#gojo satoru-centric

[pengujoon]

NOW I AM BECOME DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

cont. what would happen if the strongest fell over into the dark side? gojo satoru-centric, psychopath gojo, villain!au, graphic depiction of violence, blood and gore.

a/n. viewer discretion is highly highly advised.

Satoru had always been known for his boundless energy and charismatic personality, a shining beacon of hope in the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers. But lately, a shadow had crept over his once-bright spirit, casting a pall of sadness upon him.

It wasn’t a sudden transformation, but a gradual erosion of his vitality. The relentless weight of responsibility, the ceaseless battles against malevolent curses, and the unending demands of his role had taken their toll. Satoru, the paragon of inspiration and leadership, had become a prisoner of his own obligations.

Each morning, he awoke with a leaden heart, the prospect of another day filled with dread. The genuine smiles that had once adorned his face had become rare, replaced by artificial facades masking the profound despair that now resided within him.

As days turned into weeks, Satoru found himself drifting further away from the passions that once defined him. His beloved hobby of teaching and mentoring young sorcerers had lost its lustre, becoming a monotonous chore. The intricacies of Jujutsu techniques, which used to fascinate him, now felt like burdensome routines.

Even the simple pleasures of life, like savouring a cup of tea or gazing at the setting sun, had lost their appeal. The world around him seemed to blur into a grey landscape, devoid of colour or meaning.

Friends and colleagues noticed the change in him, but he brushed off their concerns with a forced grin, unwilling to burden them with his inner turmoil. The new world he had once dreamed of, a place where people could find solace and inspiration, remained a distant vision, fading with each passing day.

Satoru’s descent into apathy was a slow, painful journey. He no longer recognised the person he had become, a hollow shell of his former self. The world of curses and sorcery had claimed not only his body but his spirit as well, leaving him adrift in a sea of indifference.

One evening, after a particularly gruelling battle, Satoru stood alone in a dimly lit alley. His clothes were torn, his body battered, but it wasn’t the physical pain that tormented him. It was the emptiness, the numbness that had settled deep within his soul.

He gazed at his reflection in a puddle on the ground, and for the first time, he didn’t recognise the person staring back at him. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed, and his once vibrant spirit felt like a distant memory.

Satoru leaned against a cold brick wall and closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to wash over him. He no longer cared about being the hero, about protecting others, about the fate of the Jujutsu world.

It was as if a switch had been flipped, and he was spiralling into a void of apathy.

Days turned into weeks, and Satoru withdrew from his friends and colleagues. He isolated himself, seeking solace in the silence of his apartment. The world outside felt distant and insignificant.

His training sessions became brutal, a way to release the pent-up frustration and despair. He pushed himself to the limit, not out of a sense of duty but to feel something, anything other than the numbness that had consumed him.

One night, as he sat in the darkness of his apartment, Satoru whispered to himself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

And in that moment, he let go.

He let go of the expectations, the responsibilities, the need to be the hero. He surrendered to the darkness, allowing it to engulf him completely.

He no longer cared about the consequences, about the lines he had sworn never to cross.

He was falling, and he didn’t want to be saved.

He wanted to lose himself in the abyss, to become one with the darkness that had become his refuge.

It was a descent into the unknown, a journey into the darkest corners of his soul. And as he fell deeper, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way to climb back out, to rediscover the person he used to be before the darkness had claimed him.

Satoru’s descent into darkness was swift and unrelenting. The man who had once been a beacon of hope and strength had now become a shadow of his former self, consumed by the very darkness he had sworn to combat.

He ceased to be the charismatic leader of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, the one who inspired and protected others.

Instead, he became a symbol of fear and dread, a force to be reckoned with, and not in a heroic way. His powers, once a means of defense, now became tools of destruction.

Satoru no longer cared about the lives of those around him. He saw curses and humans alike as mere obstacles, obstacles to be eliminated without remorse. His attacks became merciless, his cruelty unforgiving.

The Jujutsu world watched in horror as Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, descended into darkness. His former allies attempted to intervene, to bring him back from the abyss, but he shrugged them off with cold indifference.

The more he embraced the darkness, the more powerful he became. It was as if the curse energy that flowed through him had been tainted, transformed into a malevolent force that defied all laws of nature. Satoru revelled in this newfound strength, using it to sow chaos and destruction wherever he went.

His apathy had turned into something far more sinister — a calculated, deliberate cruelty that left a trail of devastation in its wake. He no longer recognised himself, but he didn’t care. There was a perverse satisfaction in embracing the darkness, in becoming the very thing he had sworn to destroy.

The curses, once his enemies, now bowed before him in reverence. They saw him as a god of destruction, a being who revelled in chaos and despair. And Satoru, in his twisted state, relished their adoration.

The world outside was no longer of any consequence to him. He had become a solitary force, a harbinger of doom, and he had no intention of turning back. The Jujutsu Sorcerer world had lost its greatest hero, and in his place stood a monster.

As he roamed the darkened streets, his laughter echoed through the night, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. Satoru had fully embraced the abyss, and there was no turning back from the path of darkness he had chosen.

Years had passed since Satoru’s descent into darkness. He had become one of the most feared and notorious curse users in the Jujutsu world. His power had grown to unimaginable levels, and he had left a trail of destruction in his wake.

Satoru Gojo crept back into the heart of Jujutsu Tech, his once-revered presence now a shadow of malevolence. He had once stood as a paragon of wisdom, but now his intentions dripped with sinister purpose. Deep within, he nursed a blackened desire — to annihilate Jujutsu Tech High, the sacred ground where he had once been the beacon of enlightenment to young sorcerers. His motives were veiled in the darkest of ambitions — a relentless craving to seize the school's concealed vault, a trove brimming with cursed instruments and malefic artifacts.

As he entered the school building, he couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of nostalgia. The hallways that had once echoed with laughter and camaraderie were now filled with dread and despair. Students and sorcerers alike averted their gaze, unable to meet his eyes, knowing that this was their only way of surviving. Anything more that poses as an obstacle would be exterminated with nothing left to mourn for.

It was then that he encountered a group of familiar faces — his former students. They had grown into powerful sorcerers themselves, but the shock of seeing their former teacher as a curse user sent shockwaves through their ranks.

Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji — the trio that had once been his pride and joy — stood before him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and horror. They had heard the rumors, but seeing Satoru again in the flesh, clad in the dark aura of a curse user, was a harrowing experience.

Satoru regarded them with a cold, detached gaze. Gone was the warmth and affection he had once shown them. Now, he saw them as nothing more than obstacles to his goal.

“You’re in my way,” he growled, his voice a chilling echo. “Move aside.”

Megumi, determined but trembling, stepped forward. “Gojo-sensei, we won’t let you continue down this path of darkness. We’ll stop you, no matter the cost.”

Satoru’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, do try.”

With a mere flick of his hand, he unleashed a torrent of cursed energy, a maelstrom of malevolence that sent the trio hurtling through the air. Their bodies collided with walls, and their screams of agony reverberated through the desolate halls.

Satoru had become an embodiment of pure malevolence, a being who thrived on torment and despair. The students who had once revered him as a mentor now faced a monstrous aberration that defied reason.

As they prepared for a battle unlike any they had faced before, Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji knew that their former teacher was lost to them. He had become a creature of darkness, an adversary beyond their wildest nightmares.

The battle that unfolded within the hallowed halls of Jujutsu Tech was a clash of despair, a confrontation between former teacher and students that none of them had ever anticipated.

Satoru stood unscathed as the trio launched their most powerful attacks. Cursed techniques, shikigami, and sheer brute strength were thrown at him with all their might, but it was as if their efforts were nothing more than a gentle breeze against an unyielding mountain.

Satoru’s dark aura enveloped him like a shroud, an impenetrable barrier that deflected their every assault. He moved with a malevolent grace, evading their attacks with a sadistic amusement. It was as if he had transcended the very laws of nature, becoming an unstoppable force of destruction.

Nobara’s straw dolls, once wielded with precision, were swatted aside like insects. Megumi’s shikigami, symbols of his strength, crumbled under the weight of Satoru’s overwhelming curse energy, shattered like porcelain. Yuji, the embodiment of raw power, charged with a roar of defiance, but his strike was effortlessly sidestepped by Satoru. With a casual flick of his hand, Yuji was sent crashing into the wall, a broken puppet.

Satoru observed them with sadistic delight, his cerulean eyes devoid of any humanity. “Is this all you’ve got?” he mocked. “Pathetic.”

The trio’s faces contorted with desperation and terror. They had honed their skills, faced insurmountable odds, but it was clear that they were outmatched by the abyss that had consumed their former mentor.

Satoru remained an impassive figure, an uncaring spectre as their attacks washed over him like insignificant waves. He had become invulnerable, an entity immune to their every effort.

Megumi clenched his teeth, a simmering rage burning within him. He refused to accept that their former mentor had become so monstrously powerful. But the evidence was undeniable, and denial was a luxury they could ill afford.

Nobara, her resolve unyielding, unleashed a relentless barrage of nails imbued with cursed energy. They struck Satoru’s form, but it was akin to pelting a mountain with pebbles. Satoru didn’t flinch; he didn’t bother to evade.

Yuji, his fists brimming with cursed energy, charged forward with a scream of defiance. He unleashed his most devastating attack, a punch that should have shattered the very earth. But it struck Satoru head-on, and the impact sent shockwaves through the area.

Satoru’s form flickered momentarily, as if affected by Yuji’s assault. But then, to the trio’s horror, he reappeared unscathed, a malevolent grin etched across his face.

“You fools,” Satoru taunted, “playtime's finished.”

With a single motion, Satoru unleashed a devastating wave of curse energy that sent them hurtling through the air. They convulsed in torment, their forms contorted by the malefic force surging within them. They crashed into walls, pillars, and the unforgiving ground, their bodies battered and broken.

As they struggled to get back on their feet, their strength waning, Satoru approached them with an eerie calmness. He had become an embodiment of malevolence, a being untouched by empathy or compassion.

“You all were always a disappointment,” he muttered, his voice laced with contempt as he stood over them. “I expected more from my students.”

He sneered, his words cutting deep. “Weak and naive. You thought you could save me? You thought you could change me? Pathetic.”

With a flick of his finger, he sent a surge of curse energy that enveloped them, their screams echoing through the once-hallowed halls. The trio writhed in agony, their bodies contorted by the malevolent power that coursed through them.

In that horrifying moment, they realised the true extent of the darkness that now defined their former teacher. He had become an irredeemable monster, a harbinger of despair beyond measure. They were trapped in a nightmarish confrontation with their own creation, a manifestation of their failure and powerlessness.

With a flick of his hand, he dispelled the cursed energy that held Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji in agonising paralysis. They collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling with pain.

But Satoru didn’t spare them a second glance.

They were lucky to not have him kill them all at that very moment.

He turned away from his fallen students and began to walk through the school, his steps slow and deliberate. Memories of his time as a teacher here flickered through his mind, but they held no emotion for him now. They were nothing more than distant echoes of a past he no longer cared about.

The hallway that had once been filled with laughter and camaraderie was now a scene of devastation. But Satoru felt nothing. His heart had turned to ice, and his soul was a barren wasteland of apathy.

As he moved through the hallways, his very presence wreaked havoc. The walls cracked and crumbled, the ceiling caved in, and the floor beneath his feet shattered. It was as if the school itself was groaning in agony, unable to withstand the overwhelming curse energy that radiated from him.

Satoru’s apathy was a destructive force. He didn’t discriminate between friend or foe; everything in his path was a target for his wanton destruction. The classrooms where he had once imparted knowledge were reduced to rubble. The training grounds where he had honed the skills of his students were torn apart.

He walked through the chaos, his eyes vacant and his heart devoid of feeling. The very essence of his being had been consumed by darkness, and he had become a harbinger of despair.

Students and sorcerers who crossed his path cowered in fear, their attempts to stop him futile. His power was unmatched, his apathy unyielding. He had become a force of nature, a cataclysmic event that left destruction in its wake.

As he reached the heart of the school, the place where he had once taught and mentored his students, he paused for a moment. The memories of those days brushed against his consciousness, but he brushed them aside with a cold indifference.

With a wave of his hand, he unleashed a devastating surge of cursed energy that obliterated the very foundations of the building. The school that had once been a symbol of hope and learning crumbled to the ground, reduced to a pile of rubble and dust.

As the dust and debris settled, Satoru stood alone in the midst of the destruction he had wrought. He felt nothing, no remorse, no satisfaction, only a profound emptiness.

He had become a living embodiment of apathy, a curse user without a shred of humanity left. The school that had once been his home was now a graveyard of memories, a testament to the darkness that had consumed him.

He continued to walk, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake, his apathy a stark reminder of the depths to which he had fallen. The world had changed, and Satoru Gojo had become a force of chaos, a curse user without remorse, without humanity, and without redemption.

Amid the desolation he had wrought, Satoru’s apathetic eyes fixated on a hidden entrance beneath the rubble of Jujutsu Tech’s main building. It was a place he had frequented during his time as a teacher — a secret vault where cursed objects of immense power were stored away, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world.

Though his heart had turned cold and his soul had descended into darkness, Satoru had not lost sight of his goals. He had come to the school not only to unleash chaos but also to retrieve these cursed objects, each one a source of untold power.

With a casual gesture, he cleared away the debris blocking the entrance to the vault. The heavy metal door creaked open, revealing a chamber filled with shelves upon shelves of cursed objects. They gleamed with malevolence, each one radiating a dark energy that matched Satoru’s own.

His apathetic demeanour did not waver as he scanned the room. He knew exactly which cursed objects he sought, and he wasted no time in finding them. With a swift, efficient motion, he collected the objects and placed them in a black bag that seemed to absorb their sinister aura.

These cursed objects were the key to furthering his descent into darkness, to becoming an even greater threat to the world. Satoru had forsaken his role as a protector of humanity, and now he sought to wield the very curses he had once sworn to destroy.

As he exited the vault, the ruined school lay behind him, a stark reminder of the destruction he had wrought. But Satoru was not concerned with the aftermath; he was apathetic to the suffering he had caused.

With the cursed objects in his possession, he disappeared into the night, leaving behind a world forever scarred by his apathetic descent into darkness and the malevolent power he had acquired. The Jujutsu Sorcerer world had a new, and perhaps even more formidable, threat to contend with — one of their own.

Satoru’s descent had plunged him into a bloodthirsty madness, and he revelled in the gruesome spectacle that lay before him - the corpses of those who dared to oppose him or had simply crossed his path.

Was he sorry that they met their end this way? If Satoru had that little bit of humanity left in him, maybe, but he simply couldn’t be bothered anymore.

