server comes back Gojo takes the glass from him, putting it down to the side immediately.

“I can’t drink,” he says amiably.

The polite thing would be to suggest something a different activity, maybe ask an non-intrusive question about it. But you just shrug and grab his pitcher. “I’ll do it for the both of us, then.”

You get pleasantly tipsy. He might enjoy the heat you throw off and your loosened morals if he couldn’t sense the underlying sadness dogging your every move.

You try to entice him into banter, funny, pointless conversation, but he doesn’t bite. Just cuts it off with a pleasant hum, or dead-end agreements.

He won’t even eat the stupid edamame, so you’re stuck consuming the whole plate as he unshells them for you, placing bean after bean into your waiting palm.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you say eventually.

“Who said anything about talking?” he returns. “I thought we were just initiating our epoch as drinking buddies.”

“You’re not even drinking,” you say sourly.

You finish your beer. And most of his. The cozy lighting and intimate seating starts to feel suffocating. He’s so close you can see the individual hairs on his head, a color so perfect it must be made up. You’ve dreamed this man into reality, surely.

“It was a wake,” you say, finally. “My friend, the dead one, her family isn’t close. The ones who weren’t invited to the funeral wanted to do something still, though. Hence, wake.”

Gojo hands you another bean. His tone is pragmatic. “Seems complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?”

You chew slowly, thinking about how to tell the story. How to not make your life the punchline of some long-winded joke. How to not make it pitiable, either.

“We were best friends, then a little more, then a little less.” You sigh. “Then she only talked to me when she was fighting with her husband. The last year of her life we barely said more than two sentences to each other.”

Gojo is silent, his gaze intent behind the glasses. You wish he was smiling, still. That you could hide behind the banter and the meaningless jokes.

“They were both markless. It worked out kind of perfectly, for them. Meet-cute and everything.” You take another big swallow of beer, and another. It’s not demure or cute. None of this is. You wish you didn’t care what he was thinking about in this moment. You can’t help it. Any of it. “I would have done anything for her, and she knew that. I cut myself off from everyone just becasue she would get jealous. But she could never get over the fact that I was destined for someone else.”

You give him a sardonic smile. See how that worked out?

You say, “I was her interim, while she waited for someone better. I’m not gonna be that again. No more ‘almosts’.

He slides the glass from your hand, the one that was meant to be his. It’s almost empty.

He lifts it, “No more almosts,” he agrees.

And sure, you’ll cheers to that.

The rest of the night slogs into a blur, after a couple more drinks. You don’t remember the taxi ride home, where he braids your hair, loosens the oppressive buttons on your blouse. Or him carrying you up the stairs of your building. Fishing your keys out of your purse. Tucking you into bed.

Leaving the lights on. Just in case. To keep all the nightmares away, to keep all the boogeymen at bay.

…

He goes to the shogi parlor.

If anyone asked, he would say he was just passing by, it was only a whim.

But no one asks, and he doesn’t have to lie. This has been on his mind for months, ever since the first time you played together.

He figured maybe he’d glean more information about you, just through ambient forces, or something. He didn’t really think it through.

Key intel on your life and history doesn’t just fall into his lap, but he does play a few games against a couple of regulars, and that is enough to learn a few things about you.

What you like, what you’re seeking in this place, why you keep coming back.

The answer, mostly, is companionship. You wanted friends, after everything was said and done. And so you found some.

The last person he plays is a little old woman, who barely comes up to his chest. Her wrists are stalk thin, her hair so wispy, when the sun catches it, it looks like a halo of fire around her head.

He knows, even before the introductions, that this is your friend.

Nozomi’s version of the story, when he prises it from her, is a little bit different than yours.

You’d helped her, years ago, when her dog got off the leash. This was at the very beginning of her ‘ailment’ as she calls it, before she learned to navigate the changes in her body, her abilities.

Nozomi was crying, that day. Watching her dog just dart away, further and further.

“I must have looked like a hysterical old hag,” she scoffs. “No one in their right mind would stop to talk to me. Says a lot about our friend, eh?”

You chased the dog six blocks before you managed to grab it. You brought it back to its owner, and subsequently forgot about the whole ordeal.

“I was just returning the favor,” Nozomi says. “I saw someone in need of help. So I leant a hand.”

Her face is serene as she talks about you. Nearly reverent. Gojo recognizes something in that look, something that fills him with hope and dread in equal measures.

“You take good care of that child,” the old woman warns. “She deserves it.”

…

The next time Mori kisses you, it’s the same kind of vacant pleasure. The pressure, the heat. And a strange turning in your stomach, like you took a turn too hard, too fast.

Maybe you’re just hungry.

…

“Have you ever been in love, Nanamin?”

The question is entirely inappropriate, and poorly timed too. Nanami barely dodges a slash to the head by a rogue curse as Gojo catches him off guard.

The curse is swiftly dispatched, but there are about a hundred more to be dealt with. Nanami had been called today because of the sheer number, not their power.

Gojo decided to tag along, for fun. Mostly, though, he wanted to get away from Jujutsu Tech, and the students. He’s tired of looking at them today.

“I don’t believe this is relevant to the situation at hand,” Nanami drawls. “Nor is it pertinent to our work relationship.”

Gojo draws in close, hindering his colleagues movements and making himself un-ignorable. “Have you ever seen Sleepless in Seattle?”

“Real life isn’t like that, Satoru,” Nanami grunts.

“What about Hana Yori Dango?”

“Do you take all your advice from TV shows?”

With a flick of his wrist, Gojo sends the curse mob reeling into space. Eradicated, instantly.

“Real life is whatever I want it to be,” he says. There’s no smugness in his voice, no self-congratulation. Just awareness so deep, it’s almost weariness.

“You are Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer to ever live,” Nanami says. He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wipes the blood off his hands. “But I’ve yet to see a cursed technique that can change the heart of a human.”

Gojo grins, tossing an arm around him. “And you said real life’s not like that. You sound like shoujo sizzle reel.”

Nanami turns, leading them back toward the car. “And you sound like an unmitigated ass.”

…

Mori tries to fuck you on the same day you sprain your wrist. Unrelated incidents, but the whole day has you reeling, feeling unlike yourself.

The more you see of Mori, the more you realize your affection is more docile than a lover. You like the way he smiles, his passion, how considerate he is. You like him like a friend.

So when you’re visiting his apartment, expecting tea and a nice conversation, and he pushes you down onto the couch, you’re almost shocked. Of course you should have expected this. You’ve been dating for months now, and he’s been testing the waters lately.

