#ily satoru

[obsesssedblerd]

“Wahhh!” 

“Nooooo!” 

“Bwahhhhhh!” 

“I don’t care, she was mine first!!!” 

“WAHHH!” 

“AHHHHHHH-” 

“Satoru Gojo,” you snap and glare at your husband, who’s burying his face in the pillow to muffle his laughter. Your seven month-old son also begins laughing. It’s so cute that you almost forget that the two were screaming at each other just seconds ago. 

Satoru lifts his head up to grin handsomely at you, feigning innocence. “Yes, wifey?” 

“Why on earth are you screaming with your son at eight o’clock in the morning?” You ask. 

“Because,” he whines, pointing an accusing finger at your baby boy, who had begun cooing adorably for your attention. “He won’t let me kiss you! Watch what happens.” To demonstrate, Satoru gently leans in, only to be stopped when the baby uses his tiny hands to push against his face with a loud whine. You stifle a laugh when he pouts, squinting his eyes at your son. “Listen, just because you’re laying here, doesn’t mean that you can just keep me from giving my wife a little smooch.” 

Your son doesn’t budge. “Bwah!” 

“Okay, and?!” Satoru exclaims with a tilt of his head.

You roll your eyes. “I cannot believe you’re actually arguing with him.” 

“Kid’s got a mouth on him.” 

“How do you even know what he said– You know what? Don’t answer that. Anyway, he’s your kid. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t sassy.” 

Satoru gasps dramatically. “I am not sassy.” Next to him, your son matches his pout with a hmph, and since he was born with Satoru’s hair and eye color, he basically looked like a tiny version of him. “See?” He asks, gesturing to his mini. “Even he agrees with me!” 

“Sure he does,” you say, then turn your attention back to your phone, scrolling through a grocery delivery app so you can start ordering things for the week 

“And back to you,” you hear Satoru continue with your son, “I just want to kiss her cheek, and you’re just– hey, no sticking out your tongue at me.” The baby babbles, and Satoru scoffs. “No, I’m not cryin’. What’re you talking about?” 

You laugh quietly. If this was how it was now, you couldn’t wait to see what it’s going to be like in the future.

[bjlipss]

— until the quiet finds you;

༉‧₊˚. synopsis: you’re 24, a single mom just trying to survive off of temporary jobs—until a chance elevator ride with gojo satoru, the too-charming ceo of gojo industries, shifts everything. what starts as coffee and kindness slowly turns into something real. but when you’ve spent the last 2 years in survival mode, learning to trust might be the hardest thing of all.

contents: ceo!gojo x single mom!reader, slow burn-ish, slice of life maybe? fluff, some angst, trust issues ig, very exhausted reader, eventual smut, office setting, i will add warnings as the story goes on! current word count: 4,4k. header art: @_3aem on X.

miyan’s notes: hopefully i don’t abandon this lmao. enjoy!

chapter 1 -> chapter 2

you’re running late.

you’re always running late now.

your sneakers slap against the glossy marble of the building’s lobby as you rush across it, breath already hitching in your chest. tomo is tucked tight against you in his wrap, warm and wiggling, his little fists occasionally jabbing you like tiny, accusing reminders of how little sleep either of you got last night. your diaper bag swings wildly from your shoulder, half-unzipped and threatening to spill its chaotic contents—an ominous mix of crushed formula packets, mismatched socks, and a pacifier you’re pretty sure tomo has already rejected three times today.

your purse is dangling off the other arm. your keys are stabbing into your hip. your cardigan—thrown on to appear “presentable” for the office—is wrinkled and milk-stained and clinging to your back with sweat from the subway. and somewhere, probably at the bottom of the bag or on the floor of your apartment, you’re convinced you left your last shred of dignity.

but you made it.

you slow to a stop in front of the elevator, panting slightly, hand slapping the up button with more force than necessary. tomo lets out a soft grumble and rubs his face against your chest, mouth wobbling, clearly on the verge of his next baby meltdown. his face is flushed and tired, the soft tips of his ears warm against your collarbone.

you start bouncing him gently, whispering soft hushes against the top of his fuzzy little head.

“i know, baby. we’re almost there. just hang on for mama, yeah?”

the elevator dings.

you lurch forward—too fast—and nearly trip over your own shoelaces. with a sharp inhale, you catch yourself, shifting your balance quickly to keep tomo snug against your chest. the doors slide open—

and someone’s already inside.

a man.

he’s tall, annoyingly so. and striking in that way that makes you feel like you’ve just walked into the pages of a fashion magazine by accident. he’s leaning casually against the mirrored wall of the elevator, hands in his pockets, ankles crossed, like it’s a photoshoot and not, you know, a monday.

he wears a tailored navy suit that fits him too perfectly to be anything but custom-made. snowy white hair tousled like he just rolled out of bed but still somehow looks intentional. and sunglasses—sleek, black, and very much unnecessary indoors.

you freeze.

so does he.

he tilts his head just slightly in your direction. his gaze—hidden behind those stupidly dramatic sunglasses—somehow lands on you anyway. heavy. curious.

“you getting in?” he asks, voice low, amused, just a little drawling. “or just enjoying the view?”

your face burns instantly.

you tighten your hold on tomo, huff a breath through your nose, and step in quickly, brushing past him. your shoulder grazes his arm, the fabric of his suit smooth and crisp.

“sorry,” you mutter, trying not to wince at your own awkwardness. “wasn’t expecting… anyone.”

“same,” he says easily, like this is just any other conversation, like you’re not currently vibrating with embarrassment and sweat. his eyes flick down toward the bundle at your chest. “he yours?”

you nod once, instinctively bracing yourself. you’ve heard that tone before. the subtle, patronizing pity. the judgment hidden in polite smiles. young mom, flustered, clearly overwhelmed—how irresponsible, how sad, how predictable.

but instead, he just grins.