His once apathetic demeanour had transformed him into a manic hunger for violence and carnage he left in his wake. The world had become his canvas, and the spilled blood of his victims his masterpiece.

Every step he took was marked by splatters of blood, as he eviscerated everyone who dared to even stand in his way. Friend or foe, he couldn’t be bothered anymore. His eyes, once filled with mirth, now gleamed with a sadistic delight.

Coming across a new group of naive sorcerers hoping to take him down as he left the vault, he let out a cold and emotionless chuckle, unleashing his cursed energy with brutal precision. The air crackled with malevolence as their now lifeless forms were torn asunder, blood and viscera splattering in all directions.

Satoru’s laughter rang out like a demented symphony as he revelled in the gruesome spectacle. His hands moved with a fluid brutality, tearing their bodies apart with an unholy fervour.

It was a scene of unbridled savagery, a bloodbath that defied all reason and humanity.

Limbs were severed, bodies torn asunder, bones snapped and cracked, the air filling with the sickening sounds of flesh tearing. He tore limbs from torsos, severed heads from necks, and ripped bodies apart with an insatiable appetite for gore.

Blood sprayed across his face and soaked his clothes, but he paid it no mind.

In fact, he relished the sensation of warm blood against his skin, the metallic scent filling his nostrils in a horrifyingly comforting manner. The stench of death and decay hung heavy in the air, but to Satoru, it was a tantalising aroma that sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.

Blood sprayed and splattered, painting the white walls and streets in a nightmarish tableau of crimson. Satoru’s eyes gleamed with madness, his thirst for violence insatiable.

But he wasn’t finished.

With a final, sadistic flourish, he unleashed a torrent of cursed energy that tore through the already mutilated corpses, reducing them to a gruesome pile of mangled flesh and bone, the sight unbearable to the normal eye.

Reaching a fever pitch, Satoru’s laughter echoed through the streets as he revelled in the gruesome display of power - a symphony of carnage, a ballet of death, and he alone was the conductor of this macabre orchestra.

As he stood amidst the blood-soaked carnage, his clothes stained with the evidence of his sadistic indulgence, Satoru felt an intoxicating rush of power and pleasure; his decent into darkness had reached its nadir, and he revelled in the depths of his psychopathic bloodlust.

“Now I am become death,” he whispered, his voice a chilling echo in the stillness of the night. He stood amidst the wreckage, the mangled bodies of those who had dared to challenge him strewn at his feet, their pitiful cries silenced forever.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie pallor over the scene. Satoru’s eyes gleamed with apathy as he stepped on their bodies, the sickening crunch of bone and flesh deafening through the silence.

The world trembled in the presence of this malevolent force, and there was no turning back from the abyss he had willingly entered.

“The destroyer of worlds.”

i've never really wrote anything like this before, but the newest episode really explored a whole new genre of satoru, prompting me to imagine what it's like if he fell over into the darkness - how heartless and cruel could he be if he really chose to.

[sshirakumo]

every ieiri shoko scene -> 7/?

(season 2, episode 1)

[dontronick]

Dull sublunary lovers' love

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

Those things which elemented it.

—A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning by John Donne

[neonscandal]

and nanami I read somewhere that he didn't respect gojo what do you think of their relationship do you think nanami doesn't like gojo? they have something in common they both lost their best friends.

We love Kenjiro Tsuda but the above clip is longer and definitely explains a lot more.

Nanami has always been pretty straightlaced, even in high school, and Gojo has always behaved like a man child, even through current events in the anime. As his kohai, Nanami inevitably found Gojo to be just as boorish as Geto chided him for. Because, if you think about it, how silly for one of the foremost sorcerers to be babbling on about Digimon to audiences who would never understand the reference?

After Haibara's death, Nanami questions why Gojo can't handle everything by himself and that, I think, reinforces the idea that Nanami is confident in Gojo's strength and competency as a sorcerer. In the moment, he said it in grief, but I think the loss of Haibara tempered Nanami into the man we see now who prioritizes the safety of children and carries the responsibility/risk as an adult in combat situations. I headcanon that he probably later came to regret the words he spat in anger in the morgue. Even if Gojo was the strongest, he was just a kid too.

Nanami (and Ijichi for that matter), respect Gojo's power but are also slightly resentful when they compare it to their own which, I think, is encompassed more clearly in the light novels. Personally, Nanami tolerates Gojo, at best, but they have an understanding from their shared loss. When Gojo isn't being a clown, he can be honest about how Nanami is a better mentor for Yuji as he is better suited to guide his heart and emotions in the face of loss and tragedy. Afterall, he was able to comeback from losing Haibara. Gojo, at the time, didn't have the emotional intelligence to see that Geto was going off the rails and, subsequently, tries to be a bit more sensitive when it comes to the needs of others that surround him like Ijichi.

I don't think Nanami has a malicious dislike for Gojo. He just probably thinks he should carry himself with the same air that Geto did, humble and considerate. Gojo is too unserious to have godlike power and yet... he's the one with godlike power. God save jujutsu society, am I right? I think there's a certain fraternity in what they experienced in high school and they both know it was wrong. It extends to how they still regard Geto - Nanami couldn't bring himself to hate him, Gojo still holds affection for him and Shoko still can't hear him be spoken ill of. Ideologically, Nanami has issues with the higher ups/elders and their way of doing things but I also think he diverges from Gojo's desire to forge stronger students. Sure, there's a benefit to that, but I think Nanami still thinks kids should be protected in the way that they weren't.

Genuinely, if you're able, check out Jujutsu Kaisen: Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust. I think the NanaGo moments are somber but reflect a deeper understanding of one another than we get in the main story.

[loveleffie]

This was written as part of Nanami For Palestine's raffle to raise funds for different charities and GFMs to support Palestine.

I want to thank the mods for putting this together, all the other contributors for their awesome artwork and stories, and to everyone who donated to the cause! We're certain dear Nanami would be proud of everyone for your efforts!

Also, congrats to _clockstrings for winning this piece in the raffle! Thank you for your kind words, as well 💛

-------------

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Relationship: Nanami Kento & Itadori Yuuji

AU: no powers AU

Summary:

Nanami Kento goes through a traumatic event while working as a stockbroker and, with guidance from his childhood friend, Jin Itadori, he decides on a career change to become a high school mentor.

[gothsuguru]

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[sentimental-idiot25]

This is old news

Hi! So last year I posted a SatoShoko one shot-- and now that the manga has concluded....if yall never got to read it the first time around... would love it if yall would give it a chance

(this work is a literal piece of my soul and I can honestly say im proud of it-- I dont feel audacious for saying that anymore) (I also edited it for those who have read it hehe)

[dax-enfinity]

Outsiders POV but it’s just Shoko and the gang causing trouble almost every weekend while attending Tokyo Jujutsu Tech

It happens so often that people in Tokyo near those areas are like:

“Does anyone know what the hell do they teach at that school?!”

“Did you see those kids uniforms? That’s an expensive private boarding school at best!”

“Sure I’ve heard about those kids but, is it multiple students from the same school or just the same group?”

“Same group, last I heard that school’s got a very low acceptance rate, so it’s the same group every time.”

“Mind describing them? I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere…”

“Four boys and one girl, There’s this serious blonde boy, another boy who’s pretty wholesome actually, and the other two boys seem to be the closest to the girl.”

“The other two? What’s with the other two boys?”

“Those two seem to be the tallest of the group, one looks like he belongs in a host club of all things, straight up ikemen boy, he’s got white hair of all things and wears some expensive sunglasses all the time. The other one is straight up just a metal head, long black hair, pierced ears, and smokes, he fits more of a bad boy type of guy.”

“Wait! Those were the kids that raided that convenience store and got kicked out of an arcade last weekend right?”

“What about the parents?”

“Does it look like I know? They’re private boarding school students, does it seem like the parents live in Tokyo or they know what those kids are up to?”

“That’s true…”

They cause so many complaints that people are starting to get concerned for those kids

[woojiniepk]

When will i see you again? [29/03]

— futura doação

[gravyhoney]

Bad news guys, those little bitches from Jujutsu Kaisen are in my brain now.

[frankenjoly]

Listen: the absolute big ass fuck number of thoughts I have about Utahime being from a smaller clan/family with tons of expectations + wanting to prove herself and it's working out and then... Classmates even 3-4 years younger than her surpass her in a blink, and one's fucking Gojo.

Utahime who's working her ass off to try to get to grade 1 (as we say in Spanish: dejarse la piel) and doesn't reach it vs Gojo who apparently has it all just by being born.

Something something totally opposite struggles on the surface but more similar on a deeper level something something.

Bonus: Babyhime singing this.

[satorena]

( P*SSY GOT ) P☆WER !?

bad ☆ summary. converting a loser into a munch wasn’t on your yearly bingo card ( or was it ? )

content ★ warnings. explicit content. mdni. foul language. situationship!gojo. college au. cunningulus. frōtting. premature ejaculātion. fīngering. eventual smut. gojo pines for like 99% of the fic. he also studies in pornology. reader is kinda bratty. mention of death lightheartedly. a lot of italicized words. lowkey gojo centric? 6.4k words (bye).

rena’s ☆ note. SATORENA COMEBACK … sorta (・・?)

“gimme a kiss.”

your face scrunches before the words can express your distaste. with your hand on the handle of his car’s door, your fingers tighten around the metal bar, half tempted to leave the man at your left— rosy lips puckered into an obnoxious smooch.

his eyelids are shut tight as his brows furrow to the centre of his forehead, face leaned in. you chuckle at his theatrics, lifting your free hand to press your digits at his pucker. his eyelids open as his brows now loosen, “gojo, bye.”

you feel his hands wrap around your wrist, gently lifting your hand off his mouth, though your fingers hover over his lips still, “girl.” he tilts his head to the side, emitting an aura of sass you’ve yet to understand, “it’s satoru to you— i can’t even have a little one? haven’t i been good all day?”

you click your tongue, “you been runnin’ your mouth all day long actually,” and before your mind can even process your following words, you focus on the way his plump lips fall into another one of his childish pouts. cute. however he chooses to take your invitation is all up to him. your eyes dart to the rosy flesh as you hum, “mhm, if only you ate pussy as good as you talk shit.”

you feel the hold on your wrist drop, as his frown switches to a blank stare. you cock a brow, watching as the hand his steering wheel tightens.

he gulps, eyes narrowing before glancing over to the leather wheel, “i, uh, don’t eat pussy.”

oh. . . oh.

the slam of the car door speaks the rest for you.

“woah— hey!” gojo yells after you, though your figure seems to get smaller with the steps you take. in your hold is your purse, bouquet of flowers he’d bought earlier and house keys. “baby, hold on— this damn window,” he cusses, removing the barrier between you and him angrily. you hadn’t even hesitated to exit the car, as if he’d said the world’s most vile comment.

you’re not listening, and for some reason gojo feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. what the fuck had he said that made you all upset with him?

he watches helplessly as you insert your key into the hole. the chiming sounds of your keys serve as a reminder that he was definitely in trouble. that and he wasn’t getting his damn goodbye kiss.

he sighs instead, albeit defeatedly. “am i at least gonna see you soon?”

the front door opens and you look back over your shoulder, and god— he really thought he had it. his lips threaten to pull into a smile, ready for your little mood to be over with.

you grin and as does he. you even give him a cute wave, thank fuck, “have yourself a nice life, baby.”

and the front door closes. damn.

☆ ☆

“you said what?!”

gojo groans into the phone, sprawling himself on his king sized mattress that suddenly feels way to big for him alone. where were you when he needed you? oh that’s right, “she ghosted me! i’m blocked on all socials— can you believe that?”

he tried reaching out to you through texts to make sure you were feeling okay, but the shade of green told him everything he needed to know— especially as an apple user. he then proceeded to go through your social media, to double check his suspicions and there it was, user not found.

“uh, duh?” geto is as judgemental as ever, and gojo doesn’t try to suppress the roll of his eyes. “bro, you just told the girl you’re talkin’ to that you don’t give head. the fuck d’you think was gonna happen?”

“it’s not even a big deal!” he argues because his pride in on the line, and he ignores the groan geto gives him across the phone. rude. his fingers pinch at the top of his nose bridge, “was it really necessary to block me? literally just tell me to kill myself at this point.”

“pretty sure that’s what she blocked you for.” geto snickers, and gojo realizes he’s lucky they aren’t in person because he would have blocked him. instead he whines, pressing the speaker button before stuffing his face in his pillow. he’s probably insane but he swears there’s a hint of your scent there, and now he’s whining louder.

“quit bitchin’. you brought this upon yourself,” and out of spite, gojo whines louder. if his legs kick against his mattress childishly, it’s nobody’s business but his own. the love of his life just walked out of his life— give him a break. “and dude, no shade but do you really not eat pussy? are you gay or somethin’?”

“i am not—” he cuts himself off once the sound of his own voice echoes loudly in his lonely room. geto winces and gojo bites down on his tongue before sighing. “i’m not gay. i love women only. seriously. how does not eating pussy make me gay?”

the line goes quiet, and gojo can tell geto’s making that face he makes whenever he’s finding the right words to say without offending gojo. it ticks him off. “alright, lemme counter that question with one of my own. why don’t you eat pussy?”

gojo pauses. he tightens his fingers around his pillow as the question ponders. he thinks about having received head in the back of his car once, the other time in the bathroom of some frat party, and another in some girl’s bedroom. from all memories, he draws a similar conclusion— they always come onto him first.

“i dunno.” his lips fall into a pout, tracing patterns into his pillowcase with his index. “they never really ask, so i never bothered. that can’t be weird, right? all of my hookups have consisted of them pulling my pants down. why would i refuse? i get my nut and that’s that.”

and because geto is genuinely never on his side, “satoru . . . eugh.” some kind of best friend is he.

“what?!” he hisses in retaliation, glaring at his phone as if it would solve his issues. there’s nothing he hates more than feeling judged. “you fucking asked!”

“calm the fuck down,” he hears geto rolling his eyes. the white haired man huffs, the blow of air pushing his bangs up before they fall back down. okay, maybe he should calm down. whatever. “so essentially what you’re saying is you’ve never been put in a position where you could eat pussy?”

something like that, “sure.” gojo nods, and he doesn’t understand why geto sighs.

“why do i even bother?” though the answer is clear, he’s pretty sure geto was talking to himself. gojo clicks his tongue, ready to bark back but geto beats him to it. “so tell her just that— it’s not that you won’t give head, it’s just that you haven’t given head. which still blows me, but whatever.”

“how? remember she blocked me on everything?” the thought makes gojo whine again, throwing his limbs all over his bed. he hits his phone, then opts to grab it. “is that not entitlement? i have to bend my back all over the damn place just to get her to talk to me again?”