You’d been open to sex, maybe. Not for the passion of it, but because you think it would feel good, with him. You’re okay with it, anyway.

You could not have predicted gagging at the sensation of his hand against your breast.

And — dammit — it’s a soulmate thing, you realize. “Cheating” doesn’t make everyone in a match physically ill, in fact it’s a fairly uncommon side effect. You’re just that unlucky.

He climbs off you immediately, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back, as you finish dry heaving. He’s not dumb, by any means. He knows exactly what happened. And he knows you well enough to not bullshit you.

“Who is it?” he asks, after you’ve calmed down enough to drink a glass of water. He’s sitting father away from you, now. Not close enough to touch anymore.

“Didn’t work out,” you tell him.

He asks a few more questions, which you answer vaguely. Cruelly avoiding what he really wants to know. Do you love them? Have you been in love with them this whole time?

“I like you,” you tell him instead, earnestly. Placating, but you’re not sure who. “I wanted this to work out.”

He reaches for your hand, a comforting gesture, but pulls up short. Reminded how his very touch repulsed you. “I’m sorry,” he says, not unkindly. “I like you too. I just don’t think this is going to be possible.”

And he’s right. And it hurts that he’s right.

It hurts how he doesn’t deserve you, the burden that you are. The shape of you so unwelcome in this world, nowhere you can fit comfortably without harming someone else.

You stumble home, in the fading winter light, almost drunkenly. In your stupor you trip on a high curb, catch yourself wrong when you fall.

The hospital visit takes up most of the afternoon, as you wait to be seen in a room full of teary-eyed patients, wrist throbbing. In a way, you’re lucky. Too focused on everything going wrong to be present in the misery of this moment.

A sprained wrist, a broken finger, and another fractured. The doctor tapes you up, instructs you to rest for four weeks. Don’t get the splint wet. Try not to move it too much.

No shogi.

You catch a taxi home, no longer trusting your own body. The hurt has begun to sink in now, and you’re desperate to be home, to sleep all this off.

You feel like a martyr as you peel out of your clothes, clumsy, damp with sweat. You throw yourself onto the unmade bed, thinking of how you’ll be alone, now, forever, and on purpose.

How you’ll never let another person suffer your presence, how you’ll keep all the longing and aching bottled up, and aren’t you a good person? Aren’t you kind for not placing your misfortune in anyone else’s hands? Aren’t you?

Evening sinks into full bodied night, and it takes the light with it. You lay there, letting it get dark around you.

How did you deserve this? Any of it? Don’t you try so hard? Aren’t you —- good?

And yet you’re cursed. Always. Destined for it. Fated for it.

You don’t know how he got it, but you can feel Gojo looming at your bedside. You don’t even have the energy to ask questions as he pulls the sheets out from under you, draping them over your hunched body. All the way up, over your head, so you’re a little lump underneath them. Hidden. Safe.

You feel him settle beside you, on top of sheets.

When you peek at him, minutes later, he’s staring at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head, feet hanging off the mattress. Not comfortable. There’s no way a man that size could fit anywhere comfortably. But he’s oddly still as he lays there.

“Rough day?” he asks.

“Rough everyday.”

He hums in answer, almost indifferent, and the response fills you with a boiling kind of anger.

Because you hadn’t blamed him for all of this, the mess of your existence. You’ve been nice enough to shoulder that weight alone.

“I fucking hate my life sometimes,” you say. Bitterly. More bitter than you’ve ever let yourself be, pitying your own circumstances in a way that would have shamed you on any other night.

You’re supposed to be brave, about every unfortunate thing that happens to you. You’re supposed to be better than this.

But just the thought of turning this situation into another punchline makes you want to curl up under the sheets again, never come out.

“You’re doing the best you can,” he tells you. “That’s enough.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah,” he says, a tragic kind of humor in his voice. “I know.”

He rolls onto his side, one arm snaking around your waist, over the blankets. He’s close enough that you can see his eyes over the rim of his glasses, and they’re shockingly pretty. A color you’ve never seen before, not in real life, and looking straight at you.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers. When you don’t immediately comply, he reaches a hand up and brushes against your eyelids, forcing them to close, chuckling at your scowl. “There’s my good girl.”

He presses his nose against your forehead, breathing softly, rustling the baby hairs around your face. You feel a firmer touch against the bridge of your nose. Lips, warm and gentle.

It doesn’t make you want to vomit.

You hate him.

…

He’s gone by morning. You might have thought you dreamed the whole thing up, but he’d left a paper on your bedside table.

A wikihow article about treating sprains. He must have printed it from your computer. In the bottom corner is a little drawing of him, surrounded by hearts. A phone number underneath it.

You don’t know how he could have figured out you were injured. You’re sure he didn’t see the bandage last night.

Maybe it’s another soulmate affliction, that strange warping of your reality. Does he know that you can’t touch another person with that intent? Does that happen to him, too?

You grab your phone without thinking, open a new text to the number he left. Blind with fury, you send him the middle finger emoji. Six times.

He responds almost instantly. A shiny blue heart, and a grinning cat face.

You turn your phone off. You go back to sleep.

…

He’s back when you wake. You don’t ask how. Just rub the sleep from your eyes and peer at him as he rifles through a convenience store plastic bag.

He doesn’t even have to look at you to know you’re awake, that unsettling sixth sense of his. As soon as you’re lucid enough to understand what he’s saying, he holds up two packets of porridge flavoring. Veggie and Agave. You give him leeway to make whatever, but really you want to test if he can guess your preference again.

He does.

The smell of it fills your apartment, settles over the space in that familiar, cozy way. He brings it to you in a mug, your favorite one, and the whole situation is so disconcerting that when he holds the spoon up to your face you let him feed you without objection.

It’s almost condescending, how he’s doing this for you. You’re down one dominant hand, not a child. But there’s also a strange pleasure in letting him care for you, in seeing the enjoyment he gets out of it himself, like he’s getting away with something, like he’s stealing it.

He’s leaning in after each bite, watching you chew and swallow, your lips folding around the spoon. Creeping closer and closer, until his nose is brushing yours, and he’s not even trying to fit the spoon in the minuscule space between you, just sharing air with you.

“You have pretty eyes,” he murmurs.

You bark out a laugh. “Says you.”

He nuzzles one of your brows, and you let out a noise of disgust, slipping the spoon from his grip to feed yourself.

You make it through one bite before a sudden shock of pain has you dropping it. Only Gojo’s quick reflexes save your sheets.

He places everything aside, takes your injured wrist tenderly in his hands. He turns it so you’re palm up. “Does it hurt?” he says, peering at it like he’d be able to spot it. “Poor baby.”