“cute kid.”

you blink.

“…thanks.”

the elevator hums upward, the air thick with that slightly awkward silence that feels too loud in a small space. tomo shifts again, starting to squirm in his wrap, and you feel it before it happens—the growing tension in his little body, the hiccuping inhale, the inevitable explosion.

he wails.

a loud, guttural cry that echoes like a siren off the metal walls. god, this is embarrassing. not even ten minutes into this fancy building and you’re already the disheveled stereotype.

you freeze for a moment, mortified. your hands fly to the wrap, bouncing him in frantic, practiced motions, patting his back and whispering frantically.

“i’m so sorry,” you blurt, heat rushing to your face. “he’s usually—well, no, he’s always like this, but i swear i’m trying.” you don’t even know why that comes out of your mouth.

you expect the man to recoil. to sigh. to edge away like most people do when a baby starts crying in an enclosed space. but he doesn’t.

“bad day?” the man asks. he doesn’t look annoyed. in fact, he looks… interested. amused. his sunglasses have slipped down his nose a bit, revealing startlingly bright blue eyes that seem to flicker with something soft when they glance at your baby.

“bad month,” you answer, too tired to lie. “sorry about the noise.”

“what’s his name?” he asks, gesturing lightly toward the red-faced bundle in your arms.

“tomo,” you say, eyes narrowing slightly. “why?”

“just wondering,” he shrugs. “he’s got a good set of lungs. he’ll go far.”

your lips twitch, despite everything. he crouches smoothly, leaning in a little without getting too close. his voice drops to something quieter, gentler—almost conspiratorial.

“hey there, little guy,” he says. “you mad about mondays too?”

tomo pauses.

just for a beat.

then blinks at the stranger, confused but curious, his tiny brow furrowed.

the crying falters. the elevator hums upward, floor after floor, and tomo starts to settle again, comforted by the motion or maybe by the stranger’s low, calm voice.

your mouth falls open. “how did you do that?”

the man straightens with a smug smile, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “babies love me.”

you squint at him. “that’s deeply unfair.”

he laughs. the sound is warm. unpretentious. and somehow, it actually makes your chest ache a little.

“maybe,” he says. “or maybe i’m just naturally charming.”

you try to glare, but it falters halfway through. “and you are…?”

“gojo,” he says. “satoru. top floor.”

your stomach dips slightly.

gojo satoru.

as in gojo industries.

as in the man whose name is literally printed in gold on the glass doors you just kicked open with your foot five minutes ago while juggling your screaming baby.

and here you are—sweaty, milk-stained, five minutes late—making a mess in his elevator.

“oh,” you say faintly, cheeks heating. “i didn’t realize.”

“you’re not supposed to,” he says with a shrug. “half the time i sneak down here to avoid meetings. easier when no one recognizes you.”

you glance at him, incredulous, but the words come out easier than you expect. “you’re wearing sunglasses inside.”

“exactly,” he grins. “a perfect disguise.”

you snort despite yourself. it slips out, ungraceful and exhausted, but real. tomo is calm now—suspiciously so—gurgling like nothing ever happened.

gojo glances at him, then back at you.

“you new here?” he asks, and there’s something in his tone that doesn’t feel like small talk.

“just temping,” you say after a moment. “reception on floor fifteen. friend called in a favor so i could pick up a couple shifts.”

“hm. what’s your name?” you tell him, abruptly cut off by the tiny boy in your arms.

tomo fusses again—an impatient little whimper pressed against your collarbone. you don’t even have to think about it; your body moves before your brain does, bouncing him gently, one hand rubbing slow circles across his back. it’s second nature now, stitched into your muscles, something you do without looking, without pausing, like breathing.

you glance at the floor display.

still six floors to go.

“he’s not usually this cranky,” you murmur, voice low, mostly to yourself. “it’s just been a long week… or something like that.”

your laugh is dry, tired. too tired to mask the exhaustion that seeps through your whole body.

gojo shifts slightly beside you. not away, but closer—like he’s listening.

“you don’t have to apologize,” he says after a beat. his tone is different now—less teasing, more grounded. “i’ve sat through board meetings louder than that. at least he doesn’t have a pie chart about quarterly losses.”

you snort again, surprised by the joke. “tempting. if he could weaponize his scream during financial reviews, i might actually get a promotion.”

he huffs a laugh, and for a second, the elevator feels a little less like a steel trap and more like something gentler. the kind of quiet you don’t have to fill with apologies.

you glance sideways at him. his jaw is sharp and clean, framed by that ridiculous white hair that somehow works for him. but it’s not the sharpness that holds your attention—it’s the way his expression softens when he looks at tomo. like he’s not just tolerating the noise or waiting out the ride. he’s here, present, calm.

you look down at your son, still fussing quietly, rubbing his little fists against his eyes like the world’s too much. you get it. you really do.

“still,” you say softly, your voice catching a bit. “i know people don’t really want to deal with this. with me.”

gojo turns toward you slightly. “what do you mean?”

you gesture vaguely, a quick sweep of your hand that could mean anything—your baby, your messy hair, your oversized bag, your creased clothes and tired eyes. “this,” you say. “all of it. the crying, the—the walking chaos. i get looks, you know? like i don’t belong here or… anywhere.”

he watches you for a long moment. not pitying or patronizing. just… watching. like he’s taking you in for real. his gaze is uncomfortably perceptive and you have to brace yourself to not shift away from the discomfort you feel.

“i believe it,” he says, watching tomo, who yawns dramatically. “you’re doing good, though.”

you blink at him.

“what?”