“satoru, you’ve literally done the same thing. don’t act like you’re above it,” geto chuckles and gojo hears shuffling in the background. the ravenette sighs in relief, and he assumes he’s now in his own bed. “besides, you fuckin’ love women who give you challenges.”

and fuck, he’s really not wrong. “yeahhh, you know me so well.” he wipes a fake tear from his eye. he rolls over onto his back, “welp, i’m gonna log into your insta to stalk her account. i miss her so much i’m literally gonna die.”

“satoru.” geto warns him, but gojo is quicker than that. he’s already typing your name into the search bar, username memorized as if it were his cellphone number.“i swear to god if you accidentally like her shit—”

“thanks bestie, love ya lots!” and he hangs up the phone. and with a shit eating grin, he giggles, “time to start lurking.”

☆ ☆

so it’s been months (read: four days) since he last seen you. he’s thankful you’re at least in two of his courses, so he has some sort of opportunity to reach you. he’d spent the last months (hours) stalking your page, viewing your stories to see if there’d been any indicator that you missed him as badly as he missed you.

and all he’s gotten so far is that you spent friday out to dinner (with him) (it was just a mirror pic of your outfit but an outfit you wore on a date with him) (you love him so bad), you had a girls’ night on saturday with shoko and utahime (he barely registered they were in the selfie) and sunday was a study sesh you had at the cafe across the college. he had to screenshot and zoom in to ensure there were no signs of living souls in the same booth as you.

he was still in the clear. whew.

and so monday morning falls, and he’s actually rushing to get to class for once (late but as expected). the one of two classes he shares with you. he hopes he’ll find you sitting in your habitual seat, not too far up close yet not too far back, and he might pull the fire alarm if he spots anybody next to you.

he’s a man on a mission— he’s going to talk to you today. he needs to be back in your good graces. there were many things he wanted to yap to you about, many places he thought of taking you over the weekend, many moments he wanted your soft lips back on his and your gentle hand back in his own.

he misses you, damn it.

there you sit, in all your glory, shining so bright in the middle of this depressing ass psychology course in the early hours of the butt fuck morning. he sees you twirling your pen in between your fingers, your cheek leaned into the palm of your hand— and nobody by your side.

if he rushes and trips over his feet momentarily to get to you in time, it’s nobody’s business but his own (and the girl who’s backpack laid useless on the floor. hazard much.)

he so much as plops into the seat as he does actually sit in it, and he watches as you jerk in surprise. though, the look of surprise is quickly replaced by aloofness. you feel different— not entirely closed off but not as welcoming as you usually are. you’re probably still done with him.

well it’s too damn bad he’s not done with you, “good morning, princess.”

you blink at him, before nodding your head curtly. “morning, gojo.” and you turn your focus back onto the professor. just like that, you shut down another conversation.

he doesn’t like that, and so he pokes at your side and chews at his strawberry gum. “you blocked me on everything.”

“i did.” you answer shortly, though your eyes never leave the professor. he cannot be that interesting, who actually gives a fuck about cognitive dissonance?

“seen this new bakery shop down the street.” he tries again. “wanted to take you but that was impossible because somebody blocked me.”

“i mean, you know where i live.” you shrug, writing whatever the fuck the professor had mentioned in your notebook. wait, what? you turn your head to see him gaping at you in confusion, and you smirk at his silence.

“cat got your tongue?” you quip, amused by his stillness. your eyes sparkle mischievously, though your smile isn’t entirely full. don’t tell him, you’ve been— “too bad it’s not mine, though.”

ohhh, you cheeky brat.

“so. . . you were never really mad at me?” gojo blinks, his mind running miles a second. nothing was adding up, he was positively certain you were cutting ties with him. “this whole time. you weren’t mad about the pussy eating comment?”

“don’t get it twisted,” you raise a brow, crossing your arms over your chest. you lift a finger in the air before pointing at him, “you,” and then pointing at yourself “and i are done. we can still be cool but i’m not wasting my time with no bitch—respectfully.”

“so you are mad?” he asks again, disregarding the bitch comment. he knows what he’s supposed to say— to clarify the situation, to make it known that it’s not like he’s repulsed by the idea of giving head— but you make it so hard to stay on track when you’re acting defiant.

suguru was right— he does love a challenge.

“mad?” you giggle, and gojo leans back in his seat. damn, you’re confusing. stone cold one minute but all giggly the next. it’s cool, he’ll figure you out. “i ain’t trippin’ baby— if you don’t wanna eat it then don’t. another man definitely will.”

huh, “oh?” his eyes narrow just slightly, though the smirk on his lips never falter. he ignores the way his stomach just dropped to his ass at your implication— there is no way in hell is he letting another man have you. not when he’s still alive and breathing. “if you think i’m letting that happen, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“everything seems to be coming but me,” you bat your lashes, and damn he fell right into that one. you drop your pen down, giving him one last smile before redirecting your focus to the professor before you. “the real question is what do you plan on doing ‘bout that?”

you give him no time to respond, and it’s not like he thinks he would be able to, as you begin to pack your belongings into your tote bag. you’re leaving and he barely got to say what he’d been memorizing all weekend. oh well, at least he now knows you haven’t entirely cut him off.

if he doesn’t knows better, it feels like you want him to chase after you.

god, he thinks he’s in love.

☆ ☆

gojo satoru is amazing at everything. there truly isn’t something he can do that won’t come out spectacular. he’s gifted, that he knows much, and it’s difficult to stay humble when he’s constantly reminded of so.

“i can easily do this shit.” he mumbles to himself, cerulean eyes narrowing into focus at the bright lit screen of his ipad. his airpods are in, and he’s gonna be completely honest— the pornstar’s screaming is starting to get on his nerve. however, he’s always been an exceptional student and when it’s time to lock in, it’s time to lock in.

his legs feel as though they’ve fallen asleep in the criss-cross position he’s been sat in on his bed for the past two hours. irrelevant, he decides as he picks at his bottom lip with his fingers. his device is running hot with how long it’s been since it last caught a break, but he had bigger issues to worry about. so, basically all he has to do is spread open her lips and go to town until she squirts? sounds simple enough.

he watches as the guy begins motorboating into the girl’s pussy and— “damn, that looks like it hurts.” a grimace creeps onto his face as the guy repeatedly goes ham on swollen red lips. he’s got half a mind telling him that the moans the girl’s letting out are entirely out of agony and not pleasure.

“aaaalrighty,” gojo speaks up, though to himself. “next video, that shit was ass. pussy hurts just thinkin’ bout it, eugh.”

he finds an amateur video, and the thumbnail seemed intimate enough. after an agonizing ad of ‘want a quick break from the ads?’, the video begins. the upper half of the woman’s body is cut out of frame, but she’s laid onto her side, her backside in view. her top leg lifted just slightly, the man lays on his stomach and spreads them apart further and begins to lick.

he dives his tongue inside her cunt, not too sloppy, and gently works his way in. his thumb is caressing at her puckered forbidden zone, always gently, as his tongue glides up and down her labia.

gojo gulps. the girl makes soft sounds, hand coming down to play her the man’s hair, and he proceeds eat her out skillfully. her back arches, she whines and begs for more, and he never loses control. at some point, the hand that focused on her asshole moves up to grip at her cheeks, thus spreading her pussy lips further. she’s already wet from a mixture of fluids, and the sound it creates is so damn obscene.

gojo gulps again, and his sweats feel tight.

before his mind can even allow it, he’s thinking of you. he thinks of you on your side, legs spread open for his disposition as he brings you this same pleasure. as he lays himself on his stomach, munching at your pussy in ways that’ll have you squirming all over his bed, squeezing your plush thighs around his head and begging for him to give you more.

he thinks of how good you’d smell— how good you’d taste. he thinks of how nice you smell whenever you wrap your arms around his neck and he follows suit around your waist. he thinks of how sweet your lips taste when you’re straddling his thighs and slipping your tongue in his mouth.

pheromones are a crazy thing. your scent lingering in his car alone drives him insane. he’s so prone to boners around you, it’s like he’s a dog you’ve trained.

and now he’s thinking he wants you in this very bed at this very instance, ipad be damned, pussy spread open so he can feast. so he can relish the sounds you make as you call out his name, enamoured by the way his tongue would flick at your clit and break open that dam of water right onto his face.

“shit.” he chucks his ipad onto the floor, cradling his head into the palms of his hands. how had he not ever wanted to do this before?

☆ ☆

he doesn’t expect you to pick up. it’s far past two in the morning on a thursday night, and he’s missing you. badly. he misses you and your sweet smile. he misses you and your smart mouth. he misses you and the way your lips move so fluidly against his own, as if they were made for one another.

he really doesn’t expect you to pick up.

it’s around the fifth ring that he hears your honeyed voice, “hi.” his eyes widen as he sits up from his bed in a hurry. talk about a damn surprise.

“hey.” he says back lamely, because of course he does. he feels the corner of his lips tugging into a smile and his heart is beating wildly against his rib cage. “didn’t think you’d answer.”

“mhm. so what’d you call me for?” you sound tired, and he wonders if you’d been sleeping when he called. somehow, the thought makes his stomach churn at the implication you cut off hours of sleep for him.

“just wanted to hear your voice.” gojo answers as honestly as he can, leaning down to rest his back back into the mattress of his bed. he shuts his eyes and imagines his arm falling asleep underneath your head, using him as a pillow. “been missin’ you.”

“you literally see me every other day at school,” he’s graced with the harmonious sounds of your giggles, and he can already picture the way your shoulders shake as dimples curve into your cheeks. “y’re so fuckin’ clingy.”

he supposes he is, can’t even find it in him to disagree. you’ve been plaguing his mind since you cut him off (question mark) last week. he wasn’t sure what kind of ban you were putting on him, but he’s been tiptoeing around his relationship with you for too long. the absence of your presence in the way he craves is driving him nuts. he misses you, damn it.

a longing sigh rips from his throat, “can’t help that i miss that ass,” he jokes instead because talking about feelings and vulnerability is wrong. “you still owe me a goodbye kiss, y’know? just left a poor guy hangin’, rude.”

“hmm,” you hum lazily and he isn’t sure what to expect. he’s just talking out of his ass, wants to restore that playful banter you guys had prior to this whole pussy eating mess— which he’d gladly now get on his knees and rock your fucking world. “like i said already, you know where i live.”

“you got one more time to say that before i show up at your doorstep for real,” gojo tests the waters, and swings his legs off his bed. he’s waiting for a sign, confirmation, anything to ensure you were being serious. late night be damned, he will show up to your door and flip your shit right then and there.

“the fuck i gotta repeat myself for?” you sigh, and gojo’s slipping his shoes on. he’s wasting no more time, he wants you right now. “if you really missed me you would have been come see me. you’re all talk.”

“so when i yell at your doorstep to lemme eat it, don’t start lookin’ at me crazy—i’m warning ya.” and with that he hangs up. he’s not leaving any more room for debates, enough’s enough. and shit, when the fuck had he gotten bricked?

he grabs his keys and slams his door close.

☆ ☆

you’re looking at him like he grew an extra head on his shoulders overnight. he’s looking at you like the tee you have on your body decimated his entire bloodline. there’s a heavy silence between you both, as if either one of you are expecting the other to make the first move.

“you actually came.” you blink in mild shock, neck craning up to look him dead in the eye. he’s panting heavily, he might’ve ran here the second he could, but how could he not have?

“enough games, baby.” gojo answers instead and takes a step into your apartment. you back up in retaliation, and he takes another close step. you stay still this time. his hands sneak below the hem of your shirt and slide up to your bare waist, grabbing onto the plush flesh. you feel jolts of electricity imbedded into your skin with every lingering touch. “lemme eat it, come on. please?”

“oh?” you cock an eyebrow, raising a hand to press your palm flat against the plane of his chest. you feel his heartbeat thudding wildly. “and here i thought you were too good to stoop as low as giving women head.”

gojo clicks his tongue and tightens his hold on you. “i never said that.”

“you basically did.” you bite back, tilting your head to the side. you see his nostrils flare a bit, “or does that rule apply with just me?”

“if it did, would i be here at three in the morning begging to eat your pussy?” gojo rolls his eyes. you open your mouth but snap it back shut and gojo decides you conceded. he lifts you from the ground and places you on his shoulder, ignoring your ‘put me down!’ and opts to shut you up with a firm slap on your ass.

your cheeks jiggle from the impact, and his dick twitches in his briefs. as he suspected, you’ve got no bottoms on— just a cute pair of pink lace panties he wants to tear apart with his teeth. animalistic is what you make him.

“so. . . which one is your room?” he finds himself in the corridor, arm wrapped around the back of your knees. you fall limp in his hold, defeatedly as your arm lifts to point at the door at the end of the hall. he smirks and rubs at your booty, “atta girl. look at ya bein’ all obedient and shit.”

“shut up.” you huff, and he would bet a million dollars you’ve got that adorable pout on your lips. the one you make whenever you don’t get something done the way you planned.

your bedroom is everything he expected from you, fits your personality just about right. but—respectfully, fuck your bedroom. he’s got bigger issues to address, and that can only be done with your panties on the floor and a mouth full of your cunt. his dick is twitching uncontrollably at the thought of it alone.

“if you drop me on this bed, i swear i’m gonna kill you.” tilting your head, you warn him once he stands next to the edge of your bed frame. though a moot point, because if you know gojo as well as you think you do, you’re about to meet your duvets face first.

“mhm, what was that?” cupping a hand behind his ear, he pretends innocence then proceeds to do exactly what you warned him not to do. him and his long ass limbs, manhandling you all over the damn place as if its in his birthright. and no, it does not make your cunt clench, despite your thighs rubbing one against another. “sorry shortie, think i missed what you said.”

when you’re finally able to gain composure, you sit up on your elbows and furrow your brows in the nastiest scowl you can muster. he stands right above you, his frame so large it both annoys and turns you on. “gojo, you stupid fucking—”

you want to slap the smile off his face. “yeah, yeah.” he cuts you off, before leaning down to hover over you. his arms are pinned at your side, upper body pressing against yours. you feel the weight of his hips pressing into your legs, and so you widen the space. he fits in just as perfectly as you’d imagined he would. the tip of his nose brushes yours, biceps flexing in your peripherals. you feel his breath fanning at your cupid’s bow, warm yet it leaves shivers creeping at your spine.