He leans down, brushes his lips against the edge of the bandage, where it meets your skin. The touch is so delicate it’s barely there. Like you could convince yourself he hadn’t kissed you at all.

He picks up the porridge again, and feeds you until you’re telling him you’re full, and then a little more.

When he asks you what’s on the agenda for the day, you eye him suspiciously.

“Aren’t you, like, super busy all the time?”

“I have time for you.”

I make time for you.

You feel a little guilty, that he’s here with you when he has so little free time. You don’t know what he does, exactly, but you know it’s extraordinary, and important, and keeps him tied up constantly. You wonder if he doesn’t resent you a little for his self imposed care-taking. But then you think about the little chuckles he was letting out as he spoon fed you like a child.

Maybe you really are his first choice.

The truth is, you didn’t have much planned for the day. You’re still in the process of re-establishing your life, becoming an ‘I’ rather than a ‘we’. You only had one place to be today.

You look down at your broken hand, feeling suddenly filled with bitterness. Your non-dominant hand didn’t have the coordination to do something so precise. You could never play like this.

Like always, he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He takes your free hand, linking fingers with you.

“I could do it for you,” he murmurs. “Be your hands.”

So he does. The two of you play against Nozomi, Gojo moving the pieces as you whisper the points into his ear.

He messes with you, a little, of course. Pretending to move the wrong piece until you snap at him, announcing in a stage whisper what your next move is, pretending not to hear you so you have to move closer and closer, until your lips are brushing his ear, and Nozomi is cackling across the board.

Despite the (purposeful) setbacks, you play well. And for the first time in your life, you win a game of shogi.

There are tears in her eyes as Nozomi congratulates you, scrambling up and around the board to throw her shivering arms around you. It agitates your sprain, but you ignore it. You hug her back, as well as you can.

And Gojo watches the whole time, from the side. A pleased, secret smile on his face.

The walk home is cold. He holds your good hand in his, tucking it into his pocket against the bite of the air.

You glance up at him, catch his line of thought immediately. He’s wondering about the old woman. How frail she looks. She can barely stand anymore.

You slip away from him, trailing ahead to press the button for the crosswalk. Your hand is frigid without his wrapped around it.

“She’s dying,” you say conversationally. When he quirks a brow, you elaborate. “Bone cancer. They’ve given her a few months, tops. But she’s a tough old bird, yknow? There’s no factoring for that.”

“But you love her anyway,” he says simply.

“Worrying is a waste of time,” you say simply. “I love her, here and now, because I can.”

You glance at him in time to see the minuscule movement of his swallow. The twitch of his brow.

He’s still impenetrable on the best days, but you’ve learned to read him somewhat. Or maybe he’s just forgetting to keep his guard up around you. Maybe it’s all slipping through, unbidden.

That fills you with a strange sort of tenderness. That someone so big and strong could be failable, that he could be hurt.

You take his hand again.

He lets you.

…

You fall asleep in his arms that night. Curled up on the couch, an episode of Hana Yori Dango whispering on the TV.

And it feels right, this, whatever the two of you share. This strange nebulous bond.

He didn’t want it, in the first place. But now it feels like he could hardly go on without it, your presence in his life so precious he wants to thank you every time you look at him.

Because you are alive, and you are singular. Your good humor, and bad temper, your optimism and self sacrifice. Your humanness. You.

You are good, and you are his. And he never understood just how much he craved those things, how everything in the entire world seems to hinge on how you let him hold you, all trust and faith, pure surrender.

How love is the axis of the universe.

…

You wake up, still in his arms, but in you bed. Your injured arm is cradled safely between both of his. He’d sat you almost upright between his legs to keep any weight off it, and your whole body is leaned against his. You can feel a burgeoning hardness against your ass. You wiggle, testing it.

He groans, nuzzling groggily into the space behind your ear with a content sigh, arms tightening around your belly.

“You’re soft,” he rasps. “So fragile. Makes me a little bit crazy.”

Then he slips out of bed to go make a cup of coffee.

You spend the day watching cheesy romcoms, leading up to Knotting Hill, which according to Gojo isn’t Sleepless in Seattle, but almost as good.

It’s so easy for him to settle you against his chest on the couch again. Like that’s your natural place. His fingers in your hair, lips nibbling at the shell of your ear. You fit so seamlessly together, it just makes sense, all of it, like an inevitability, like the impossible pull of a blackhole.

Gojo does everything for you, while you’re incapacitated. Cooks and cleans and does laundry and tucks you in and patiently undoes the knots in your hair and kisses your okay fingers whenever you bump the broken ones and it hurts. The whole day, he’s at your back and call, even when you can’t say what you want.

It’s overwhelming to the point that you’re nearly in tears when he tucks you both in that night. He draws you into his chest, and you have to suck down a sob, unflatteringly. He lets out a huff of laughter in response. Holds you tighter.

“You’re so nice to me,” you say, burying your face against his chest. So warm, warm enough to keep all your body cozy, always. “You’re scaring me.”

“I know,” he says, against your cheek. His breath warm and warm and warm. All of him is. “I’m sorry. Thank you for letting me be nice to you.”

…

He’s already out of bed when you wake, putting laundry away. A cup of coffee is steaming on the table beside your head.

“You’re leaving?” you murmur, rising. You already know the answer, can feel the restless energy in him.

“For a little while,” he answers. He places the last garment in the closet, before returning to you, sitting beside you on the bed. “There’s some stuff that desperately needs my attention.”

He draws the covers back up around your shoulders, kisses your nose.

“You gonna miss me?” he asks, grinning.

You fist a hand in his shirt, not pushing or pulling. Just holding on. “I like you so much, Satoru. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself.”

He cups your cheek. Thumbs at the plump skin of your lower lip, testing the give of it, the plushness.

“I know what to do with you,” he whispers.

Then he’s kissing you. He’s kissing you like it’s a force of will, to keep you here, pliant and open beneath him. Like he’s trying to coax something out of you, get you to yield. Your answering movements are languid, eager. You already have me.

He’s careful with you as he undresses you. Holding onto your bad arm, shielding it against his rough movements as he grips and pulls you into the position he wants.

You think maybe he’s never fucked someone before, the way he’s touching you, feeling you. How he’s moaning into your open mouth every time he discovers something, the soft fat of your thighs, the taper of your waist, how sensitive your nipples are, and your clit.

Everything is exciting and new, when he does it. So good it makes him nearly crazed. Eager to touch all of you at once, to have you. To keep you.