“you heard me,” he says, not even missing a beat. “juggling work and a baby? showing up even when it’s clear you’ve barely slept? that’s impressive.”

your throat tightens. you weren’t expecting that. people don’t usually say those words to you. they offer advice, concern, sometimes even backhanded praise—but never that. there’s weight of honesty behind his words. your fingers twitch where they rest on tomo’s back.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. just the sharp burn of unshed tears pressing behind your eyes, the tired part of you that so badly wants to believe him.

the elevator dings. your floor.

you straighten up instinctively, readjusting tomo in his wrap and trying not to look like your heart just tripped over itself. you tighten the strap of the diaper bag on your shoulder, all too aware of how frayed it looks next to the man in the suit beside you.

“thanks,” you say, clearing your throat.

gojo shrugs a little, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

“you ever get a break,” he says, just as the doors start to slide open, “come by the top floor. coffee’s decent. and i’ve got a stash of sugar cookies i may or may not be hiding from my assistant.”

you pause, half-in, half-out of the elevator. “you’re bribing me with snacks?”

“depends,” he says with a grin. “is it working?”

your eyebrow lifts, skeptical but amused. “do temps even have access to the executive floor?”

he flashes a lopsided smile, too charming for his own good. “technically? no. but if anyone asks, tell them it’s an emergency strategy meeting. highly confidential.”

“with tomo?”

“of course. who else?” he leans against the back wall again, relaxed as ever. “kid’s clearly got vision.”

“he can’t even hold his head up half the time.”

“neither can half my execs,” he says without missing a beat.

you laugh—genuinely, this time. it slips out before you can stop it. quiet, surprised. the kind of sound you didn’t realize you hadn’t made in days.

you glance down at your baby—who is now drooling contentedly, totally unbothered—and then back at gojo, whose smile hasn’t faded.

“i’ll keep the cookies warm,” he calls.

“…i’ll think about it.”

the doors begin to close. he lifts two fingers in a lazy farewell.

“i’ll be waiting.”

you shake your head, stepping out into the hall, heart still doing something ridiculous in your chest.

──────────────────────

by the time noon rolls around, you’re just about ready to cry.

the phones at reception haven’t stopped ringing. every call blurs into the next: wrong numbers, impatient clients, one woman who spent seven full minutes telling you about her boss’s astrological incompatibility with her cat. your friend’s login doesn’t work, and IT is ignoring your tickets, so the front desk system keeps locking you out every ten minutes. each time, you have to retype your credentials while tomo lets out a bloodcurdling shriek because you dared to stop rocking him.

an intern—not older than nineteen, probably still thinking this job is going to lead to something important—asked you to order “gluten-free air-fried kelp chips” for a VIP client meeting. you don’t even know what that means. you don’t care. you said yes anyway.

tomo—bless his tiny, growing teeth—is going through a phase that involves shrieking every time he’s not being held. no bouncer. no stroller. not even the wrap works unless you’re moving. constant movement. always.

you’ve been rocking him in the wrap while pretending to sound professional, typing with one hand, shushing with the other. your body aches, your back is sore, and you’re down to the last functional nerve in your entire soul. you’ve barely touched your coffee—it’s cold now, bitter. acidic. just like your mood.

you glance at the clock. 12:07.

you’re not sure if the ticking in your head is from sleep deprivation or your own heartbeat echoing gojo’s ridiculous parting words from this morning:

i’ll be waiting.

you scoff under your breath, rubbing your temples. he was probably just being nice. people like him are always just being nice. they toss charm around like it’s nothing because it doesn’t cost them anything. billionaires don’t actually invite single moms to drink coffee on the top floor of their buildings. they especially don’t follow through.

but then—

ding.

you glance up from your monitor, startled, as the elevator doors slide open with a polished whisper of motion.

and out walks gojo satoru.

again.

same tailored suit. same disarmingly white hair. same sunglasses. except now he’s carrying two takeout cups of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. the scent of warm pastry hits your nose instantly—buttery, flaky, real. not vending machine lies.

he looks like he does own the world. or maybe just the building. (which he does). his presence is loud, even though he’s not saying anything yet. and he walks like nothing in this world could possibly surprise or rattle him.

your breath hitches. tomo coos softly in his wrap, sleepy and content for once. traitor.

“you again,” you say, blinking at him.

“me again,” he replies, grinning like he planned this moment in a mirror. “was in the neighborhood.”

“this is your building.”

“and yet,” he says smoothly, “i still had to walk all the way from my office to this desk. grueling journey. i deserve a medal.”

you snort, half-exhausted, half-amused—but before you can protest and remind him of the elevator he walked out of, he sets the coffee down gently on the reception desk, followed by the paper bag. you glance at the label on the cup—your name written in messy handwriting with a little smiley face underneath. it’s hot. still steaming. the kind of cup you used to treat yourself to back when you had the luxury of treating yourself.

“thought you might be hungry,” he says, casually. “figured cold vending machine crackers weren’t gonna cut it.”

your stomach growls audibly. you want to disappear. you shoot a look at him like it’s his fault for having working ears.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” he cuts in, removing his sunglasses with one hand and slipping them into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. his eyes are absurdly blue. open. curious. warm in a way that feels dangerous. “but i wanted to.”

you hesitate.

no one just wants to. not for you. not unless there’s something else beneath it—some favor, some guilt, some expectation. you’ve learned that the hard way.

“is this… charity?” you ask, a little sharper than you mean to.

gojo doesn’t flinch. doesn’t shift. just tilts his head slightly, as if he’s considering you from a new angle. the distrust in your tone might have been even more palpable than back in the morning.

“nah. if this were charity, i’d bring a camera crew and write it off as a tax deduction.” he smiles, tilting his head. “this is coffee. for a tired mom. who’s doing her best. and still looks like she could kick someone’s ass if she needed to.”

your lips twitch. damn it.

“that’s a weird compliment.” no, it’s one of the nicest things someone ever said to you. and the bastard didn’t even make it sound obnoxious.