“think you owe me somethin’, princess.” his voice comes out in a low growl, from the depths of his chest. his presence is so dominating— his bulge pressed right up against your aching cunt, the feel of his heartbeat right against yours. it all feels dizzying, the scent of his cologne filling up your nostrils and clouding any better sense of judgement.

he’s teasing you— leans in, brushes his soft lips against yours and watches as you lean forward to capture them but pulls away just in nick of time. he loves every one of your facial expressions, especially that adorable scowl of yours. he can’t wait to see the faces you make when you’re in absolute bliss.

he tilts his head just slightly, practically mouthing the words into your parted mouth. and with a low chuckle, he speaks, “if you want it, take it.”

you might’ve folded first, but he kisses you back just as eagerly, lips moulding into one another. you feel him sigh into your mouth, as if you’d relieved him of all stresses weighing on his shoulders. you lift a hand to cup at the back of his neck, fingernails scratching at the undercut at his nape.

gojo shudders beneath your touch, rolling his hips deeper into yours and relishes in the way you moan softly into his mouth. he wants to drink up every single sound you make, wants to discover your body’s sensitive spots and maneuver them into making a mess out of you.

your neck soon begins to ache, and almost as if he can read your mind, pushing deeper into you as you fall back onto your bed. he never takes his lips off of yours— not when the hold in his hair lowers in favour to grip at his biceps or stroke his back, not even when your legs wrap tightly at his waist. at a particular grind, you moan louder than any other sound you’d made all night, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“gojo,” you whine into his mouth, fingers clawing at his compression tee. he continues to roll his bulge into your clothed cunt, aiming at that spot that has you arching your back off the bed and into him. he grips a hand tightly at your plush thigh, his hold so hard you’re certain he’ll leave bruises. “you said y-you’d eat it. be a man of your, ngh, word.”

“yeah, that’s right,” he pulls away finally, a thin string of saliva connecting both your lips. he pecks at your kiss bitten lips, the dazed look in your eyes igniting a fire deep in his gut. “gotta keep my promise— can’t keep my baby waitin’ too long,” you feel his lips trail from the corner of your lips to the slope of your jaw, “she gets all cranky an’ pissy.” from the column on your neck to your collarbone, “starts gettin’ all mean with me.”

“oh my gosh, shut up!” you complain, though your hold on him tightens. you feel the vibrations of his chuckles at your jugular, followed by a deep plunge on his teeth at the thin layer of skin and another agonizingly slow grind against your clit. “fuckin’— shit— hurry up already!”

“tsk, see what i mean?” gojo tuts, hands sliding down the curves at your torso. you feel his large fingers play with the material of your panties, rolling the lace between forefingers. the contrast of the coolness of his rings against your heated skin adds a strange stimulation to your senses. “so mouthy, ‘m gonna have to do somethin’ about that.”

“i’m mouthy?” you squawk, watching as he lifts your tee up from your body. he taps wordlessly at your waist and you understand to remove the article of clothing. you chuck the tee across the room, before redirecting your focus on the man peppering wet kisses all over your stomach. it leaves butterflies rattling inside. “you literally cannot shut the fuck up— what’s the hold up? awe, don’t tell me you can’t walk the talk?”

he pauses for a bit. he doesn’t let himself fall bait for your words. you’re just being bratty— all hot and bothered and can’t properly ask for what you need. you don’t have to worry, he’s here entirely for your pleasure. he isn’t even thinking about the way his cock throbs painfully in his boxers, doesn’t even attempt to relieve it at all.

and so, he kneels at the edge of the bed. with two large hands cupping at your hips, he pulls you closer to him and rests your thighs on his shoulders. he watches as your chest rises up and down, and you prop yourself back onto your elbows.

your eyes are misty, your lips swollen and wet, your hair a mess and your neck littered in marks that scream gojo. you already look fucked out and he hadn’t done shit. god, he can’t wait to stuff his face between your thighs.

“i got you baby,” he drags his index finger right in the center of your cunt. he can both feel and see the material dampen with your arousal, your hips squirming as you chase for more. he licks his lips as he narrows in on the treasure, he swears he hears his stomach growling. “promise i do. just relax for me, yeah?”

“whatever.” you mumble, and comply to his order. he calls you a good girl, before stroking at your clit some more. the reactions you give will forever be imprinted in his mind, fleeting touches already granting him the opportunity to hear your delicate voice once more. you may be impatient but gojo is worse, and he decides that he wants to see your cunt now. he pushes your panties to the side, and the sight he’s rewarded with nearly— nearly, had him cumming right on two knees.

gojo gulps. “holy shit,” he feels his voice waver in excitement, eyes widened as he stares dead on. your cunt clenches around nothing from the switch of temperature, oozing more of your arousal down to your sheets. your pussy lips are puffy, clit sitting atop so prettily and damn, he wants to hump something.

he isn’t sure why but you try to close your thighs together, rude much, though gojo is much stronger. he keeps them spread wide, and shoots you a look. “do not.”

“tsk.” you click your tongue, looking away. and, oh, are you shy? “stop staring, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

he’s too far enamoured by the slick dribbling from your tiny hole down the crack of your ass. it trickles so tauntingly, that he finds himself nearly jealous. he wishes he could be there— oh wait, “just appreciatin’ my meal before i eat, sue me.”

the pad of his thumb collects your juices before popping it into his mouth. “wow,” he mumbles, more so to himself, at your taste bursting onto his taste buds. it’s so undoubtedly you, a raw and truthful you, and he gives you no warning before diving right in.

“fuckkk,” you throw your head back, hand flying to grab at the nearest thing in your vicinity— which so happens to be tousled, fluffy hair.

so, first time for everything right? but gojo maneuvers his way into your pussy as if he’d done this before. he starts off with kitten licks, teasing you some more before flattening his tongue and dragging it up and down your lips. he swallows and moans into your cunt, fingers digging deep into the back of your thighs.

he’s practically making out with your pussy. he doesn’t neglect any area, not even the clit surprisingly, as he latches his lips to the bundle of nerves and lightly nibbles. now that has your back arching and pushing his head deeper into you. if there was a way to go in life, he’d gladly take this death.

he’s so painfully hard it hurts, unable to control the way his hips grind against the bed frame. your scent is driving him feral, the way you tug on his hair harshly has his balls tightening and the way you cry out his name makes him want to imprint his name inside of you.

“s-satoru!” oh god, you’ve done it. you finally said his first name and he’s this close to painting his briefs white in shame. he continues to flick his tongue inside your hole and similar strokes to his humping. “you’re doin’ s’gooddd baby, shit!”

keep praising him and he’s gonna bust. he lifts himself away from your pussy, eyeing the gooey center almost offensively, “why the fuck do you taste so good?” he lands a wad of spit down, as he brings two digits to properly rub his saliva into your essence. the sounds it produces are so wet, it’s damn near filthy. he clicks his tongue, “seriously. ‘s makin’ me mad almost.” he slaps at your cunt twice, watching how your spray down his wrist.

“you s-sure this is your first, hnng, time?” you accuse, to the best of your abilities, as you feel him slip a finger in. you’re so lubricated, the slip inside was easy. pushing past that first ring of muscle, he’s pumping in and out of your cunt with precision, curling his digit as if he’s aiming to find a specific area. “y’know too much— mmph, fuckin’ liar.”

when he thrusts into a specific angle, your thighs tremble terribly around his head. he smirks, found it. “watched a lotta porn.” and he isn’t lying, he thinks back to how he studied the arts of cunningulus, and recalls the double combo. he has to try it, so he’s back to sucking and nibbling at your clit while adding an extra finger inside.

“oh my goddd,” you whine, feeling your limbs liquify in heat from every extremity. he pushes your knee further into your chest, and so you grab ahold of both your thighs. he hums approvingly, dragging his free hand along the soft skin of your legs. “don’t— don’t stop, please don’t stop,”

your toes are curled, back off the mattress and the pain in his scalp is shooting straight down to his cock. he’s rutting and rutting into the wooden frame, the flat surface painfully teasing though it does do the job. or maybe he has you to blame.

he feels saliva dripping down his chin, the way his tongue slides into your folds and feels his knuckles in there. his fingers move in scissoring motions, rotating circles, in and out— all the while repeatedly attacking your golden spot.

you severely underestimated him, and can barely process the orgasm that rips through you when he presses a hand onto your lower belly, “‘m cumming, fuck, ngh, don’t stop—” and you wail, fingernails clawing intensely into his tresses, torn between pushing him away and pulling him in closer. he decides to make that decision for you, stuffing himself as deep as possible to not miss a single drop, and your thighs clench against his ears.

so, gojo satoru is a shameless man. as you flood into his mouth and onto his face, grinding out your orgasm and using him as nothing but a toy for your own high— somewhere along the lines, he feels his briefs are sticky. he moans sluttily into your pussy, hips twitching incessantly as his cock shoots loads of nut into his boxers.

it feels like an eternity yet simultaneously a second when you’ve come down from your high, body twitching as gojo slows down his movements, his finger pumps gradually lessening in intensity and the kitten licks on your abused clit coming to a halt.

his face is soaked. his skin feels moist and damp, a thick air of humidity beginning to grow in the room, but he genuinely couldn’t care less. his eyes are stuck on you, limbs sprawled out limply against your bed, your chest heaving, tiny breaths coming out of your mouth.

he slides out his aching fingers, and pops them back in his mouth, tongue wrapping around his digits so eagerly, basking in your taste once more. absolutely divine,

“christ, i’d make a nasty pornstar.”

gojo won the poll. . . everybody act surprised (°_°)

[browngurl99]

Summary:

Maki was questioning her decisions. She acted too fast when things like this crossed her mind, without a second time. She was also scared which she did not like to admit that often. But who could blame her for fearing when she was about to meet one of the most powerful jujutsu sorcerers? That too with nothing but a wooden sword for self-defense.

OR: How Maki met The Gojo Satoru and Became a student at Jujutsu Tokyo High

[seiwas]

ari i'm going to share some of my favourite lines from this but i apologise in advance if i end up copy pasting like 80% of the things you wrote 😭 i had so much to say with each passing paragraph i swear

ari your writing in this is impeccable, the vivid imagery you inject into it all. you go from specific to broad and it's so... how... like your brain!! i swear!!

the colour red flooding his subconscious. that cold, cold sensation — a jarring shift, chilling and ruthless, going from everything to nothing. tiptoeing the line between life and death. 

another thing i noticed about your writing is that you use a symbolism and carry it through as a theme to the rest of the sentence and that's!! also!! just so big brain... it's so beautiful and so so satisfying when you catch it

clinging to the weak flutter of his heart, a dying butterfly. clawing his way up to the skies.

now on to...everything else. honestly ari i don't think i've seen a lot of fics recounting this moment of gojo specifically (or maybe i just avoid it because it makes me sad) but for some reason, the way you've written this doesn't make it sad at all. the sky motif you weave through gojo's dying moments is peaceful if anything and i like the message that that conveys, that dying for gojo isn't scary, it isn't bad, it's... peaceful and maybe even comforting in all the blue that he sees.

gojo doesn’t think he has it in him to feel fear, anymore.

when you say that line i think about the many reasons for it: how maybe being the strongest makes him that way, or maybe just that he's become a bit desensitised to it all.

then you bring us to the airport. the afterlife. another place i haven't really seen other fics explore yet, and you tie everything so neatly, so beautifully.

gojo feels young, too, he realizes — the weight on his shoulders a little less heavy, the familiar black of his sunglasses obscuring his vision. but he can still see the flicker of suguru’s cursed energy clear as day. as if he never left.

feigning a mild displeasure, gojo makes a face. he hears himself speak, but his mind and six eyes continue to spin in circles, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. trying to make it understandable, figure out what’s going on. 

your introduction of suguru will always ache for me. the callback to his six eyes and how it will never comprehend how real suguru feels despite him being gone—like a part of him will always live so long as satoru exists, wherever he goes.

suguru is there, right next to him, and he’s speaking. breathing. like something out of a dream, the kind that always haunts gojo in his sleep.

another thing i truly admire about your writing is your characterisation, not just through dialogue and descriptions but also through actions. you get them so well, it's crazy. the mannerisms and interactions you write for them are insanely accurate (at least to me) and i can truly see satoru and suguru (and anyone else) doing or saying whatever it is you make them do or say.

the white haired boy stretches his limbs out and huffs, pretending the sight in front of him doesn't send a tremor running through his very soul.

but what i love most about all this, is your take on satoru. you touch on so many parts of him that i love exploring and adoring, one of them being the things he values—what truly makes him happy? if he could live a life made from his own decisions, what would it look like?

the sight in front of his eyes is perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect. a glimmer of spring, one he never quite managed to forget. a vibrant flicker of blue, one he thought he’d lost forever.

...

with a sigh, gojo stretches idly, smiling a little to himself. his joints don’t ache, his head isn’t buzzing with fatigue, and his heart feels lighter than it's been in recent memory. 

“now i’m hoping this isn’t a dream,” he hears himself mutter, allowing his eyes to flutter shut at last. he can still see suguru’s cursed energy, and everyone else’s. he isn’t alone. what a nice thought. 

i think it's so nice that you've given him this moment of rest, even when we know it won't last. the way you've dug deep into him to reach for the parts that humanise him—that allow him to want things for himself.

and i love this line:

him, and suguru, in the corner of an airport too precious for words. that one decisive slice of heaven. 

that one decisive slice of heaven is such a pretty line, ari. the ache i felt in this line was the perfect preview to the heartwrenching yet heartwarming dialogue that ensued between suguru and satoru.

however you crafted this dialogue between them, the set-up, the scene building, the conversation itself—i was completely immersed, ari, i had to remind myself that this isn't canon (though i hope it could be). there are so many layers to it and so many reasons why i love it (that i'll try to explain as i go on but just know that i don't think anything can fully capture what i felt reading it).

i like the role you've established for suguru in satoru's life—almost like his voice of reason, maybe even a moral compass; and you emphasise it so much in lines like this:

suguru opens his mouth, and speaks, and his voice has a finality to it that fills gojo with a mellow kind of dread. 

as if suguru is the bearer of bad news because he's the only one who can deliver it gently; in a way that will make satoru listen. i like how you make him firm yet kind, doing what's necessary but in ways that aren't cruel (like ripping the band-aid off for satoru).

“they’re no match for him,” he continues, unperturbed. “all of them are going to die. every single one.”

suguru leans back in his chair, still looking straight into gojo’s eyes. seeing through him, gaze filled with a certain sharpness. a little cruel, but there’s a kindness there, too. as if he’s simply ripping the band-aid off, trying to make it as painless as possible. 

...

“.. damn,” he grins, weakly. leaning back in his chair, slumping against the soft leather. “couldn’t you have kept indulging me for just a bit longer?”

suguru smiles. a soft thing, in the flicker of the light. a little too good to be true. “sorry,” he chimes. “but the plane is leaving soon.”

and the banter you included in their conversation was amazing ari, i really felt the fondness they have for eachother through it. the held back smiles, the playful bickering, how much suguru believes in satoru and knows him, to a point that i think might even be better than how he knows himself.