Your soulmark is on your upper rib cage, below your breast, and that is a discovery that takes up long minutes as he traces it, and licks them, the words vulgar and his.

He fucks you like it means something something. Like it’s his own language, each touch significant, every time your eyes meet, fraught with invisible language.

You can’t decipher it.

You can only let it roll over you in a tidal wave, Gojo and his big hands, his unfortunate size. He has to arch his back like a cat to kiss you, which he does, endlessly. Panting into your mouth, tonguing at your lips.

You never thought you’d like being handled, but you think you like the way Gojo does it. Because you like everything about him, even the stuff you hate. And every time he moves it feels like it’s everything you wanted but didn’t know yet, like he’s inventing new ways of bringing heat to your sensitive skin, of taking you higher and higher.

Your peak crests with a gasp, and an answering moan. You feel it radiate from your core, a sudden clarity of pleasure, like clouds clearing, like the sun coming up.

Like he’s got you, as you come down. And he’s not going to let you fall

“I love you,” he groans, wetly, against your bottom lip. “I’m in love with you.”

“Thank god,” you return breathlessly, stroking the damp hair from his face. “I’ve been waiting, cowboy.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x y/n #I like to post my fics at the worst times imaginable; happy 5am all :)#and as always: pleases reblog this one gang it almost killed me #guess who just wrote 8k words in one sitting #I feel.....deranged. LIBERATED #>:)

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

Note

wine: ingredient 44 + sugar 7 + spice 12 for gojo satoru *slams table* thank you for feeding us kind maam

for sukirichi’s milestone event:

the meal order : 🍷 + 44 (hate sex au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) + 12 (praising kink) your dinner has been served! also bruh LOL you’re a choso simp this is hilarious spspsps

— who are you to deny him when he only wants to worship you?

gojo satoru x fem! reader

contents/warnings: nsfw, slight angst, reader is hot girl shit, gojo long schlong, hate sex, car sex, spanking, riding gojo, slight angst, praising kink taken to a DIFFERENT LEVEL (i want to make people question the extent of their praising kink), body marking, rough sex lol it’s always rough in my stories, unedited

Your friends pushed you out of the club, all of you laughing, hands clutched around your waists as loud, drunken giggles fill in the night air. It was a wild night; your friends invited you to the club to take your mind off your stupid boyfriend. You thought you’d end up moping around, too much of a buzzkill to ever let loose because it wasn’t that easy to stop thinking about him, but even you were surprised when you started grinding with people on the dance floor just three drinks later.

The gals were more than delighted to see you enjoying your night, only dragging you out the club when you nearly shoved your tongue down another man’s throat.

Scratch that – your friends called you to hang out because you lied about having a shitty day at work. You’ve had your fair share of shitty days, but you were one of the most prominent lawyers in your firm, no one dared gave you a bad day. Your subordinates knew that if they even looked your way without your permission, you wouldn’t hesitate to dump paperwork on them, or assign them to the nastiest cases just to piss them off.

Yeah, you were sort of a bitch, but you didn’t care.

It took a lot to get where you were now. It wasn’t easy to be a woman in a male-dominated workplace and you were forced to strip your softness off, replacing it with hard armor and sharp tongue concealed under bold red lips, a tight pencil skirt that accentuated your curves, and a pair of black suede pumps.

You deserved all your success. You were smart, stunning, confident, powerful – so then why did you feel like shit around your shitty boyfriend?

The answer was loud and clear. It bothered you to no end that he wanted to keep your relationship a secret because his family was too different from yours, coming up with a shitty excuse that you were just “too different.” He never bothered explaining, and every time you confronted him about, he’d only wave his hand, distract you with those delicious and soft lips of his until you forget it over and over again.

You were okay with it at first. It wasn’t a really serious relationship; you only started dating him because you saw yourself a lot in him – confident, self-assured, maybe even a little cocky – plus, he was extremely attractive.

But the longer you spent time with him, you were beginning to fall in love.

Yes, you, the ice princess of one of the most respected law firms all over the city was beginning to soften up at a certain blue-eyed man who had magical hands.

But tonight – tonight you’d forget about him.

Your stomach was heavy with expensive liquor and you were nearly staggering on your knees, the only thing preventing you from falling were your more sober friends. The others were holding you close to keep you upright, while one of your friends moved to a quieter part of the block to call an Uber for you. Your friends were all happily married, some with children, so they couldn’t really stay out too late at night and chaperone you all the way back home.

You were well-aware you were being a bother, but fuck, couldn’t you lean on someone for just once? Sighing, you leaned closer to your warm friend, mumbling something about wanting to forget about everything you’ve been through.

“There, there,” she patted your head comfortingly, “You’ll be fine, babe, you’re a strong woman. I know you’ll get through this.”

“But I hate it,” you drunkenly admitted, lips trembling the more you thought about him, every stupid little thing about him – his soft white hair, those pretty blue eyes he always hid under shades even at night, his large, calloused hands that always felt so rough when keeping your legs open for him and you couldn’t even start talking about his cock, he was just so blessed and perfect in every little thing that you hated it. You hated him. “I don’t like this feeling,” you sniffled, “I feel like I’m being looked down on, that I’m being pushed to the side. I feel unimportant, like I’m not good enough.”

“Who said you aren’t?”

You froze in your friend’s arms, eyes meeting with those blue ones you could never get enough of. As if noticing your silence, your friend immediately covers you with her arm, glaring at your boyfriend. “Do we know you or something?”

“No,” Satoru replies coolly, brows furrowed in the state you were in. You turned away from him with a scoff, arms crossed on your chest. Why did he have to be here out of all places? Wasn’t he busy with work or whatever family shit he apparently couldn’t tell you about even though you’ve both been dating for a year and a half now? He just wasn’t giving you a break, and the hairs on your arm stood up when he said, “Not that you have to, but may I please drive Y/N home?”

“She’s not going anywhere—”

“She’s a friend of mine,” he insisted, turning to you with a pleading look in his eyes. You almost melted. Almost. “I need to talk to her about something.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped forward, your friend’s arm latching onto yours. You could tell she was worried from the way her gaze darted back and forth between you two. Satoru was, after all, clearly uninvited, and he didn’t seem like your type either. You always insisted you preferred refined man, men like his friend Nanami Kento, but alas, you were stuck dating this one instead.

“It’s fine,” you told her with a fake smile, “I’ll call you later when I get home.”