“it’s an honest one.”

tomo stirs again, making a soft gurgling sound—somewhere between a sigh and a protest—and gojo leans in. not obnoxiously, not like a man trying to impress you. he just leans forward a little to peek over the edge of the desk, like he’s talking to a tiny prince instead of a drooling infant.

“still the cutest ceo in the building,” he murmurs to your son. “don’t tell my board.”

tomo kicks slightly and—god help you—smiles. a real one. soft, gummy, sunbeam-bright. you quickly memorize it and try not to think of the reason behind it.

you exhale a laugh before you can stop yourself. it bubbles out, tired but real, pulling your shoulders down from your ears for the first time in hours. it’s been a long time since someone made you laugh in a way that didn’t feel forced.

gojo straightens, leaning on the desk with a grin. he’s watching you now—not just looking, but seeing. like he’s memorizing the way your expression changes when you let your guard down. it should be unnerving. instead, it’s… grounding.

“so. what’s the deal? you always this hard to impress?”

you raise a brow.

“you always show up unannounced like a caffeine-bearing fairy godmother?”

“only when the receptionist is this pretty.”

you roll your eyes.

“that’s a terrible line.”

“and yet it got a smile.” he looks far too pleased with himself.

you sip the coffee slowly, grateful for the heat, the caffeine, and the brief illusion that you’re not hanging on by a thread. it’s good. rich. something with hazelnut notes. he remembered your name. got you a nice cup of coffee and pastries softer than anything you’ve tasted in a while.

for a few quiet seconds, it’s just the two of you, the soft hum of the lobby, the gentle breath of your baby against your chest—and no chaos. no judgment. no expectations.

and then, because you need to say it, because you have to:

“i’m not looking for anything, you know,” you say, cautiously, mid-sip and contemplating whether you should have said it before drinking the coffee. “in case that’s what this is.”

there’s a beat. he doesn’t look surprised. doesn’t lean away, either.

“good,” he says, voice softer now. “because i’m not offering anything. not really.”

you blink at him.

what does that mean?

“i just… wanted to see you again,” he adds. “maybe get to know the person who made me smile before noon for the first time in weeks.”

you don’t say anything at first.

but you don’t tell him to leave, either.

──────────────────────

by the time your shift ends, you’re running on fumes.

your back is killing you. tomo is finally asleep, tucked tight against your chest, his tiny hand curled in the fabric of your cardigan. you smell like formula and dry-cleaned carpet. your brain feels like scrambled eggs. and yet—despite all that—there’s still a little something warm sitting in your chest.

gojo didn’t stay long after dropping off the coffee and pastries, but he lingered just long enough to make you laugh again. enough to watch tomo like he wasn’t just humoring you. enough to make the day feel slightly less like drowning. like maybe you were treading water, not sinking.

you turn off the desk monitor, lock the cabinet, and double-check the lobby is cleared out. it’s that quiet part of early evening where the lights buzz a little too loud and everything feels still, like the city is catching its breath.

your legs ache. your bag is too heavy. your stomach is a cavern of missed meals and vending machine regrets. you just want to get home, collapse into bed, and pray tomo gives you three uninterrupted hours of sleep.

you don’t expect anyone to be waiting for you.

but there he is.

leaning against the marble wall by the elevators like he has all the time in the world. sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loosened, suit jacket folded neatly over his arm. no sunglasses this time. no jokes. just that unreadable expression—somewhere between calm and something else. something softer.

he straightens when he sees you.

“figured you’d clock out right on the dot,” he says, voice easy. “very punctual. i respect that.”

you blink, momentarily thrown. “i’ve got a baby who turns into a siren after six. punctuality is survival.”

he chuckles, stepping toward the elevator and pressing the button. “fair enough.”

the doors slide open with a soft ding. you hesitate. something is coming.

he gestures inside, face neutral. “come up with me for a sec?”

you tilt your head. “you always invite exhausted single moms up to your office at the end of the day?”

“only the cool ones,” he says casually, already stepping in, as if he knows you’ll follow.

you pause for a heartbeat longer, glance down at tomo—still asleep, curled tight in the wrap like he’s dreaming something peaceful—and then step in after him.

what could it hurt?

the ride up is smooth. quiet. the kind of quiet that feels intentional, not awkward. the kind of elevator that doesn’t creak or hum, just glides upward like a thought. you rock on your heels out of habit, one hand resting over tomo’s back. gojo doesn’t speak. doesn’t push. he just watches the numbers tick upward.

his office is… not what you expected.

open and clean, minimalist without being cold. warm-toned wood floors. a low leather couch. wide, tall windows that stretch from wall to wall, casting golden light across the space like something out of a movie. the skyline glows outside, bathed in the soft orange of a spring sunset.

you blink, overwhelmed for a second by how surreal it all feels.

gojo sets his jacket down on the back of a chair and gestures for you to sit on the couch. he moves like this is normal. like this isn’t strange. like inviting the front desk temp into his office after hours is just another tuesday.

��i wanted to ask you something,” he says, walking to a sleek side cabinet. he pulls out two cold bottles of water, offers you one with a nudge of his chin.

you take it, relishing in the coolness of the bottle. “if it’s about gluten-free kelp chips, i swear to god…”

he grins, settling into the armchair across from you. “no kelp. promise.”

you sit on the edge of the couch, adjusting tomo carefully. he stirs for a moment but stays asleep, face tucked to your chest, one chubby cheek pressed against your skin.

gojo leans forward, elbows on his knees, bottle turning slowly in his hands.

“i looked you up,” he says.

your spine stiffens. “…you what?”

“i googled you,” he says, with a one-shouldered shrug. “nothing weird. just… curious.”

you look around again, cautious in case you missed something, every muscle going tense. “you said you weren’t offering anything.”

“i wasn’t. then. but i couldn’t stop thinking about you after that elevator ride. and after today, i… just wanted to know more. you said you weren’t looking for anything, but i was. and i wanted to know who we had answering phones at reception.”

you wait. brace yourself. for the pity. for the soft, disappointed eyes and the “you’re doing your best” speech.

but that’s not what comes.