”haah.” a heavy exhale, fatigued. gojo slumps even further into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. ”oh, gimme a break. and here i thought i could finally relax for once.”

a chuckle flows from suguru’s lips, amused. ”you aren’t the type to go down like that,” he murmurs. ”c’mon, satoru. there are still things you need to do.”

”how?” gojo scoffs. ”i’m split in half. and i’m too exhausted to use my reverse cursed technique.”

”eh,” suguru shrugs. ”you’ll manage.”

gojo shoots him a dubious look. ”you’re acting like it’s a papercut,” he huffs, crossing his arms. ”my guts are on the fuckin’ pavement.”

”oh, quit your complaining already," suguru rolls his eyes, and shoots him an accusatory glance. "i died with a hole through my chest. at least your heart is still intact.”

the white haired boy gapes at him, offended. ”i wanted to make it painless for you!”

”well, it hurt like a bitch. so thanks for that.”

gojo pouts, fighting back a smile. he thinks suguru must be doing the same. and it’s juvenile, a little twisted — but then again, weren’t they always?

suguru cocks his head. beckoning gojo into taking action. ”you’ve still got some fight left in you,” he says, and there’s a fondness to it. ”you always do.”

...

”get up, satoru.”

there's also a line i really liked because i found it so pretty: placebos; memories ghosting his subconscious. & the way you used symbolism again to carry through a sentence: the words taste salty, on his tongue. an ocean breeze. a whisper. ”we could just stay like this.”

another thing i really liked was how you included a lil bit of the whole god theme when it comes to him. not that he has a complex, but more of the flipside of it—how do you make a god human? and i love exploring that about him. when you talk about that gap, and the solitude that comes with it. you write his yearning for love, for connection without fully saying it and i love it ari! i love seeing gojo through a lens that he can truly never escape wanting very human things.

”you want me to go back,” he hears himself say, somewhat bitter. ”you want me to go back, and then what? there’s nothing i can do. i’m not the strongest, anymore.”

...

”there’s always been a gap between you and everyone else. that’s what you said, before. aren’t you tired of it?”

gojo closes his eyes.

that’s right. that aching gap. the solitude that comes with absolute strength — a weight he’s borne all his life. doomed never to connect with others, never to be understood. doomed to always live in the sky, far away from the earth and the ocean.

...

suguru’s voice fills his mind. the flicker of his cursed energy is gentle, like an ocean wave rolling in right before the sun sets. ”you said it yourself, satoru.” gojo can hear the smile in his voice. ”you love everyone.”

love. it always comes down to that, doesn't it? the greatest curse of them all.

(but he could never bring himself to fully throw it away.)

you also manage to say the unsaid, that i think maybe a lot of us might feel when it comes to gojo. that even he knows himself. i think he really is so important that no matter how unfortunate it may seem to drag him away from this rest, people still need him. and it speaks so much to who he is that he still chooses to be that person; that he still heeds that call even when he might not want to anymore.

not just that — the world itself is waiting on him. waiting for him to pass on, so it can crumble away. waiting for him to make it, so he can stitch it back together. 

and you deliver this absolutely heart-crushing line that cements how important suguru is to satoru, like i mentioned, the only person he might listen to:

”i’ll listen to you,” he elaborates, tapping the edge of his chair, absentmindedly. eyes shining with a glimmer of something tender. ”so… it has to be you.”

serious scenes with satoru are tricky, i feel, because his character is naturally a lot joyful and teasing, a bit annoying and playful, but you manage to balance it so well while still retaining the kind of humor he does. you have such a skill, ari, really!! i'm stuck in awe!!

”so much for finally getting a vacation,” he huffs, frowning as he casts a jealous glance at his best friend. ”you dead people have it easy, you know that?”

suguru’s still smiling, but he’s not getting up from his seat. the pa system sounds, again. a little louder this time.

suguru stays right where he is. young, dead. smiling. the same smile he wore when gojo killed him, framed by the setting sun. the same kind of sunset that’s beginning to form outside the translucent windows of the airport, nostalgic and sweet, dyeing the clouds in a soft pinkish hue.

i also love the little changes in their physicalities!! what that represents to the passing of the scene!! and i think it's so healing to see them interact this way knowing full well that we didn't get to see that in the manga (suguru being kenjaku and everything).

over his shoulder, he looks back at suguru. the boy has a hand raised, and his grin is playful, brimming with warmth. except he’s no longer a boy — now he’s wearing traditional robes, hair much longer, face a little more hardened. but that grin is still the same as ever. gojo thinks he looks almost proud.

”go get ’em, satoru.”

gojo blinks.

the grin that breaks out across his lips, then, is wide. bright, brimming with youth, lighting up every corner of his face. almost overwhelmingly sweet. it envelops his very being, as he stands there, clad in his black compression shirt and baggy pants. hair a little less messy than it was in high school, face a little more hardened — but he hopes his grin, at least, looks the same as ever.

and then!! you add this little reference too: ”—, — —.” + the literary and real world tales that you parallel to akin his story to a legend, or a tragic hero. ugh! i love it: (buddha left the royal life behind him at 29 years of age, he recalls. and then he sought out enlightenment.)

and this line:

twelve years of living in the sky, and now his feet meet the ground, at last.

i love it so much because it ties in his story so beautifully. your take on what could happen is honestly so cool and so big-brained to me—a binding vow. like. wow. taking away what is most valuable to become the most powerful, just for this moment, and to bring him back down from all of it.

a part of me wonders if this is punishment or a reward, and i think that's what makes your storytelling so wonderful, ari! leaving room for the double-meaning of it, just ugh! perfection.

thank you so much for writing this ari, it was truly. truly. beautiful.

oh my destiny, how far you have sprung now ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru gojo chooses north.

word count; 5.2k

contents; satoru gojo, canon divergence, HEAVY jjk spoilers (for chapter 236!! but also kinda 237), fix-it fic, me coping w/ the manga for 5k words straight, canon-typical violence and death, implied stsg, probably non-canon compliant use of binding vows (but do i care? no), gojo satoru lives.

a/n; yeaaa this is literally just me coping <3 needed to write this for my mental health. he’s fine guys trust me

the experience is not altogether unfamiliar, on its own.

he’s felt it before. even now, he can still vividly recall it; a girl he failed to protect, a boy he failed to save. a man with a scar on his bottom lip.

that sickening numbness, as he lied in a pool of his own blood. sticking to his hair and tattered clothes, the colour red flooding his subconscious. that cold, cold sensation — a jarring shift, chilling and ruthless, going from everything to nothing. tiptoeing the line between life and death. 

emptiness. sinking deeper into the abyss, that all-enveloping darkness. that awful feeling of pure helplessness.

he could never forget it.

back then, though, gojo is certain he didn’t feel this way. all he could think about twelve years ago was survival — clinging to the weak flutter of his heart, a dying butterfly. clawing his way up to the skies. anything to escape that harrowing sensation, a kind of desperation all humans feel in the face of certain death, spurring him on. but now —

he almost welcomes it. nearly content in its approach. it should frighten him, but it doesn’t.

through half-lidded eyes, vision blurred by sweat and blood and dust, gojo watches the sky.

it's beautiful, he thinks. as beautiful as ever. peaceful, unchanging, soothing in an eerie kind of way. that clear blue, fading a little at the corners as his muddled mind grows just a little darker, a little more fatigued. he can barely gather the strength to keep his eyelids open. 

yet he keeps his gaze on that endless sky, as if it’s all he’s ever known.

with every passing second, the world grows just a little more blurry. pale dots spread around the corners of his vision, like grains of stardust in an ever-expanding cosmos, clouding his senses. there’s a buzzing in his head that won’t go away. everything looks as if it's spinning, and he can barely tell left from right, north from south. everything is growing darker, so fast that it’s alarming, and gojo can’t seem to even think clearly.

but he can still see that blue, blue sky. bluer than he ever remembers it being. even as snow begins to fall, descending upon shinjuku as if bidding him farewell. the sky takes on a gray hue, but that shade of blue is still all gojo can see, as he takes shallow breaths and half-heartedly attempts to remain conscious. willing himself not to give in just yet, choking on his own blood. 

and it's an odd feeling, really. one he never thought he'd meet again, but here it is, it's back — and it's all-consuming. beckoning him into a place he’s never been before. the unknown. 

it's not scary. gojo doesn’t think he has it in him to feel fear, anymore. but it's a strange sensation, as death kisses its way up his neck, sending shivers down his spine; as the numbness spreads, devouring him whole.

it’s unknown. thoroughly and wholly. and that unknown is overwhelming, all-encompassing, it’s all he can see before him, it's —

ah.

gojo takes a deep breath. the air burns his lungs.

everything's ending, isn't it?

it would be so easy. to simply close his eyes, let them flutter shut as that all-encompassing sensation takes him down to earth. to allow himself to simply rest, for a moment. wouldn’t that be nice?

it would be so easy.

gojo watches the sky. it's all he can do. 

the numbness keeps spreading throughout every cell of his body. he can barely feel the blood trickling down his chin, or the harsh bite of the winter cold, his skin buzzing with ache. he can't feel his arms or his legs, and he knows exactly why. everything in the world is closing in on him and god, he just feels so fucking tired.

ah. ah. more darkness. more numbness.

everything and nothing, all at once. slipping away into oblivion. the snow keeps falling but he can't see anything, can't hear anything, can't feel anything, anything at all.

nothing. nothing. less than nothing.

— and then, suddenly, an airport.

"yo."

gojo blinks.

a boy. a boy with black hair, tied into a small bun. a dead boy. his best friend.

suguru stands before him, and he looks exactly the same as gojo remembers. young, bright, with those awkward bangs still hanging over his face. grinning boyishly, and greeting him with youthful cheer. 

gojo feels young, too, he realizes — the weight on his shoulders a little less heavy, the familiar black of his sunglasses obscuring his vision. but he can still see the flicker of suguru’s cursed energy clear as day. as if he never left.

feigning a mild displeasure, gojo makes a face. he hears himself speak, but his mind and six eyes continue to spin in circles, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. trying to make it understandable, figure out what’s going on. 

but he doesn’t succeed. because it’s impossible to understand. and, really, that’s answer enough. 

huh.

so this is what the afterlife is like?

he inhales through his nose, basking in the clear air, and it doesn’t burn his lungs. his chest feels lighter than it’s been in years.

that seems a little too good to be true. 

"you’re kidding me. this sucks.”

suguru makes a kind of face like he’s pouting, plopping down in the seat right next to gojo’s. the white haired boy stretches his limbs out and huffs, pretending the sight in front of him doesn't send a tremor running through his very soul.

suguru continues to speak and gojo continues to listen, all while observing the scenery in front of him.

the airport looks familiar. through the glass windows he can see a glimmer of the blue sky, and a plane waiting to take flight into the clouds. the air smells of summer and jet fuel and new beginnings. it’s pleasantly cool, a light breeze caressing his skin and coaxing a hum from the confines of his throat. 

(he remembers this airport. remembers having his arms full of vending machine snacks, trailing after suguru as he dealt with all the annoying technicalities. amanai was there, too, watching a plane soar up into the sky with childlike wonder. a little anxious, as she boarded the plane to okinawa, and then back to tokyo.

her first and last flight.)

suguru is there, right next to him, and he’s speaking. breathing. like something out of a dream, the kind that always haunts gojo in his sleep.

he breathes in, and then out. 

suguru is there. and not just him – nanami and haibara are, too. all young, all dead. all somehow breathing; he sees them inhale and he sees them exhale. he hears them speak and it’s like nothing ever changed. 

they speak of regrets, of south and of north. nanami doesn’t seem to regret a single thing, and gojo is glad. even yaga is there, he notices belatedly. even amanai, and her maid, and a certain man with a scar on his bottom lip. everyone all together again.

the airport buzzes with warmth. nostalgia, as suguru’s laughter rings in his ears. and gojo grins, in tandem, bright and childlike. wallowing in the tender atmosphere. 

the sight in front of his eyes is perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect. a glimmer of spring, one he never quite managed to forget. a vibrant flicker of blue, one he thought he’d lost forever.

his one and only blue spring of youth, right in front of his all-seeing eyes.

a little too good to be true.

with a sigh, gojo stretches idly, smiling a little to himself. his joints don’t ache, his head isn’t buzzing with fatigue, and his heart feels lighter than it's been in recent memory. 

“now i’m hoping this isn’t a dream,” he hears himself mutter, allowing his eyes to flutter shut at last. he can still see suguru’s cursed energy, and everyone else’s. he isn’t alone. what a nice thought. 

and it’s strange, gojo thinks. it really is. he’s dead. sukuna killed him. he’s dead, his remains are lying somewhere in the streets of shinjuku, and that should bother him. he should be punching the floor and screaming, cursing sukuna’s name with every fiber of his being — it should frighten him, the realization that everything has ended.

but it doesn’t. 

gojo isn’t afraid. and he isn’t upset, either. he bears no grudge against anyone, just like that day twelve years ago.

he’s with suguru, now, and his juniors. his old teacher. the people he cares for are with him, and the airport smells so nice. everyone is young, and happy, and none of them will ever have to kill or be killed again. 

calling it anything less than heaven would be doing it a disservice. 

gojo smiles, exhaling a relieved breath. one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding til now, stuck in the back of his throat for the past decade. a tiny thought makes it to the forefront of his brain, like a spring breeze flitting in through an open window.

like this, he thinks, i could die with no regrets.

“— except that’s not true.” a voice proclaims. “is it?”

gojo opens his eyes.

suguru looks at him. everything goes silent. everyone else has already gone blurry, a little faded, as if they aren’t what’s really important. as if the entire world has narrowed down to just this; him, and suguru, in the corner of an airport too precious for words. that one decisive slice of heaven. 

suguru opens his mouth, and speaks, and his voice has a finality to it that fills gojo with a mellow kind of dread. 

they look into each other’s eyes, and both know what’s coming.

“the students are outclassed.” suguru rests his chin on the heel of his palm. ”you said it yourself — sukuna wasn’t giving it his all when he fought you. he still has more than a couple cards up his sleeve, doesn’t he? like his incarnation.”

gojo listens to suguru speak, not saying a word.

“they’re no match for him,” he continues, unperturbed. “all of them are going to die. every single one.”

suguru leans back in his chair, still looking straight into gojo’s eyes. seeing through him, gaze filled with a certain sharpness. a little cruel, but there’s a kindness there, too. as if he’s simply ripping the band-aid off, trying to make it as painless as possible. 

he clicks his tongue.

“and you still haven’t buried my body, either.”

a moment passes. then two.

gojo smiles to himself, rueful. a little saddened. 

“.. damn,” he grins, weakly. leaning back in his chair, slumping against the soft leather. “couldn’t you have kept indulging me for just a bit longer?”

suguru smiles. a soft thing, in the flicker of the light. a little too good to be true. “sorry,” he chimes. “but the plane is leaving soon.”

as if on cue, the pa system sounds.

flight to okinawa; departing in nineteen minutes.