You never got to call her – simply because you didn’t make it home. The moment Satoru closed the car doors behind you, you both got into a heated argument. Satoru hated silences and always made sure the car was filled with music, but this time, he didn’t notice there weren’t any songs when you opened your mouth.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the anger and pent-up tension of not being able to hold him and kiss him in public like normal couples did, in addition to the fact Satoru never explained why he insisted on keeping you a secret – whatever it was, you just snapped.

“I don’t even understand why I’m still dating you!” you huffed, legs crossed on top of the other as you gazed out the window. Lips trembling, you tried so hard to not cry, especially not in front of the man who was breaking your heart. “This is hardly a relationship when I’m not free to call or text you as you please, when I can’t go out with you on dates and we’re always hanging in my apartment. I’m your girlfriend, Satoru, we’ve been together for a long time but I honestly don’t even feel like it. What the hell are we dating for then?”

Satoru clenched his teeth, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “How many times do I have to tell you that I love you,” he said coolly, acting unbothered and unaffected as ever, but the clench in his jaw said otherwise. “If that’s not enough—”

“Of course it’s not enough!”

“I’m trying here too, okay?” Satoru slammed on the brakes and parked on a desolated spot, hands running through his hair while he breathed heavily. Once he’d calmed down, he shook his head, refusing to look you in the eye like a man. “I’m trying my best. It’s just hard. It isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“What isn’t easy as it looks? Dating me? Letting the whole world know I’m yours?” when Satoru didn’t respond, you scoffed, patience running low and thin. “You’re pathetic, Satoru. Dating you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I thought I was a smart woman.”

With a shake of your head, you slung your purse over your shoulder and reached for the car door. You were about to leave when Satoru suddenly pulled you towards him, his lips slamming into yours. Like always, you fell into his trap, into the blissful pleasure that was his lips and his hands, and you hated it, hated him, hated him so fucking much because you were so tired of his entire existence.

You wanted to let him know he was insufferable.

You wanted him to feel the pain and misery he put you through.

“I fucking hate you,” you snarled as Satoru kept fucking into you, the entire car windows fogged and the vehicle shaking. “I wish I never met you, you asshole,” Satoru, displeased, only buries himself deeper into you, as if they would erase his mistakes and shortcomings.

Satoru’s large hands snake to your waist and onto your breasts, expertly tweaking them between his fingers. Your head fell back to the crook of his shoulder, your back pressed against his hard chest as Satoru trapped you in his strong arms, impaling you on his cock over and over again. “You’re lying,” he whispered into your neck, tongue and teeth playfully sucking at the tender flesh. His grip on your hip was bruising and possessive, and your breasts bounced fervently at how he snapped his hips upwards to feel your walls coat him and hug him tightly and warmly. “Why would you hate me, sweet girl? Don’t I always make you feel good? Don’t I remind you enough that you’re the best fucking thing ever?”

You didn’t respond right away, your breath taken away with how you could never get enough of this, of him. He was right no matter how much you denied it. Despite being terrible in everything else, Satoru knew and respected you, even admired your dominance and intelligence when other men were intimidated by it.

No, he worshipped you. He made you feel like you were a divine goddess when he tugged at your hair to tilt your cheek to him, his tongue slithering to your lips to taste himself on his tongue from when you previously busted his nut with just your mouth.

Lipsticks smeared on his cheeks and crescent moons on his pale thigh from your nails, Satoru looked wonderful beneath you like this.

He was beautiful, so damn beautiful, but it didn’t change the fact he’d put you through hell these past few weeks.

No, it wasn’t just the past few weeks. Things were always complicated with him. He was perfect in everything else but when it came to you, he made it a mission to hide you and your relationship, changing your contact name to a totally random one “just in case.”

Your mind was confuzzled and you felt like you were on the urge of breaking apart from both his ministrations and his confusing treatment over you. Before you knew it, you were kissing him back fervently with the intensity of your hatred over this man.

Your hand reached his to guide it to rub at your clit, and Satoru, eager to make you feel good as always, happily obliged. Satoru kept bouncing you on his cock until you were too overwhelmed to speak, crying and mumbling incomprehensible words.

Him, only him, would ever have the ability to let the sharp-tongued and intelligent woman who never bat an eye in court lose her wide vocabulary, falling apart in his arms while his long length abused your puffy lips.

“You made me feel like shit,” you finally admitted, tugging at his hair until Satoru is lowly groaning at the slight sting. But did you care? Of course you didn’t. You wanted to hurt him too.

“How so, sweet girl?”

“I can never have you the way I want,” you answered through gritted teeth, moaning out when Satoru suddenly thrusted too deep, hitting your most sensitive spot that had you quivering in his hold. “You don’t—” you gasped, “You don’t understand what I feel, how you make me feel like I’m never good enough for you. That’s the reason why you don’t want anyone else knowing, right? ‘Cause I’m not good enough for you, never gonna be good—”

Satoru didn’t let you finish your words, shutting you up with his cock instead. The vehicle shook uncontrollably with your mating sessions, and Satoru silences you by pulling at your leg to press it on his chest instead.

The sudden switch in positions had your muscles tensing and stretching, adding only to both your pleasures with the new thrown in factor of slight pain. You felt Satoru kiss your neck down to your shoulders, scraping his canines until you were absolutely lost. You gave in, you gave up, head lolling back next to his loving lips that murmured sweet nothings.

“Not true, sweet girl,” he reminded you, flattening you on his cock and making you roll your hips while you slid up and down his pole sensually. Unlike the previous pace, the slow sensation of your pussy hugging his cock with your arousal letting him slide in easily allowed you to feel every part of him, almost mind-wrecking at how good he’s able to make you feel even after such a long time of having him already.

“You’re the sexiest and most intelligent woman I’ve ever met, the best, the absolute blessing of my life, and I just want to protect you, sweet girl. You’re too precious for me to lose,” Satoru kept mumbling over and over again.

You could no longer process his words functionally, not when he’s slamming you down his length like that and burying himself in you as if he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Satoru’s hands were still curious, appreciative and gentle as he runs his hands, dipping into all your curves and pressing into your most sensitive spots the way you liked it.

“You’re always so good for me so no, sweet girl, never gonna let you go, not when you’re so perfect for me,” Satoru eased your worries – temporarily – with his words, and you’d believe his lie, you’d fall into the same mistakes over and over again because you were just that weak and powerless when it came to him. “You’re made just for me, sweet girl, you’re the prettiest and your pussy is the prettiest – I worship you, I adore you. You’re so divine.”

You blamed it all on your ego.

He praised you so well, made you feel so good and always placed you on top of the world when he’s inside you like this. Even if you knew he’d knock you down the pedestal just hours later, you opened your doors for him all over again.