“you’re extremely overqualified for temp work,” he says instead, voice calm. thoughtful. “your resume’s stacked. your GPA’s ridiculous. you’ve got a double major. experience managing multi-departmental projects. fluent in two languages. there’s a whole chapter on nonprofit grant-writing that made me feel like i was reading an academic journal.”

you blink. hard. you haven’t even updated that stuff.

“how did you even find that stuff?”

“i own the company,” he says with a shrug. “i asked the right people. and i read the cover letter you submitted two years ago. it was… impressive, to say the least.”

you stare at him. the thudding in your chest isn’t panic. not really. but it is something close to fear. because you’ve heard nice things before. you’ve been told you were capable. once. before life happened. before the plan changed.

“i’m offering you a full-time position,” he says, watching you carefully for the changes in your expressions and body language. “not reception. operations. it’s a junior role, but it’s salaried. benefits. flexible hours.”

you open your mouth, but he holds up a hand.

“you don’t have to say yes. but i’m asking. officially.”

you shake your head. “you don’t have to do that. you don’t have to feel bad for me.”

“this isn’t pity,” he says firmly, eyes locked on yours. “this is simple recruitment. you’re smart. you’re capable. you’ve been underestimated and underpaid, and i’m not going to pretend i’m doing you a favor. you’d be doing us one. we need people like you.”

you swallow hard. your throat feels tight. everything feels unreal, but reality’s weight hardens on your shoulders once again as you take a shaky breath.

“i can’t,” you say. quietly. “i can’t afford a sitter. i can’t leave tomo alone. daycare costs more than i make in a week, and even if i could, i don’t trust anyone to—”

“then don’t.”

you blink. “what?”

“bring him,” gojo says, simply. “we have the space. i’ll make it part of your contract. we’ll cover on-site childcare. or remote work. whatever you need. you shouldn’t have to choose between your kid and your career.”

you’re stunned silent. this morning you were juggling phone calls and teething screams, dreaming of vending machine crackers. now he’s handing you… what? a door? a way out?

you hesitate, the weight of everything—the fear, the exhaustion, the aching hope—tight in your chest.

“i don’t know,” you admit. “it’s a lot.”

because that’s the thing no one says. that’s the thing they don’t mean even when they do say it.

the sincerity of his words make you want to accept immediately because you can see it in his face, the way he tries not to push you into choosing something even though it is better. this isn’t about guilt. it’s not about charity. it’s just… belief.

you look down at tomo—soft, warm, safe against your chest. his tiny fingers still curled in the knit of your sweater.

“why?” you whisper. “why are you doing this?”

he leans back slightly, eyes steady.

“because i can,” he says. “and because someone should.”

your eyes sting before you can stop them. you blink quickly, focus on a spot on the wall. you won’t cry. not here. not in front of him.

he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small business card. he scribbles something on the back before holding it out.

“you don’t have to decide now,” he says. “but if you think about it—and you want to say yes—text me.”

you flip the card over. his name is printed in silver foil on one side. on the other, in bold, messy handwriting: his personal number, and the words “only if you say yes.”

you nod once, unable to speak.

he doesn’t push. just stands, smooth and quiet, walking you back to the elevator like nothing about this moment is extraordinary. says “see you, tomo” and winks at you right before the doors close with an uncertain hiss.

but when you step outside, into the soft, dusky air, you know better.

you know something shifted.

and as you press the card into your coat pocket and start the long walk to the bus stop, tomo still dozing gently on your chest—

you feel something strange.

not safety. not yet.

but something like the possibility of it.

[cupidscrule]

[gojoest]

standing in the kitchen naked eating cold pizza in the middle of the night with satoru bc you’ve starved each other so bad (multiple rounds, multiple orgasms) but he makes you step on his feet bc the floor is cold and you’re barefoot <3

[clemenlush]

babyyy im yours

[strawberrystepmom]

“hey babe!”

satoru, who calls for you from down the hall, loses all train of thought when he rounds the corner and walks into the kitchen where you’re leaning against the counter, cup of coffee in one hand, phone in the other. you look up the moment he enters your peripheral vision, wearing your very familiar naive and all knowing half smile, stopping him in his tracks.

“what’s up sweetheart?”

he smiles back, glancing away for a moment, wrinkling his nose. the nickname alone is enough to disarm him much less you, free of all but moisturizer on your face. still wearing your robe.

breathtaking.

“i completely forgot as soon as i saw you,” he admits, playing it off with an exaggerated sigh and shrug. “too distracted.”

giggling in response, you place your mug on the counter and slide in his direction, pressing your chin directly to the center of his chest and looking up at him. he’s never gonna remember now, not when he is too busy once again committing the shape of your eyes and and the depth of your dimples to memory.

“well get to thinking instead of staring.” you tease, now raising your eyebrows to match the smirk he fell in love with when he was still just a boy. even then he knew you’d make him feel like this forever.

“hmmm, maybe it’ll come to me if i do this…” he matches your lightness, the playfulness that you exude effortlessly, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“is it working?” you giggle, little smile a full blown grin.

“nah, let me try again,” and he does. the other corner of your lips, the tip of your nose, your temple. both cheeks. chin. eyelids, although your lashes tickle his lips and make him giggle.

“any luck?”

he nods, arms wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as close as he can.

“yup, reminded me i was gonna say i love you.”