“it hasn’t left, yet,” suguru hums, and it sounds like an inevitability. ringing in gojo’s ears. “you know what that means, don’t you?”

he does. he does, but it still hurts. gojo looks into suguru’s eyes, and sees himself reflected in them — young, transparent. blue. fading, but not quite faded. not quite dead.

and maybe it’s to be expected. maybe he was just trying to delude himself into believing the alternative, into believing that an afterlife as sweet as this could really be waiting for him. maybe it was naive, a childish fantasy. 

but still —

”haah.” a heavy exhale, fatigued. gojo slumps even further into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. ”oh, gimme a break. and here i thought i could finally relax for once.”

a chuckle flows from suguru’s lips, amused. ”you aren’t the type to go down like that,” he murmurs. ”c’mon, satoru. there are still things you need to do.”

”how?” gojo scoffs. ”i’m split in half. and i’m too exhausted to use my reverse cursed technique.”

”eh,” suguru shrugs. ”you’ll manage.”

gojo shoots him a dubious look. ”you’re acting like it’s a papercut,” he huffs, crossing his arms. ”my guts are on the fuckin’ pavement.”

”oh, quit your complaining already," suguru rolls his eyes, and shoots him an accusatory glance. "i died with a hole through my chest. at least your heart is still intact.”

the white haired boy gapes at him, offended. ”i wanted to make it painless for you!”

”well, it hurt like a bitch. so thanks for that.”

gojo pouts, fighting back a smile. he thinks suguru must be doing the same. and it’s juvenile, a little twisted — but then again, weren’t they always?

suguru cocks his head. beckoning gojo into taking action. ”you’ve still got some fight left in you,” he says, and there’s a fondness to it. ”you always do.”

”get up, satoru.”

silence. unbroken, unperturbed. if he focuses enough, he thinks he can hear the distant buzzing of cicadas, the crinkling of soda cans. the whistling of the wind. placebos; memories ghosting his subconscious. 

it’s quiet, for a while. gojo stares into space, blinking slowly. then he parts his lips.

”suguru.”

the boy in question turns towards him. but gojo looks up, instead — eyes set on the roof, like he’s trying to see beyond it. into the comfort of the blue sky. 

suguru hums, a cue for him to follow. and gojo closes his eyes.

”i think… i might be tired.”

silence. no one says a thing.

”i think i’d prefer to stay here,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. tapping his fingers on his knee. ”in the past, like this.”

the scent of jet fuel and summer lies heavy in the air. gojo inhales it, greedy. as if savouring it. trying to make it a part of his being, filling his lungs with sweet nostalgia so it never goes away.

”we could just stay here. together,” he muses, barely above a whisper. there’s a kind of longing to the tilt of his voice, something soft. ”couldn’t we? never moving forward, or back.”

the words taste salty, on his tongue. an ocean breeze. a whisper. ”we could just stay like this.”

suguru’s gaze trails from satoru, down to his lap. his bangs follow the slow movement, silky strands falling over his eye. the chuckle that drifts from his lips doesn’t have much humour to it. 

”haha… you’ve never been the type to stay in one place for too long, satoru.”

gojo clenches his fist.

”you want me to go back,” he hears himself say, somewhat bitter. ”you want me to go back, and then what? there’s nothing i can do. i’m not the strongest, anymore.”

”you are.” suguru’s voice is firm, decisive. ”you can still win. you know exactly what you need to do. there’s only one way to get out of this.”

gojo sighs. one hand in his hair, tousling it. mildly frustrated. ”… it’s risky.”

”you’re bleeding out.”

”if i do this — i won’t ever be the same.” gojo turns to look at suguru. ”i sure as hell won’t be the strongest, anymore.”

”and would that be such a bad thing?”

silence. the two boys look at each other — one dead and one half-alive, both connected to the other. for eternity. suguru’s eyes are full of understanding, as they look into the blue of satoru’s. 

”there’s always been a gap between you and everyone else. that’s what you said, before. aren’t you tired of it?”

gojo closes his eyes.

that’s right. that aching gap. the solitude that comes with absolute strength — a weight he’s borne all his life. doomed never to connect with others, never to be understood. doomed to always live in the sky, far away from the earth and the ocean.

the title of the strongest. a cross he alone had to bear.

(did he ever really want it? or was he just resigned to it, conditioned from the very beginning?)

the feeling of isolation that’s been haunting him for decades seeps into his skin. the cruel knowledge that no one will ever truly know him; even worse, the knowledge that it’s all for the best. you can admire a flower, and help it bloom, but you can’t ask it to understand you.

such a cruel curse to be born with.

suguru’s voice fills his mind. the flicker of his cursed energy is gentle, like an ocean wave rolling in right before the sun sets. ”you said it yourself, satoru.” gojo can hear the smile in his voice. ”you love everyone.”

love. it always comes down to that, doesn't it? the greatest curse of them all.

(but he could never bring himself to fully throw it away.)

”there are still people waiting for you, out there,” suguru reminds him. and gojo knows that he’s right.

he still hasn’t buried suguru’s body. that thing is still inside his head, doing god knows what. and his students — they must be fighting sukuna, right now. if he’s lucky, no one’s dead yet. if he’s lucky. then there’s shoko, of course. and ijichi, everyone else from the school.

not just that — the world itself is waiting on him. waiting for him to pass on, so it can crumble away. waiting for him to make it, so he can stitch it back together. 

dying isn’t a luxury satoru gojo can afford. he knows that, he does, but —

dammit.

”suguru,” he starts, hesitant. voice more feeble than he ever remembers it sounding. ”what… should i do, from here on out?” a pause. uncertain. ”where should i go?”

suguru raises a single eyebrow, tilting his head. ”do you really need me to tell you that?” he asks, a little teasing. gojo’s reply is instantaneous.

”i do.”

the airport falls silent, again. 

”i’ll listen to you,” he elaborates, tapping the edge of his chair, absentmindedly. eyes shining with a glimmer of something tender. ”so… it has to be you.”

suguru inhales, softly. breathing out in a meek chuckle, with a soft shake of his head. ”well, in that case…”

a smile. he meets gojo’s gaze. ”then i think you should go north.”

gojo looks into his eyes. a moment passes, slow, detached from space and time. their eyes meet, and in suguru’s eyes, gojo sees a reflection of their youth.

what a shame.

”alrighty, then.”

placing his palms on his knees, gojo gets up from his seat. stretching his arms with a soft groan. a sigh flows from his lips, drifting out into the clear air. 

”so much for finally getting a vacation,” he huffs, frowning as he casts a jealous glance at his best friend. ”you dead people have it easy, you know that?”

suguru’s still smiling, but he’s not getting up from his seat. the pa system sounds, again. a little louder this time.

flight to okinawa; departing in six minutes.

a deep breath. air flows into his lungs, and then back out; soaking up the summer air he knows he’ll never quite get a taste of again.

suguru stays right where he is. young, dead. smiling. the same smile he wore when gojo killed him, framed by the setting sun. the same kind of sunset that’s beginning to form outside the translucent windows of the airport, nostalgic and sweet, dyeing the clouds in a soft pinkish hue.

it’s breathtaking. 

”will i see you?” gojo asks, before he can stop himself. eyes still stuck to the setting sun. ”when everything ends.”

…

suguru chuckles, again. rueful. gojo thinks it sounds just a bit meek, a little like he’s holding back tears. ”maybe,” he breathes, shrugging halfheartedly. not meeting his eyes. ”who knows?”

it’s not the answer gojo wants to hear. but he’ll take what he can get.

and finally, suguru gets up. slowly, methodically. elegant, in the way he moves, the way he brushes non-existent dust off his baggy pants. smiling, hair swaying softly with the breeze. gojo finds his gaze, and that smile shifts into a lazy grin. one so distinctly suguru that it can’t possibly be just a figment of his imagination. 

”don’t find out too soon,” he quips, teasingly. ”alright?”

a slap. gojo doesn’t see it coming, and it knocks him forward — he stumbles slightly, lanky legs moving clumsily, sunglasses falling off at the impact. his back stings, a little. 

over his shoulder, he looks back at suguru. the boy has a hand raised, and his grin is playful, brimming with warmth. except he’s no longer a boy — now he’s wearing traditional robes, hair much longer, face a little more hardened. but that grin is still the same as ever. gojo thinks he looks almost proud.

”go get ’em, satoru.”

gojo blinks.

the grin that breaks out across his lips, then, is wide. bright, brimming with youth, lighting up every corner of his face. almost overwhelmingly sweet. it envelops his very being, as he stands there, clad in his black compression shirt and baggy pants. hair a little less messy than it was in high school, face a little more hardened — but he hopes his grin, at least, looks the same as ever.

he turns his back on suguru, and puffs out his chest. trying to hide the sappy smile still lingering on his lips, the glassiness of his eyes. his voice comes out loud, cheery, echoing throughout the airport — but still somehow so tender.

”roger that!”

gojo looks ahead. the airport is blurred, a little hazy, but a bright light shines farther up ahead. a beacon for him to follow, one that blinds him if he looks at it for too long. blue, white, golden — the colours of the sky. beckoning him forward, to a familiar place.

he takes one step north.

”ah, satoru. one more thing.”

the sound of suguru’s voice stops him in his tracks. ”hm?” gojo turns on his heel, white hair tousled by the soft breeze. a little confused. ”what is it now?”

suguru grins. the whole airport smells like spring. 

”—, — —.”

…

one long, tender moment passes by. gojo doesn’t even breathe, mouth falling open slightly, in a way that must look comical to the man in front of him.

the airport glimmers like a marble in the sun. transparent, blurred, but still somehow so real. suguru’s words echo in his mind. 

then gojo laughs, the sound bubbling up from his throat like seafoam on a scorching summer day. hearty and deep, coaxed out from the very bottom of his gut — genuine. a little breathless. he can’t wipe away the grin on his face, wouldn’t do it even if he could. his blue eyes crinkle, as he looks at suguru, showing off his dimples and teeth.

”so corny,” he teases. suguru rolls his eyes.

”hey, don’t blame me. this is your imagination.”

a huff slips from his lips. ”yeah, yeah…” gojo waves him off. then he meets his eyes, again, still grinning boyishly. ”i’ll hold you to that, okay?”

”got it,” suguru chirps. ”good luck out there, satoru.”

”pssh. who do you think you’re talking to?”

the men exchange smiles, one final time. funny, how that’s always how their story ends; with a heartfelt smile. even if it’s coated in blood, or nothing more than a figment of their imagination.

then gojo turns around, again, and takes a step forward. not looking back this time. trusting suguru to still be there, watching over him. like always.

the bright light at the end of the airport glimmers, tantalizing, mesmerizing. suguru is right — there’s only one way to get out of this. only one way to make it back alive.

and it’s risky. very much so. it’s a gamble, the greatest one gojo’s ever made, even worse than that time twelve years ago with the reverse cursed technique. 

it’s a gamble, all or nothing.

binding vows are dangerous, fickle things. built on equivalent exchange. give something and get something, of equal value. sacrifice and gain. 

gojo’s thought about it, before. a morbid curiosity.

what could he possibly gain by offering the greatest treasure of the jujutsu world? 

he lifts one hand up, to caress his face. lingering over the skin of his eyelids, now closed. but he can still see the cursed energy around him. burned into his retinas. 

the six eyes. the blessing of sight.

a blessing. a blessing he never once asked for, one he was simply born with. born with all this power, doomed to live above the rest. all for a pair of eyes that never seem to see the things that really matter.

and, really, it’s a gamble.

gojo takes a deep breath, and then one large step forward.

(buddha left the royal life behind him at 29 years of age, he recalls. and then he sought out enlightenment.)

the light comes closer, and closer. lotus flowers bless his path. he takes seven steps forward, and his path blooms out before him; one flower blooming by his feet for every step he takes. seven steps north.

i’ll give you everything, he speaks to the someone watching the world. a god, a natural order, himself — it doesn’t really matter. i’ll give you all six. 

in exchange — 

the light is close, now. so close he can almost touch it. it burns his skin, but he doesn’t falter. he doesn’t look away, eyes seeing through the blindness and reaching out for something. something alive.

don’t let me die, he bargains. give me enough of it to kill him.

i still have things i need to do.

one more step, out of the airport —

(and satoru gojo makes a sacrifice.)

a binding vow is made.

the six eyes dissipate, like vapour drifting off into the darkness of a never-ending cosmos.

when gojo opens his eyes, he’s met with a cold, gray sky. 

the world shifts on its axis before him.

everything looks different. he can’t see, but he can, it’s just not the same as before. it’s naked, and raw, and surface-level. not enough to sink his teeth into.

he can still see cursed energy, feel the flicker of it all around him, but it’s hazy. it’s not clear enough, not enough for him to get a good grasp on — like the world lost its saturation. like everything got tilted slightly to the left. an eerie feeling that something isn’t as it should be.

and wow, okay. this is new.

but gojo parts his lips, weakly, and breathes in — and the air tastes the same as ever. cold, crispy. it fills his lungs and he exhales it through his nose. a human act. a breath of life.

i’m still alive.

it’s an odd feeling, like someone took a heavy weight off his shoulders. like someone stripped him of everything that makes him him. an strange sensation, heavy, entirely impossible to ignore. however —

the gain after the loss hits him almost immediately, embracing him with a burst of cursed energy so violently overwhelming that his sight becomes entirely irrelevant. it devours his very being.

everything becomes a blur. 

— i’ll give you everything. 

so, in exchange…

give me enough cursed energy to go on a good rampage.

the cursed energy within him spikes, so sudden and violent that gojo fears his skin might break open. buzzing like flies inside his veins, a vibrant burst of life, every colour in the universe. all the power one can expect from willingly casting away the greatest jewel of the jujutsu world.

gojo moves his fingers. he can feel them, finally — all limbs intact. positive cursed energy flows from his brain, no longer exhausted beyond comprehension. enough, more than enough to give him access to every possibility within his soul.

belatedly, he realizes that his sight isn’t the only thing that’s been weakened. the control he’s grown so used to having over his cursed energy is dwindling, and fast; that firm grip seems to have left with the six eyes, replaced by a set of shaky hands. gojo has experience, and for now, it’s enough. but he still has to concentrate to contain the nearly overwhelming flicker of his cursed energy, stinging his skin as if it can’t fully be contained by his body anymore. prickling his veins. it feels a little like trying to keep water from running through the gaps between your fingers. 

and he feels naked, in a way, suddenly living without something that defines his very being. a little hollowed out. a little wrong, like someone reached a hand through his ribs and pulled out his heart. 

but damn, does it feel good.

his cursed energy output is all-encompassing. his mind feels more clear than he ever remembers it being, and it’s like the world is at his fingertips. something similar to what he felt twelve years ago, but still so different. 

it isn’t ascension, not even close. quite the opposite. but that feeling of freedom is still so abundant. it’s all he can see before him; endless possibilities. 

twelve years ago, satoru gojo faced a certain man, and rose to the skies. he will never, ever forget it. that flicker of eternal solitude, the burst of overwhelming euphoria. that sense of everything being just right.

twelve years of living in the sky, and now his feet meet the ground, at last.

everything feels different. everything looks different. things won’t be the same, ever again — but maybe, suguru was right. maybe that’s not such an awful thing.

to be reborn. to be given a choice.

gojo opens his eyes, and finally takes in all the sights before him. everything happens in a blur, so fast he can barely catch up — his body acts before his mind, and suddenly he’s face to face with sukuna.

not megumi, but sukuna. fully incarnated.

and he looks displeased. almost frustrated.