Satoru knew this too, because he rammed inside your walls and ruined everything that you held firm beliefs in, his large hands smacking your ass to urge you to bounce on him like you weren’t made for any other purpose than to be the woman he adored.

You lied to yourself – you always did – but did you care? So what if you couldn’t be the one he really loved? What did it all matter when you were the one he worshipped?

For the sake of the praise and the compliments, you’d let him fuck you and play with your heart over and over again. It was a toxic routine you’d never get tired of, and you no longer complained, forgetting about everything he’d done and every heartbreak he caused you because he was there, whispering into your ears how good you made him feel and how you were the only one made to take him, and you didn’t care. Not anymore – not when you were worshipped.

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noritoshiikamo · 4 years ago

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happy anniversary

first year anniversary gift is wood right? gojo satoru had just the thing. part 3 of this childhood friend drabble pairing: gojo satoru + fem!reader genre: smut bcs i think with my hand down my pants when i see gojo tags//warning: established relationship // gojo thinking with dick part 3, threesome, anal and double penetration thread lightly if u will note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. lolololo okay idk if i did it right, never write a threesome but what better way to return to writing but to write a dp with gojo and nanami weeeee ENJOY!!

“nanamin?”

“yes,” she repeated the answer for the umpteenth time.

he tilted his head, a nervous laugh erupted out of his throat, ��you want me to invite nanami kento, uhh, how do i say this without sounding like a complete prude- you want to have sex with him?” her eyes glimmered.

“and you,” she jabbed a finger on his chest, she smiled, “always with you.”

gojo satoru laughed, “buttercup, i ask you what you want for our anniversary, i expected an answer like a brand-new tesla or tiffany diamond or i don’t know-a private island?” she shook her head to his every suggestion, leaning closer into him like a needy kitten. he could feel hair raising on the back of his neck at the feeling of her bare arm brushing against his.

he eyed the tent building in sweats, his girlfriend wanting a threesome with his best friend and it’s turning him on. the idea of watching nanami kento manhandling his sweet, sweet buttercup enough to be a docile moaning mess made his dick twitched. he made note to belittle her for teasing him every time by saying he thinks a lot with his dick, but what can he do when his girlfriend is a soaking mess.

“so?”

his eyebrows shot up in curiosity, he glanced over to her and his jaws almost dropped down. the way she was squirming, getting off to the thoughts itself by rubbing her thighs together, her warmed skin and the lust clouding her eyes. “buttercup,” he cooed, pulling the girl onto his laps, “you really want it huh?” a soft oh escaped her lips as her burning crotch rested against his bulge. “look at that,” she grinned, pushing him against the sofa, his hands immediately went up to her waist as she slowly rubbed herself against him. she watched in satisfaction as his eyes rolled back, only the whites out, head back as he mumbled her name.

her lips traced the protruding collarbone of his, trading tiny licks of her tongue and kisses up to his neck and jaw, “the idea must’ve turned you on too, huh?” her breath ghosted over the shell of his reddened ear, she couldn’t hold her grin back as he let out a throaty yes. his grips on her waist tightened and her eyes widened as she found herself tossed on the sofa on her back. he pounced on her; lips pressed to each other as they scrambled to undress each other.

“before nanamin gets a taste of you, i need to make sure you know where your place is,” he growled as the button of her plaid came off with a single rip. “that this right here,” his hand moved lower to cup her moist cunt, pressing the palm against her bundle of nerve so painfully, “belongs to me.”

“always.”

gojo fished out his phone, hand pressed to her waist as he controlled her pace eagerly grinding against him, not wanting her to immediately be overstimulated before anything could happen. he pressed the phone to her ear, “talk,” he commanded before slithering down to remove her pants. “n-n nanamin, it’s me,” she stuttered as the voice at the other end greeted her. she watched nervously as gojo slowly undress her bottom half, his mop of white hair between her trembling thighs, she could feel his warm breath.

“is there anything wrong? i’m about to leave my office.”

gojo pressed a kiss on her thigh, “tell him to come over. you need help. he won’t come if i asked, but i know he would if you did, tell him it’s the scrolls,” he looked up, head tilted, and her breath hitched as she caught the look in his eyes. the jealousy and lust mixed up into one concoction which is gojo satoru.

“yes, y-yes would you mind coming over? i have issue with the scrolls you g-gave,” she jolted when his teeth sunk into the sensitive skin of her thighs. he had been leaving marks all over her thighs and it was enough to make her lose her mind and he didn’t even get to her burning loin.

“okay, i’ll be there in few minutes.”

the call ended and the way she sighed in relief as she tossed the phone on the coffee table with a loud clattering noise, had gojo smirking. “do you need to do that?” she breathed out, covering her warming face with her shaky arms. her relief was short lived as gojo dived straight into her soaking pussy, pressing his tongue flat from the base up to her swollen clit. she jumped, but his arms encircled her legs, holding her down tightly. the way his palm gripped her thighs served as a warning for her to behave; he’s still in control, for now.

“i told you. you need to be reminded that you belong to me before anyone else,” he hummed, lips against her swollen clit sending vibration to her whole body.

“‘toru f-fuck,” her legs desperate to close.

“you think you can come for me first?” he cooed, fingers tracing eights against her soaking cunt, “maybe i’ll prepare some holes for nanamin. i wonder which hole he’s gonna be in first. here?” her eyes rolled back as his two fingers slipped in her entrance, “or here?” his voice deepened as another finger rested at her other hole. her sudden clutching sucked the pinkies in, gojo cursed at the feeing of the tightness around it, despite not being fully in. “maybe i can have the other hole first, buttercup?” she nodded eagerly, mouthing something he couldn’t get.

she whined when his fingers left her, leaving her clutching on nothing as he left the sofa. she could hear his voice screaming from the bedroom before emerging out with a couple bottle of lube. his eyes glimmered in excitement. “you gonna need it all, buttercup,” his mood switching is something she was used too, a soft laugh escaped her lips before their little comedy club was cut short.

the doorbell rang.

she watched as his eyes darkened in excitement, “i wonder who is it?” dumping the bottles on the nearby chair, she watched as his boyfriend marched to the door. she could feel her face getting warmer, ears and neck too and she desperately searched for something to cover her exposed bottom. she wondered why it took them so long as she grabbed one of gojo’s clearly oversized robe draped on one of the chairs. her bare feet echoed on the floor as she stalked to the door, the sound of her feet pitter pattered on the floor distracting the men from their talks.

she swallowed the lump in her throat nervously, embarrassed that both of the men were now looking at her. nanami’s head tilted, a soft huff and tiny smile crept on the corner of his lip. “so, where’s the scrolls?” he asked nonchalantly. he walked inside, kicking his leather shoes opened, still arranging it neatly like a gentleman he is, and he stalked towards her.

she took her steps backward, her heart was fluttering, she could feel the beads of sweat rolling down her back. nanami looked at her with a tiny smile. like a predator stalking his prey except this predator is a clearly very handsome man she’s attracted too. gojo still the one she wants to spend her life with but what’s life without a little thrill. especially when gojo was willing to indulge her in.