[hinamie]

please any atla gojo lore. anything please im begging on my knees hands pressed together like im praying to god

I really wish I could anon :'> we tried to think of non-spoiler-y lore we could share but turns out every aspect of his character is either a. major spoilers or b. a near-direct echo of canon but make it atla flavoured (ie. his relationships w/ geto/shoko/nanami/haibara; him being The Strongest(tm) in-universe, etc). I guess there's technically the satosugu betrothal but that's already Public Knowledge given that there's art, plus the details are (surprise!) more spoilers

so ...yeah.... unfortunately you'll just have to wait to learn more about him in the fic :"> please accept this compensatory art as apology even though i am Not sorry in fact the pleas of the commonfolk make me cackle

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[churipu]

96 + 98 , gojo satoru

featuring. gojo satoru x reader

warnings. cursing, school! au, uses of the word 'pretty' to describe the readers' appearance // 2.9k words

note. i absolutely love the academic rivals to lovers trope, so here's a try on this trope. and i'm so glad requests are coming in :') i'll be getting to them after this one shot <;33

synopsis. gojo and you have never gotten along, maybe it's the fact he's the epitome of perfection. he has a pretty face and a pretty brain, who wouldn't like that? so you made it your job to try and beat him at that brain game of his, which never ends well. until you find yourself 2 points higher than him, with his help. oh, boy.

gojo satoru was everywhere. and by everywhere — i mean everywhere.

it was no longer surprising that everyone in school knows him, whether by his name or personally knowing him. it's a surprise if someone doesn't know him, really.

he has a pretty face, and a pretty brain. who wouldn't like that? he's got girls and guys fawning and bowing down to him like their life depended on it, but really, is that all to him? a pretty face and brain?

unfortunately, not.

just to top it off, like a cherry on top. his friendly and light demeanor has earned a lot of respect from people all around, even ones who were outside of school — and that shit, pisses you off. he's the epitome of perfection that it pisses you off, how does one look like they have no flaws?

you used to think that you were it. people call you smart and how they envy your intelligence. but ever since gojo satoru beats you at the one thing you solely thing you excel in (you think): your brain. you had a personal feud with him; which you were currently losing in, by the way.

pretty was never an adjective that sits well with you. you never thought you were a pretty person. back during middle school, you tried hard, constantly trying to make yourself pretty for the sake of others to like you. but at the end of the day, it's you sitting down in front of the mirror doubting yourself whether this was really you or a person you made for other people to look at.

so you settled down for the one thing you were good at: studying.

"fuck you, gojo." you muttered out, clutching your test paper with a big fat and raging red '92' on it along with a 'nice job!' under it, and the fact that it has a smiley face beside it gave you the ick. you just wanted to pour gasoline on it and set the paper on fire.

"just because i beat you in a calculus test? c'mon y/n, instead of that — why don't we just study together?" he swayed, holding out his paper that had a big '100' on it.

ever since you made it your job to try beating him with your grades, you've never find the pleasure in studying anymore. it felt like a chore, it felt like a chore to beat gojo satoru; and when it doesn't happen, you just kind of drown in failure.

and it fucking sucks.

constantly forcing yourself to study just for the sake of beating him even by a point or two, it didn't feel nice. but the thought of him winning yet again made you a little scared.

a 92 for a calculus test would be a dream come true to other people. it would be yours too if gojo satoru hadn't appear in your life, but reality check, he's here and he's just so good at it that it angers you.

people often called you "ungrateful" or a "try hard", honestly, at this point — you can't really help but to think the same. anyone would want to get a 90 in a calculus test, or any other test. but to you, it felt like defeat.

you won't be satisfied until you beat him.

beat gojo satoru.

"study togeth— are you fucking serious?" you spat out at him angrily, crossing your arms.

gojo leans on the stair railing and hums softly, "yes. one hundred percent serious, wanna do it?" he shot you the sweetest smile.

a smile that would send any other person to the moon and back, but the sight honestly just pisses you off. the anger you felt from him beating you in the most recent calculus test was already too much to bear, and like adding salt to the wound, he hits you with a "why don't we just study together?"

"go to hell." you muttered, walking away.

"hey!" the male calls out to you, as much as you didn't want to stop — you did, glancing back at him, brows furrowed, "we have a statistics test next week, maybe it's your time to shine."

his voice was teasing, and he said that with a big toothy grin. god, you just wanted to run over there and bash his face in, plastering a scowl on your face, you shoved out your tongue and walked away. gojo laughs loudly as you walked away.

the dreaded statistics test came, and for some reason — you were more nervous than usual. maybe it was the fact gojo was taunting you about it the other day? or was it the fact he was sitting right next to you, occasionally stealing glances at you with those striking deep-set blue eyes of his.

you'd be lying if you said the male wasn't attractive. but even the thought of yourself thinking about such makes you angry. honestly, everything about him makes you angry.

you look to the side and the male was leaning his head down, his cheek on his left arm as he scribbled on his answer sheet. noticing your gaze on him, he gives you a big smile, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes deepening.

upon that, your face contorted into one of disgust and your eyes averted back towards your answer sheet, which somehow looks...empty. it wasn't that you didn't know the answers to it, there was doubt in you, would you be able to finally beat him? what if you lost again?

but as time was ticking, you pushed those thoughts away and wrote down your answers. confidently. as your teacher commanded for everyone to collect their answer sheets, it was no surprise that the male sitting beside you was the first one to stand. trotting over to the teacher's table and collecting his work, he strides back towards his seat, shooting you a (mocking) wink.

a few minutes later, you stood up to collect your own answer sheet. students often wanted time to go in a rush during average lessons, but tests? they hoped time had slow down even just by a few seconds. it was dreadful, groans and aggravated sighs were heaved out as the bell rang, signifying the end of the test.

"so, how did you do?" gojo questions, standing undoubtedly close to you. too close to your liking, but you brushed that part off.

"why does it matter to you?" you uttered back, annoyed.

"woah, shit. somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," you sighed out exasperatedly, standing up to make your way to the school's cafeteria. one of the most atrocious place you could ever walk into — if you hadn't woke up half an hour later this morning, maybe you wouldn't on your way there right now.

but it is what it is.