”how?” 

the look of pure shock on his face is more satisfying than gojo could ever put into words; the satisfaction of seeing a king fall to his knees.

somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears a cacophony of voices, awfully familiar in a way that has warmth blooming in his chest. the students, he assumes — voices of shock, and something he tentatively recognizes as relief. but he doesn’t have the time to let his guard down, just yet.

(no matter how much he’d like to look back at them and give them a self-assured peace sign, bask in their smiling faces.)

instead, he answers sukuna. ”a binding vow,” he grins, and he thinks he must look a little manic, gesturing towards his eyes with his thumb. ”gave these puppies away. didn’t expect that, did’ya?”

sukuna looks at him, for a second.

then he laughs, loud and ugly, grotesque. taunting. he looks at gojo with something that almost resembles pity, something bordering on disappointment.

”pathetic,” he spits, all teeth. ”what good is living if it’s not at the top?”

gojo simply smiles.

he recalls that one question. eleven years ago, somewhere close to the ruins of the very street he’s standing in now. the question that flipped his entire world upside down.

(are you the strongest because you’re satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you’re the strongest?)

a grin breaks out across his lips. his cursed energy pulsates inside his veins, eager to be let loose, and he takes on a fighting stance. parting his lips to speak, unsure of whose question he’s answering.

”well, we’re about to find out.”

the sky is gray. even so, all he can see is that familiar shade of blue, as clear as ever. even without the six eyes.

gojo smiles. 

just keep watching, suguru. 

this time, i definitely won’t lose.

[satoruxx]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader | 1.2k words summary: shoko-centric, as in it’s written from her pov, based on yesterday’s leaks bc i finally have some hope, simple bittersweet angst to fluff !! he’s coming back trust <3

shoko’s eyes are focused as she works, but they can’t help but drift towards you, taking in your expression—half hopeful and half terrified as you watch her hands critically.

your teeth are digging into your bottom lip— worrying the flesh with bites and nips that are sure to eventually draw blood.

she wants to click her tongue and rub your shoulder in the hopes that you’ll stop looking so stressed. but she understands—after all, her hands are occupied with the most important thing in your world.

satoru’s body has begun regenerating on its own—as shoko had expected when he was brought back to her. her body had clicked into autopilot when that blue haired kid handed him off to her, her brain choosing to ignoring the overwhelming sense of relief that washed over her when she saw him pulled away from that death field.

so she could only imagine your feelings in this moment—scared, angry, and yet so hopeful.

because that’s what gojo satoru was to everyone—an embodiment of hope. he had been as such for so many years. she has no doubt that even in death he would be the same.

but despite all that, she wants the blue eyed idiot to wake up already—wants to see his lopsided grin and your relieved face when the two of you look at each other. so all she does is continue to work, because that’s what she’s good at—what she’s always been good at.

working in the shadows.

you don’t say anything to her—you’ve known her long enough not to. shoko thinks back to the thousands of times she’s healed you up after missions, thinks of your sheepish grin when she scolded you for being careless out there. you’ve always been careless about yourself.

she thinks you’ve only ever been truly concerned when satoru was the one who was in trouble.

the two of you were idiots—because while the two of you may not give a shit about your own safety, shoko constantly worried about you both.

so she inhales through her nose, keeping her eyes trained on satoru’s body. “he’ll be fine,” she says, voice steadily echoing around the room. she can feel your eyes on her, feel the studying gaze of them, and oddly enough she relaxes under it.

something so familiar about this all.

she hears you sigh, a nod to her statement, and shoko takes it as a sign of agreement.

it has always been this way with the three of you—too many words unnecessary. at one point in time, it used to be that way among the four of you too.

shoko doesn’t know how much time passes. all she can focus on is the energy flowing from her hands to satoru’s battered body and your rapidly steadying breaths. the silence is not unwelcoming—an odd comfort in the midst of the chaos raging not so far away.

something tilts on its axis when his eyes finally open.

shoko feels like her breath has gone cold, settling low in her chest as she watches him sit up. there’s a brief moment of confusion in his face—eyes hazy as he looks at her. she gives him a pointed stare, not trying to betray her emotions, but the expression is enough for satoru to understand that he wasn’t supposed to be here. the haziness in his eyes clear, and shoko thinks she might be hallucinating because he looks almost apologetic.

and then, his gaze travels past her, to the back corner, and when they land on you shoko can see the puzzle pieces click together. his pupils dilate, lips parting in a sharp inhale as everything finally comes back to him.

you choke back a sob—a sound so pained and shoko almost feels as though it’s cut through her flesh. satoru’s eyes are wild, arms reaching for you before his brain can even catch up. he pulls you against him with reckless abandon, your body folding into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

which, shoko understands, it is.

your arms are tight around satoru’s midsection, head buried into his chest—as though if you let him go he��ll slip away all over again. shoko doesn’t blame you—she doesn’t take her eyes off of him for the exact same reason.

satoru’s fingers remain tangled in your hair—a tremor to them that only the most observant eyes can pick up.

your shoulders shake with the effort of holding back a plethora of emotions that shoko both understands and doesn’t. satoru’s hands smooth down your hair, chest heaving as he shuts his eyes and presses his nose to your temple.

it’s an embrace that shoko is almost proud to see—a reunion that she’s grateful to be privy to.

satoru pulls back a little, hands cupping your face as his eyes dart over your features—wild and bright with life.

“‘m sorry—” he’s saying, voice oddly steady for the way his fingertips are trembling against your skin. “i didn’t—i thought—fuck, ‘m so sorry, sweets—”

“you came back.” you’re whispering, voice unsteady and thick with unfiltered longing. you pull him back into a hug. “thank god. you came back.”

satoru’s arms tighten around you imperceptibly. a featherlight kiss dusts your forehead—barely a touch but there all the same.

shoko smothers an amused huff. it’s about time.

your voice is shaking even with your cheek pressed against his chest. “i thought that you—”

satoru nods against your temple. “i did,” he answers, licking at his dry lips. “i mean—”

a sharp inhale. you pull back to study his face. satoru’s voice becomes imperceptibly softer. “i saw…”

shoko doesn’t need to ask what he saw—she knows it automatically. you seem to know it too.

“it’s fine.” he’s shaking his head, lips quirking upward—his thumb brushes over the slope of your cheek with the utmost care. “it doesn’t matter.”

you give him a rueful smile, eyes uncharacteristically dewy, and shoko thanks her lucky stars that the expression seems to bother satoru just as much as it bothers her. she watches him cup your face, leaning his forehead against yours with an oddly somber sigh. your fingers come up to press against his knuckles, and satoru smiles, eyes fluttering at the touch.

shoko sees the color slowly start seeping back into his skin, an all familiar flush dusting his cheeks as he looks down at you, and her shoulders drop—a weight lifting.

she takes a step back.

satoru makes eyes contact with her over your head. there’s something there, deep within cerulean blue, that has shoko’s body finally relaxing. he studies her, eyes wide and open, and for the first time in a long time, she sees the message in them clearly.

his lips curl upward at her, an expression so nostalgic it makes shoko think she can hear the sound of teenage laughter—a gentle voice whispering about the good and bad of their lives. she shuts her eyes—helpless.

satoru watches her expression, somehow understanding, and he smiles to himself. his chin tips down at her, an acknowledgment of sorts, that has her feeling oddly emotional.

shoko shoves her hands in her pockets, and for the first time in a while, she allows herself to smile.

[linkspooky]

The Next Gojo Satoru

As you've probably guessed I have a lot to say about this chapter. However, right away I want to start out by pointing out once again that the fandom is taking a mostly gojo-centric view of this chapter. Which I understand it's Gojo's body that's being puppeteered around and dehumanized in the exact same way that Kenjaku one of the sickest and most inhuman characters used Geto's body.

However I think it shouldn't be understated how shocking it is to see Yuta betray all of his values like this. The most human character who represents love in the cast has given up on the cast and betrayed someone he loves. So let's talk about what this all means for Yuta under the cut.

GOJO GETS AN F IN TEACHING.

I understand why most of the focus is on Gojo, because yes Gojo's body is the one being violated here. He's not even allowed to rest in death after fighting on the front lines against Sukuna to the point where his brain was hemmoraging in the middle of battle and he was brutally cut in half.

Considering how much horror Gojo experienced when he saw Geto's body taken from him and made into Kenjaku's pupet. Cosidering the horrible pain that Nanako and Mimiko endured just seeing Geto's body still moving around denied a good death (Nanako and Mimiko were tellingly willing to let go and not try to take revenge against Gojo for killing Geto because of their friendship even though Geto was their whole world, but they'd never forgive Kenjaku for taking his body). Considering that Gojo even went out of his way to say he wanted to kill Kenjaku / Geto on Christmas Eve again in order to give him a proper burial it's understandable how horrifying this update is.

This is also a series where the two main antagonists are parasites who take the bodies, and steal away all bodily autonomy from characters like Yuji and Megumi and then force them to do horrible things they would never do and bear witness to it, such as the slaughter at Shibuya, or the murder of Tsumiki at Megkuna's hands.

It's understandable how people had such a visceral reaction to this chapter. However, I think the fandom has a tendency to paint Gojo like he's the central victim of all of Jujutsu Society when he's both victim and perpetrator.

Gojo is someone who has only been regarded as the strongest his entire life, and been used as a tool to keep Jujutsu Society stable his entire life. Gojo is also someone who never tried to be anything other than the strongest, never tried to empathize with anyone other than those who were just as strong as he is, and who raised all of his students to be tools too.

To illustrate my point here's an incredibly similiar character from Tokyo Ghoul: Arima Kishou. They are so similiar that they're both white haired mentor characters to the protagonist, they're both the strogest in their respective worlds, and Gege straight up copied this section of panels from the Tokyo Ghoul Manga.

Arima is a breeding project, who was bred by the Washuu Family who mxies blood between humans and ghouls through a series of controlled marriages for the purpose of creating hybrid ghoul human children. Arima isn't the ideal hybrid they were looking for, but he was so ungodly talented he quickly rose to being the most powerful and well-respected investigator in the CCG.

However, this is how Arima reacts to the fact that his entire purpose in life was just to be a weapon to kill ghouls.

Arima loathes violence, he loathes being an investigator, he loathes himself most of all and designs his entire political revolution around him finally being killed by Kaneki - to punish himself and also to relieve himself of the burden of living a life where he was only meat to kill others.

Gojo on the other hand loves being the strongest, he lives for Jujutsu. Arima's death is tragic and nihilistic believing his life had no real worth because all he ever was was a weapon to hurt others, whereas Gojo died satisfied.

Arima's last battle against Kaneki is grim, silent, and tragic, he does everything he can to make Kaneki despise him, to force Kaneki to kill him by being the worst version of himself and when Kaneki still wants him to live he just slits his own throat because even if Kaneki forgives him he can't forgive himself. Gojo laughs his head off and has the time of his life fighting against Sukuna, and going out in a blaze of glory.

Gojo dies smiling, Arima dies finally breaking into tears after a life of pretedig to be cold and emotionless. Gojo's dying regret is 1) that Geto wasn't there to say goodbye to him, and 2) that he wasn't able to draw out all of Sukuna's strength. Arima's dying regret was all the pain and suffering he caused throughout his life and how he was never able to rise above his circumstances and be anything other than what he was born to be.

These two characters are incredibly similiar, they are both the strongest, and they were both made into tools by a dehumanizing system they were born into. However, their attitudes are entirely different. Gojo enjoys being strong, and yes part of it is that Gojo himself doesn't realize he's a victim or what society has groomed him into becoming, but the other part is just because it's an ego trip for him. Gojo doesn't see himself as the tragic victim his fandom makes him out to be.

If you were to transplant him into Tokyo Ghoul Gojo would be happily killing ghouls, and he would think killing ghouls is fun because he's the strongest and best at killing ghouls. This is the complexity that is Satoru Gojo, he has been dehumanized and put on a pedestal his ow life, but Gojo also enjoys being on that pedestal and won't ever step down from it willingly.

I'm not saying that Arima is a better person than Gojo. I think the fact that Gojo doesn't think of himself as a victim is tragic in its own right, because he lacks the self-awareness to actually grow and change as a person. In the end both Arima and Gojo believe they couldn't be anything better than what they were, and their only release is death which is just insanely sad to me because as long as the future exists people always have a chance to get better no matter who they are. To give up on the future, to see an early death as a good thing simply because you can't endure life any longer is one of the most hopeless things imaginable.

Gojo's not sad because he was born to be a tool exploited for society's benefit, he's sad because he was lonely. He doesn't even realize it's his own darn fault he's lonely, because not only has Shoko said that he's not alone she's always been right there, but this chapter we get a repeat of Gojo's students begging him to let them in and Gojo himself decided to draw that line between himself and others and thinking an enlightened, godlike being like himself can't possibly be understood.

All of this to say I think Gojo is the sole victim here, but he's the middle of a chain of of victimhood. I think ultimately the biggest victim here is Yuta, and yes I will not only play trauma olympics here I'm going to win.

If this chapter goes to show anything it's that Gojo has completely failed in his ideals of protecting the youth from the dehumanizing system of sorcerers that takes children and reduces them to cogs in a machine.

A lot of people criticize Jujutsu Kaisen for dropping basically all of its political elements and themes of reform in the second half after Shibuya, and while I understand the criticism I think Gege intentionally shifted away from politics because Gojo's political revolution was never going to succeed.

From the beginning Gojo's solution to reforming Jujutsu Society and it's habit of taking away the youth of children and raising them up instead as child soldiers is... to make stronger child soldiers.

This is Gojo's blindspot and it has always been Gojo's blindspot.

It's why Gojo is completely okay with someone like Mei Mei who at the best uses her brother as a human shield to get out of curse domains and has stolen his entire childhood away to make him own pet little shoulder, and at worst actively molests him.