“s-scrolls?”

“gosh, nanamin, do you really need to be mean to my girlfriend?”

gojo interrupted, hands in his pocket as he walked past nanami. he grabbed his nervous girlfriend, hands on her shoulders gently giving it a squeeze. “nanamin is just messing with ya,” he whispered, eyes on the blonde man, as he loosened his tie, “he agrees to be a part of our little adventure,” he planted a kiss on the shell of her ear, “lucky y/n, come.”

“nanamin! bed or sofa?” gojo asked cheerfully as he pulled the girl by her hand like a little doll.

“don’t be neanderthal, satoru,” from the corner of her eyes, she watched as he dropped his signature grey coat on the sofa, his glass long gone and the way he looked down on her almost made her moan on the spot, “bedroom. i’m not you.” her eyes widened as her feet were no longer on the ground. “satoru!” she yelled as the man tossed her on their california king bed, her robe came undone with the impact.

“so,” she watched nervously as the two men stood side by side; gojo with his arms folded to his chest and nanami undoing his tie, “which one would you like to have a taste first, buttercup?”

“is there any answer i could give that wouldn’t break your heart, toru?” she replied snidely.

gojo smiled, crawling onto the bed until they were close enough. he cupped her face, kissing her swollen lips softly before looking down lovingly to his girlfriend. this is his childhood friend, the love of his life and he couldn’t believe himself when he said: “for that, i think it’s appropriate for nanami to wear you down first,” he planted a kiss on her nose, a smirk on his face, “i’ll be back, buttercup. nanamin,” he pressed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, harder than the way she sees it, “don’t break my girlfriend, would ya?”

the door closed behind them, leaving just the two of them in the dim room.

nanami didn’t move for a while, looking around and her, accessing his next possible move. with her sprawled on the bed, nanami couldn’t help but to water at the sight of her legs out and the lack of panties. “you don’t mind if i tied you up right, buttercup?” gojo’s nickname for her rolled off his tongue so smooth and sultry, she didn’t realise how eager she shook her head.

he chuckled and called her forward to the edge of the bed. she didn’t wait for his next instruction as the robe fell on the bottom of his feet and she knelt at the edge of the bed. he leaned forward and he kissed her so gently. he started off slow, tongue slipping through her already swollen lips, softly groaning at the way her lips tasted. his large hands pressed on both side of her face as the kisses became sloppier and urgent. her trembling fingers unbuttoned his shirt, running her soft palm along his solid abs, feeling every crook of it.

he broke the kiss; she was beyond desperate as he stared down her watery eyes and plump lips. “patience, darling,” he whispered with a wink. when his hands found her wrist, despite her soft whine, he gathered it behind her and held it together. his eyes bore deeply into her, searching for a reaction on every turn and tug of his tie around her wrist.

“so why me?” he tugged on the tie one last time causing her to breath sharply.

“just plain old curiosity getting the best of me.”

her answer brought a small smile on his face as he dragged her on the carpeted floor. she watched eagerly as he took his time to undress. the shirt and pants folded neatly on the nearby chair, socks and finally boxer leaving the man standing bare in his glory. he was trimmed neatly, just as expected and she could see the curve of his cock, girthy and adequate in length; not too straight but not too bent, just perfect. he scoffed.

“did gojo starve you of human contact? you look like you haven’t seen cock in ages,” he sat at the edge on the bed, his fingers calling her forward. gripping the base of his cock, he tapped the tip of his cock against her lips, and she eagerly stuck her tongue out. the feeling of her warm, wet tongue against his sensitive tip almost made the man thrusted his hips forward.

seeing his positive reaction, she continued boldly, wrapping her lips full around his tips. she swirled her tongue around the mushroom tip and the slit, humming at the taste of his pre cum. he tasted as good as gojo’s. his hand threaded her hair, gently encouraging her to move down the length, watching as inch by inch of his cock disappeared into her mouth. she fought the urge to gag, eyes watery when she realise, she didn’t even reach the base yet but his tips were already at the back of her throat. he chuckled.

“did i tell you to stop? you’re taking all in,” he gripped her hair harder, “loosen up, buttercup, you can take it.”

he pinched her nose, cutting her air supply forcing her to breath through her mouth. with her throat loosening, he gave a slight thrust finally bottoming out. “look at that, you can do it,” he caressed her bulging cheeks, before pulling out to give the girl some time to catch her breath. the mix of his pre cum and her saliva dripped from her lips; he gently brushed his thumb along it, popping it in her mouth. “such a good girl. be a doll and open up for me, okay?” he pressed a quick kiss on her lips, “you look so pretty wrapped around my cock.”

he realigned his length back to her lips, hands on both side of her face before slowly bottoming in. she squeaked, eyes widened at the roughness of his thrust. the squelching of her throat and his moans of approval had her clamping on nothing. she wondered if it was okay to touch herself, but her throat is preoccupied now to ask for permission.

“nanamin, can’t believe you’re letting her get off by herself,”

shivers rolled down her back as gojo rested his head on her shoulder. he had been watching for a while, seeing her little girl thrown on the floor, throat fucked by his best friend had him palming himself. he couldn’t wait any longer. “poor little girl,” gojo cooed, running his rough palm between her legs. she hummed desperately; head thrown back at the feeling of gojo’s thumb against her neglected clit while an opportunity for nanami to thrust deeper into her throat. she was buzzing with pleasure, head spinning from the multiple attentions.

they exchanged a look and a nod and soon, the girl was whiny as the men pulled away. gojo didn’t give enough for her to get off too and her throat, it felt empty. “that’s not fair,” she pouted. gojo laughed at her reaction, pulling his own shirt on the floor. nanami got on the bed, calling for her by her name. she was in trance. she was quick to climb on his laps.

she swore she could lose her mind on the spot; the feeling of both nanami’s and gojo’s hand caressing every part of her body. nanami’s lips around her hardened bud, lapping and leaving marks on her breast. gojo’s lips on her own, his hand around her neck with her head thrown back. he was muttering praises along with nanami’s hums of approval. she could feel gojo’s cock resting against the valley of her ass, thrusting slowly while nanami’s cock covered in her fluid, threatening to slip in any moment now.