"why're you following me?"

gojo groans out, "dream on. i'm going to the cafeteria to eat and hang out with my friends, not to follow you," he mumbles out, his hands shoved deep inside his pocket, "why're you always so angry with me? who hurt you?"

"you."

gojo was silent, he looks at you with a surprised look, "wait, really? remind me of what i did again because i don't have any records of picking fights with you...?" confusion.

you casted a disdainful look towards the male, prompting to stay silent to his nonchalant question-answer. gojo didn't pry on, the confusion still written all over his face, but he walked by your side slowly, matching your steps.

"i'm sure you're gonna beat me in statistics." he suddenly prompted, grinning brightly, "i didn't have time to study."

you groan out in annoyance, typical template of words people use when they know damn well they're going to ace the test. his words were answered with complete silence from you as you slipped inside the cafeteria, walking towards a section to buy yourself a meal.

and gojo, like he said — didn't follow you and parted ways right after you both enter the rowdy place.

"so, what's your score?" gojo whistles, leaning back on his chair as he holds onto a paper, looking at it intently.

you clutched onto the statistics test you did last week, blinking hesitantly, "ninety-eight." your reply was short, but at least it answered him.

a few seconds passed by and doubt started surging in you, maybe he had landed yet another perfect mark? maybe he's one point higher? maybe he's thinking of words to make fun of you with. so many thoughts at this point that you felt your head hurt.

"congratulations."

"yeah, yeah i— congratulations?" you turn towards the male, who was holding out his paper with the number '96' on it.

it took you a few seconds to digest the whole scenario. you actually beating him by two points? it might not seem a lot to other people, but to you? two points felt like you'd just won a competition first place with a gold medal.

the corner of your lips twitched upwards, "i did it."

gojo shrugs his shoulders sheepishly, he didn't seem too affected by your score, "guess you did. congrats."

the whole thing felt a little too good to be true, you tried doing anything to wake up from this dream. pinching yourself, smacking yourself, but nothing happened — this is real life.

and you finally beat gojo satoru in a brain game.

"oh my god, okay — i am freaking out a bit." you tell him, a small smile plastered on your face. in that moment, you wanted to just scream, shout, and let all your euphoria out.

"hold your horses, we still have economics next week." he chuckles, shaking his head.

but you were too ecstatic to hinder his words, standing up, you ran out of the class with sporadic steps. you jumped down a few steps of stairs and approached a vending machine giddily, inserting a bill and pressing on a big can of pop.

opening it with a slight 'pop!' you chugged down on the contents happily, walking all around the school property with a big smile that brought people into a state of wonder. asking themselves to why you could be this happy.

finding yourself on the rooftop, you inhaled sharply. letting the summer breeze caress your face lightly, you sat down around the corner of the staircase, scrolling through your phone happily. even to commemorate the day — you'd mark it in your phone's calendar, naming the day "the day i finally beat gojo satoru's brain power!"

hugging the device, elated. you look up towards the blue sky, was this it? was everything you sacrificed just for today? could you finally study without the burden of beating him in the future?

you hear the door to the rooftop open with a loud slam, flinching a bit. startled at how loud it was, and to your dismay, it was the deep, agonizing laugh of gojo satoru that made you freeze on your spot.

"y/n got higher in statistics? woah." you recognized that voice as geto suguru, one of gojo's closest friend besides shoko ieiri, "what did you do?"

at the mention of your name and last week's statistic test, your ears perked up a bit. gojo's deep chuckles resounds and he cleared his throat, "i could've beat them if i wanted to."

you bit the inner of your cheek silently, "could've? why didn't you?"

"i felt bad for them."

that was it. those three words were all it took to dissipate the ecstasy you felt for a short while. turns out it was all a fluke? you blinked in confusion, does that mean you beating him was all a planned thing he made?

"what do y'mean feel bad?"

"i don't know suguru, they look like they're trying so hard," gojo mumbles out lightly. even if there were no signs of mockery in his voice, still, you felt as if this was an unfair win for you (not that there was a win-lose from the beginning, you just made it up along the way).

the disappointment seeped in, and you felt a sense of languor washing over you. he was just letting you win, standing up slowly, you brushed your outfit — making your presence known to the two friends.

"you're a fucking prick, you know that?"

gojo looks back at you, his eyes widening the slightest bit, obviously not expecting you to be here, "how long have you been listening to us?" he asks you softly, exhaling slowly as if he had been holding a deep breath.

"it doesn't matter how long i've been listening to you, fuck you."

gojo's face fell as you began leaving the rooftop, he contemplated on chasing after you, but stopped himself from doing so. assuming you wouldn't be in the right mind to be talking to him right now.

or ever.

which was proven by the constant game of cat-and-mouse, he and you were doing.

"y/n, can we talk—" you brushed past him like he didn't matter, and gojo swore he felt his heart break a little when you walk by him, not even sparing a glance. but he didn't chase after you.

for the next couple of weeks, the male has been nothing but desperate. trying to reach out to you both online and offline, but much to his dismay, none of them had the feedback he needed to hear. and it fucking broke him.

"y/n, can we please talk about this?" he asks you as you took a seat on your assigned seat like the usual, but you didn't give him the attention, "please don't ignore me, talk to me."

he sounded so desperate. at this point, it was like the male was at school for you and you only. he just needed to talk to you about everything, get things straight, and live life like the usual. fighting about grades, teasing you about it, even if you return it with simple insults or the language of sarcasm.

he just needed that y/n back.

as you stood up, this time gojo chases after you, grabbing your wrist as you slipped away from the door, "talk to me, please," he mutters out lowly, his grasp so gentle.

you furrowed your brows and pulled your wrist away before turning away, walking further from where he stood.