It's why Gojo is stated in the databooks to have only taken an interest in Megumi and Yuta because they were strong.

Gojo understands that he's being exploited by Jujutsu Society, but doesn't understand you need to deconstruct unfair systems of power and exploitation in order to build something better. Gojo from the beginning only had one plan, and that was to replace the people at the top with his own allies who'd support his agenda. He just thought waiting for them to die out and the children to grow up was the more peaceful way of doing it.

Gojo's political revolution was doomed from the beginning and that's why we see him go back on his word this chapter and just slaughter everyone at the top. His choice of a new leader for Jujutsu Society is hardly better than the elders, the person who executed Gojo's teacher and tried to get all the children to kill Itadori early on. Good choice.

This is what Gojo said would happen though, if he just wiped everyone out at the top no real systemic change would occur because they'd just be replaced with someone who wasn't that differet. Gojo's just given up on the notion of lasting change out of pragmatism.

Which is why Gojo himself is not that different from the elders in the first place, not because he's a bad person but because he was shaped by that same society and he's the pinnacle of that society.

I think the thing is and this point often gets ignored - a lot of the choices the elders make are because of outdated traditions like choosing to oppress Maki and Toji just because they challenge the traditional notions of cursed energy.

However, some of the decisions they make are out of cold hard pragmatism. Gakuganji actually turned out to be right in his assassiation attempt against Yuji Itadori. If they had succesfully killed Yuji, then the massacre in Shibuya would have been prevented and likely Kenjaku's plans would have been pushed back. The elders didn't sentence Yuta to execution just to be cruel, or just because they're superstitious but because he's already had several incidents of nearly killing people because he can't control Rika.

It's easy to dismiss the Elders as evil because they're just faceless entities, but then we witness in this very same chapter the main characters making the same heartless decisions out of the same sense of pragmatism.

Gojo understands Jujutsu Society is flawed, but doesn't understand exactly why it's wrong. He doesn't raise his students to be independent free thinkers because then they might question him, he raises them to be very powerful because that's more pragmatic.

Here are the next generation of sorcerers who are going to bring about the change to Jujutsu Society that Gojo so desperately seeks.

Nobara Kugisaki: Dead

Hakari Kinji: His greatest ambition is to start a fight club

Yuji: Actively calls himself a mindless cog and just wants to kill whatever society points him at and tells him to kill.

Maki: Mass murderer.

Yuta: Just stole Gojo's body and said he had to become a monster i Gojo's place.

Megumi: Begging to be killed.

Inumaki: Tuna Mayo

Panda: Is a Panda

(Joke lovingly ripped off from @kaibutsushidousha)

I understand that fighting Sukuna takes precedence now, but do you think once the dust settles any of these characters are going to do anything to make lasting change?

Are we going to see anything for them at the end of the road other than a mountain of their fellow sorcerers corpses?

Gojo didn't nurture his students to grow into healthy adults, he raised them into stronger child soldiers and yes that's the pragmatic thing to do to help them survive in the Jujutsu World, but the elders make those decisions out of cold pragmatism as well.

MHA is also showing a story where the children are failing to learn from the previous generatio's mistakes, but it's far less frustrating to watch in JJK because it almost seems like that's the point?

Maki sacrificed Mai for the sake of becoming someone strong enough to reform the Zen'in Clan, only for her sister to die and Maki to slaughter the rest of her family failing in both her goals to reform her clan and protect Mai.

Yuji became the host of Sukuna in order to help others, because the total deaths of people in the world would go down if he ate all the fingers. Not only did that decision lead to the death of thousands in Shibuya, but he's even lost his role of being Sukuna's host to Megumi.

Yuta wanted to find a reason to live and a purpose in protecting his friends, and also wanted to pay back the man who saved him, not only is Yuta choosing to die in a way that breaks his friends heart he's also violating his beloved teacher's bodies.

There's a lot of arcs like this where characters fail in what they set out to accomplish, because like in most tragedies they don't try to grow as people they only care about getting stronger. It's the same choice over ad over again, a decision made of cold pragmatism that brings about their tragic ending.

I think it speaks to why systems like this perpetuate themselves, because it becomes so hard to hold onto your humanity that even trying gets you actively punished all the while people like Mei Mei crawl to the top. However, even if you throw your humanity away purely as an act of survival you're still helping perpetuate that system instead of fighting against it.

Anyway, that's enough hating on Gojo, onto the main event.

THE NEXT GOJO SATORU.

It's almost masterful how perfect the foreshadowing for this chapter's twist was. Yuta sharing a common ancestor in Sugawara with Gojo.

The irony that Kenjaku said out loud that someone like Yuta could never become Gojo, on top of the fact that Yuta's true power comes from detaining his loved ones soul. He's turning Gojo's body into a weapon the same way that he once used Rika's vengeful cursed spirit as one (he even channels her strength into a sword, the same way Maki uses the sword that Mai gave her life to create in battle).

The way that Yuji's first impression of Yuta from his powerful presence and cursed energy alone was calling him someone even creepier than Gojo.

The idea that Kenjaku has been trying to get his hands on the six-eyes for years, which is what led most of the fandom to theorize a possible Kenjaku return by stealing Gojo's corpse. The fact Tengen said the six eyes, himself and the star plasma vessel are all connected and one time Kenjaku killed the six-eyes from a child only for another one to appear right away.

Yuta being told he could never reach Sukuna's heights because he lacks the selfishness of a calamity.

Even Yuta trying to tell a nameless assassin Uro to be less selfish, only to be chastised by her for not understanding because it's impossible for someone as blessed as he is to know what it's like to not have a name, to not have a face, to not be someone important.

Now here Yuta is, not only is he making the selfish decision to use his teacher's body as a tool, he's also most likely in five minutes going to die in someone else's body, having sacrificed not only his name, and face, but also his personal values in order to become a monster.

This arc makes it seem like Yuta's gone against everything he's stood for, making his arc a complete circle from Jujutsu Kaisen Zero and that's kind of the point. Heck, even something as small as Yuta's decision to show mercy to Ishigori was rendered pointless because Sukuna immediately killed him soon after taking Megumi's body.

If Yuta's regressed in his character it's because Gojo's purpose was not to raise these children into healthy adults, but strong soldiers.

What happened to Yuta is a direct consequence of the way Gojo recruits these children, and the underhanded motivations he has behind those recruitments.

Yuta's decision to take Gojo's body is more tragic on Yuta's part then it is on Gojo's, because Yuta is a child, and Gojo is an adult.

It is sad that Gojo is all alone, that he's forced to become a tool to society, but Yuta shouldn't be the one who feels responsible for that. Gojo is supposed to protect Yuta, he's the adult, the teacher, the one with power and Yuta is the child. Yuta is not the one who should be making this speech because it is not Yuta's responsibility to do any of this - but Yuta thinks it is because he owes Gojo.

However, when Gojo recruits people it's with the unspoken implication that they now owe him. He wants them to feel indebted, because then they'll be easier to use as pieces in his intended political revolution. We see this blatantly with the way he recruited Megumi.

I'll make sure you and your sister don't starve but you owe me in the form of labor later on in your life.

Gojo saved Yuta because he thought Rika was powerful and the elders were foolish for executing a potentially powerful sorcerer for THE GREATER GOOD instead of teaching him to control his power out of fear. Gojo recruited Yuji, because someone with Sukuna's power and who could eat his fingers as a vessel had the makings to be an incredibly powerful sorcerer. Gojo didn't even think of Megumi until after Geto defected, and Gojo decided he needed to start making changes to Jujutsu Society.

While Gojo's pragmatism is understandable to a point it also poisons his more nobler intentions. Since Gojo expects payment in return when he sticks his neck out for people, because these children are assets first and children secod.

I think Gojo likes Yuta. I think he gets along with him well. Yuta clearly respects him as a mentor. He did in fact go to great lengths to save Yuta from execution. He was right that it was more ethical to teach Yuta to control his powers rather than execute him for the danger he might represet. He even gives Yuta emotional advice a couple of times.

However, if Yuta was just like a grade 4 sorcerer with no special talent I doubt Gojo would have blinked at his execution. He sees Yuta for his talent first, and his potential to become someone like him. If anythig there are clear comparisons to both Megumi and Yuta. They're both prodigies born with incredible techniques, but Yuta is a lot more receptive to Gojo's grooming than Megumi is who's too traumatized to function. Gojo's not just grooming Yuta into being a powerful sorcerer, but another version of himself.

So it's almost karmic that not only does Yuta basically turn his back on everything that makes Yuta himself (his love for people, his desire to live and be surrounded by others), he also does so by literally becoming Satoru Gojo and transplanting his brain into Gojo's body.

Because Yuta is despite possessing a similiar level of talent as far from Gojo as possible. Gojo is not well liked by his comrades, he's there because he's needed due to his power. Yuta on the other hand has everyone vehemently disagreeing with his backup plan in the event of Gojo's death because they don't want to lose him.

People need Gojo, they want Yuta because of the connections that Yuta has made with them and because they care about Yuta as a person. Gojo is someone who deliberately draws a line between himself and others because he believes the strongest can't be comprehended, Yuta only fights for the sake of being accepted by others because he needs their approval in order to live.

Yuta's now turned his back on those two things, his tendency to put his loved ones first, and his desire to live, both because he feels he owes Gojo.

This comes about because of two factors, number one Gojo helping him with the implication that this help means that Yuta owes him something which makes Yuta desperate to pay him back and therfore easy to mold, and number two Gojo's intentions to begin with to take Yuta and make another Gojo out of him. To make a successor who would carry on the same burdens that Gojo did.

Gojo succeeded one hundred percent in making his successor as opposed to Megumi who turned out to be too different from Gojo i the end. He took what make Yuta unique and ironed out all those wrinkles until he was left with someone willing to make the same inhumane, pragmatic decisions that Gojo was.

I think it's tragic that as much as Gojo wanted to make things better for the next generation, he basically led Yuta down the same road he did, to make the same choice to throw his humanity away along with all of his loved ones. Especially since Yuta started out in such a different place.

Yuta has learned to become selfish like Gojo, because selfishness is apparently now the only way to get by in this world. A cycle that has been started with the elders, and continued on with Gojo, remains unbroken as Yuta becomes just another link in the chain. Yuta's likely going to die in a stranger's body, leaving all of his friends behind to mourn him, but even if he lives what life will that be exactly?

It speaks to the arcs in Jujutsu Kaisen that they're all kind of circles at this point. We have this heartwarming goodbye of Rika telling Yuta to live, and Yuta's whole arc was to learn to try to live without Rika and make new friends, but it's now likely goig to end with Yuta dying a year after Rika finally moved on.

Choso was told to try living on as a human and Yuki even sacrificed her life to give him the opportuity to escape the fight, and he only lived a month longer to die right in front of Yuji's eyes.

Gojo put all of his hope in the next generation, but now not only did he put all the power in Gakuganji's hands but he ended up dying a year after Geto did just like Yuta will likely die a year after Rika.

I think these character arcs are turning out to be circles because the characters aren't actually doing anything to try to break the cycles that they're trapped inside of - they're only trying to get stronger. Which is why they end up resembling the actions of the villains, Yuji becoming more curselike, Yuta stealing Gojo's body the way Kenjaku did with Geto's.

It reminds me of a quote from Critical Role that I absolutely adore.

“I have just taken an audience with the Raven Queen who has snuffed any hope of my redemption, for which I am truly grateful. With new clarity, I can finally see my life as a series of compounding, poor choices.” Vax winces. “There was nothing I could’ve done to save my family, yet I still sold my soul in search of vengeance. Later I allowed Ripley to leave, knowing full well she was a greater threat to the world than the Briarwoods would ever be. I traded the world’s safety for the belief that I could murder my way to peace; that if I could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back. And once this lie was shattered I scrambled to find asolution, to make a deal, to undo my mistakes and balance the scales. I nowunderstand that there are no scales, there is no redemption, and no ledger that judges me good or evil. I am free to simply be myself and live with the terrible mistakes I’ve made."

Especially this sentence: I believed I could murder my way to peace; that if I could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back.

Maki is a character that I have not found all that interesting in a while because she committed such a huge mass murder, only for it to have no consequences in the narrative and never be mentioned again, but this chapter she suddenly became an interesting character again.

Maki who lost everything but gained strength, doesn't seem all that bothered by the loss. People compare Megumi's reaction to losing Tsumiki to Maki's reaction to losing Mai, but Megumi's reaction is much more interesting because it's always better to see a character be weak and fall apart then to be strong and power through things.

However, maybe the reason Maki hasn't experienced any grief at all towards Mai and has instead delighted in her newfound strength and independence is because of this, because she still had Yuta.

Maki is a character who's not really said anything other than exposition the past like twenty chapters, but now she's the most vocally against Yuta sacrificing himself for the greater good. Yet this is against Maki's own ideology of doing everything you can to be stronger, to win. Maki was always about individualism, not about friendship or the bonds between others, she severed her own bonds to be free. Yet, she can't stand to see Yuta do the same thing as her, to become more like her.

This might be the consequence of Maki's continued choice to value freedom and the power to achieve that freedom over all else. Now, the one time Yuta is trying to throw away the same things that she threw away she can't say anything meaningful or convince him to stop him.

Which reminds painfully of this chapter as well.

Mai killing herself in order to free Maki from cursed energy is an obvious parallel to Sukuna devouring his own twin in the womb, but the difference is in this situation Maki didn't want Mai to go, she begged her not to. However, just like with Yuta there was nothing Maki could ahve said or done by that point to convince Mai to stay. Maki has always chosen power over her sister, she's always abandoned Mai, so what exactly can she say to convince her that she cares more about Mai more? That her dream of defeating the Zen'in and having revenge against them isn't worth the price if it comes at the sacrifice of Mai?

Maki didn't want to abandon Mai, or for Mai to sacrifice herself, but tragically her every action indicated otherwise. It all comes down to this: I believed I could murder my way to peace; that if I could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back.

Maki seems to have achieved peace by murdering the Zen'in, but we see the same kind of circular arc that we have for Yuta.

Maki gave up on everything for strength, but Maki's not strong enough to finish Sukuna then and there, forcing Yuta to sacrifice himself the same way Mai did.

Maki can't talk Yuta out of making that sacrifice, or come up with any convincing argument with why he shouldn't because of all the choices she's made before this.

Maki chose to murder her way to peace, but it came at the cost of her humanity and growth and thus she's faced again with the exact same situation with Mai and she's forced to watch her heart be taken from her again.

It goes to show that we think these characters are getting stronger but they're actually sacrificing something vitally important.

These characters are just going to keep going around in circles and you have to wonder just when is it going to stop?