“such a good girl,” she swore she could hear both muttered it.

she nodded; eyes rolled back agreeing to everything them said. reduced to nothing but a moaning mess, their little fuck toys. nanami held her waist, aligning himself before slowly easing into her. he let a loud fuck, groaning at the feeling of her tight gummy walls encasing his whole length. gojo swallowed her moans, palming her breast with on hand.

“does that feel good, buttercup? do you want nanamin to fuck you?” gojo teased, twerking her nipples between two fingers. she nodded, delirious and clearly overstimulated. “fuck, yes please nanami, fuck me,” she was far from done. nanami’s thrusts were gentle, easing in gently as he watched the bulge on her lower abdomen appearing and disappearing from his thrusts.

“lay down,” gojo ordered.

she cried out in pleasure, moaning at the feeling of nanami’s cock now hitting a new spot from the sudden change of position. he held her by her waist, holding her down as his thrust sped up. her sweaty chest rested against her, he could hear her heart racing and her tiny pants and mewls. “you trust us, don’t you?” he asked, and she mumbled a yes. she braced for whatever the two men had instore; nothing could surprise her anymore tonight. she felt a velvety cloth rested over her eyes, completely cutting her vision. the blindfold elevated her senses to a new level.

the low noises, the groan from the back of nanami’s throat that slowly rises as she bucked her hips into his, matching his thrusts, all of it making her more desperate for more. “ah, ‘namin, i’m c-close,” she gasped, air getting fucked out of her system with every thrusts. another hand- gojo’s- sneaked around her legs, circling around her clit and it didn’t take long for her to buck forward, screaming in pleasure her body finally given up. strings of curses escaped her lips, falling flat against his chest.

she wasn’t sure whose hands were slapping the flesh of her ass. she mewled pathetically at the pain, clenching on nanami’s cock with every spanks. “held her apart please,” an order came. one last spanked and soon, she could feel the cold air hitting her cunt stretching on nanami’s cock that was buried down to the base. she held her breath as she felt a cool liquid sliding down the crack and something resting on her other empty hole.

“you need to relax, or it won’t work,”

she gnawed on her bottom lips, eyes watering as she felt his tip gently easing in her tight ass. a soft word of relax repeated on the shell of her ears along with a shaky moan as her body slowly stretched to accommodate the sudden entrance of gojo’s length inside her. gojo pulled her up, resting her back against his chest as he held to her waist to steady himself. he moved slowly. her pain short lived after a couple of gentle thrust, quickly turning into pleasure as a moan spurred out of her lips.

“so full,” she groaned. nanami didn’t move, focusing on flicking her clit and letting her body adjusted to gojo’s slow thrusts. gojo pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder, “you good, buttercup? do you want me to stop?” he panted, halting his thrust slowly.

her only reply was a quick shake of her head before his mouth was back on her.

sure that she was back on track, nanami rolled his hips gently. their thrusts synchronized, with nanami out, gojo goes in, engulfing her in constant flow of pleasure. it didn’t take a while for her second orgasm to hit. they didn’t give a time to breath this time, desperate to chase their own highs and too overwhelmed in their own pleasures.

“fuck, baby if you going to keep clenching i’m not going to last long,” gojo breathed out, gripping her waist so tight, she could feel the bruises coming. their names escaped her lips like a prayer, her legs were bucking from the overstimulation but none of them aren’t backing out.

“switch?”

“yeah.”

she yelped at the sudden movement. she was empty, thrown back onto a chest of someone, by the laugh of it, she knew she was resting on gojo’s chest. his dick slipped easily into her soaping cunt, while nanami found himself groaning as he slipped into her ass, still tight despite being occupied earlier. gojo’s hands gently pushed her hair back, cupping her face watching it contorted in pleasure, tongue lolling out with drools down the side. “you feeling good, buttercup?” he chuckled. she was fucked beyond dumb, bruises littered her body, he couldn’t wait to see it peeking through her skirt and shirt when she goes to her office. he wanted to see her assistant leering jealously, judging his marks on her body.

he groaned at the thoughts of it, dick twitching to fill her up.

“cum, ngghh, a-again,” she stuttered.

“hold it in buttercup,” he roughly cupped her cheeks, “we are about to fill you up too.”

she let out a desperate cry, nanami pulling on her restrains and gojo was roughing up on her breasts and neck. she couldn’t last any longer, feeling her abdomen tightened. gojo threw his head back, the feeling of her walls spasming around his own caused him to come undone.

his own legs trembled, shooting ropes of cum deep inside her walls. their mixed fluid leaked down her thighs and down on gojo. she braced as nanami pressed his face against her back, groaning as his own orgasm washed down on him. his thrusts slowed down, strings of fuck escaped the man. he rested his face against her back, struggling to catch his breath with his hand griping tightly on her breast.

nanami pulled out, falling on the edge of the bed. she slipped out of gojo's, immediately falling on her side, visibly too exhausted to even sit up.

“fuck, i can’t feel my legs,” finally, her brain could string up a couple words, “undo the restrain please,”

she held her arms, face buried in the bed. she hissed as someone undo the restrain, red raw marks forming around her wrists. she was too weak to fight when gojo spread her legs apart, an amusing chuckle escaped the boyfriend. cum were oozing out of both holes.

“buttercup, you’re full and leaking,” he pressed a kiss on her thigh.

she felt the bed dipped behind her and nanami’s deep voice greeted her, murmuring apologies and praises. he planted kisses all over her neck and jaws. “hope you enjoy your anniversary gift,” his deep voice chuckled before he left the two lovebirds for the bathroom. a body loomed over her.

“happy one year, buttercup,” gojo’s lips pressed gently on her own, “you’ve made me the happiest man-child alive.”

she smiled, tracing her fingers on his protruding collarbone, “glad to know you’re happy with me.” he grabbed her hand, gently kisses each digit and the burn mark on her wrist. he pressed her palm on his sweaty cheeks, a cheeky smile on his face, “not to ruin the moment but i feel like foursome is a bit cliché for our second-year anniversary.”

“yeah, because first-year anniversary threesome sounds right.” she rolled her eyes.

“it did say that the first-year present is wood.”

she scoffed, “first-year traditional gift for anniversary is paper, dumbass.” she pulled him down for a kiss, “but you're my dumbass, s'kay,” she mumbled against his lips, a small smile appeared on his face. a satisfied chuckle leaving him as she moved to cuddle up against his chest.

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