"why won't you talk to me?" he asks you out, his voice echoing throughout the hallway of the third floor, "why won't you let me explain what i really meant by what i said that day? why won't you give me a chance to talk about it? why won't you talk to me?"

it irked you. he succeeded in stopping your walk, making you glance back at him in annoyance, "i didn't mean it in a way i didn't trust that you could beat me in the test," he said, standing in the same spot, the creases in between his brows deepening and a big frown latched on his lips.

"i see you everyday, ruining yourself to try and beat me. i can't fucking stand it y/n— you're killing yourself slowly. and i don't like that," he tells you, "i didn't even know why this was a competition in the first place, you're a smart person, why do you have to validate that by trying to beat my grades?"

you clenched your fists in annoyance. annoyed that he was somehow right on point. yet again, he was right.

gojo looks at you, waiting for an answer. his eyes profusely blinking as if he was holding back tears, which wasn't the point. you spared him an odd look, trying to walk away yet again. but the male was ready to hold you in your place, gripping your arm.

"why are you doing this to yourself?" he asks you.

"doing what?" you finally answered him.

"this. everything."

i look him dead in the eyes, "because i fucking hate the fact that you're beating me in the only one thing i'm good at. i don't fucking know gojo, the fact that i'm actually not that good at the one thing i assumed i'm good at is pissing me off — you're pissing me off!"

"y/n, what the fuck are you talking about?"

you pulled your arm away, "look at you. you're attractive and you're smart — i don't think i'm attractive, so i just try to be smart, but i'm apparently not doing a fucking good job at it too."

gojo heaves out a sigh, "so you think i'm attractive and smart?"

you look at him in disbelief, "how is that important right now?"

"it is important. the person i like thinks i'm attractive and smart," he tells you.

"okay, so what if i find you attractive and smart— did you just say you like me, gojo? what the fuck?" you asked him, very surprised and he sent you a charming smile.

"how is that important right now?" he questions back, grabbing your hand, giving it a light squeeze, "what matters is that you're not going to ignore me again, because frankly speaking, i fucking hate it when you're ignoring the fuck out of me y/n. i don't care if you insult or talk shit about me, just don't ignore me."

i look at him, mouth slightly agape, "can we talk about the 'the person i like' part, please?" you posed a question, still in disbelief.

"no. that's not important."

"yes it is important, gojo."

"so when it comes to my feelings to you, it's suddenly important? can we talk about your feelings to me after then?" you shook your head and walked away after that sole question, "that's a bit unfair don't you think? and why the hell are you walking away? come back!"

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[stvllioner]

OH MEGAN, THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE!!! 😭😭🙏🏽

creds: @/theestallion on instagram

[nanaslutt]

MDNI

transmasc!Gojo standing over you with his legs spread, one heavy hand in your hair and keeping you firmly pressed against his t-dick as you suck him off, running your tongue all over his clit and folds. “yeaaahhh- suck that fucking cock baby fuck-“ he groans, tipping his head back as he pushes his hips against your mouth.

“Right f-fucking there baby keep suckin’ me right there-“ He moans, his legs getting a bit shaky and unsteady as you focus on his fat clit, batting your tongue all over it. He’s rocking his hips against your face, fucking his cock in your mouth, the sensation of your lips around him making his toes curl.

Gojo’s jaw falls open in a silent moan before his teeth clench together and he’s pursing his lips around them like a fucking pornstar, feeling his orgasm start to build up. “Oh shit baby- shiiiit- gonna f-fucking cum in your mouth- ohmygod-“ He groans, looking down at your furrowed eyebrows and unfocused gaze, you look so fucked out, and it’s the last straw he needs before he reaches his high.

Gojo almost loses his balance as his body curles over your head, both his hands grabbing the back of your head to comfort himself as his squirt trickles out from his cunt, leaking down your chin what you can’t lick up. “Nnghhh- t-take it pretty baby- g-good girl fuck!!” he still manages to spit out, despite how whiny and pathetic his voice sounds from how hard he’s cumming.

When you detach your mouth from his clit with an opened mouth, tongue hanging out and a satisfied smile on your face, his wetness smeared all over it, Gojo can’t help but smile back. His whole body is trembling as he crouches down and crashes your lips against his, using the grip he still has on your hair to keep you firmly against him as he licks greedily into your mouth, overwhelming you with his tongue before he pulls back a hairs length and whispers “Think you can take another load?”

[deathanniversary]

© divider cred : bernardsbendystraws

you and your boyfriend haven’t been on the best terms. he doesn’t make you feel that spark you used to feel back then. it was exciting back then, but now, he doesn’t please you the way he used to. all you see is the same old routine day in and day out. but there's one silver lining—his daddy. that fine ass, powerful ceo who’s a certified dilf that you would one-hundred percent rail you if he gave you that chance any fuckin day of the week.

you were off to your boyfriend’s house to get some of your stuff back since you were planning on breaking up with him anyway, and you have too much of your stuff in his room that you need. as soon as you ring the doorbell, your not met with your shitty boyfriend, your met with his dad — satoru. (he’s so fine ! )

“hello?” he asks, holding the door open and staring right at you in that tight ass dress your boyfriend got for your birthday. “it’s you. my son’s girlfriend.” he states bluntly. “come inside.” he holds the door open for you, watching the way that your clothes hugged your curves and ass so perfectly.

“he told me you were coming — i’ll show you where his room is since he’s not home. said he’ll be here in ten.” satoru’s firm expression doesn’t dare to leave his handsome face as he walks upstairs. his suit hugs his muscular and toned framed — god, is this man hotter than your own boyfriend for god’s sake. it makes your panties damp. so. fucking. wet.

“grab what you need.” he says, checking the time on his rolex watch. shit. it’s an hour before he has to get back to work. and yes, he should’ve left a few minutes ago, but the way your dress hikes up when you bend down to get your stuff from his bottom drawer, it makes his cock hard and strain against his suit. your pussy under those lace panties looks soaked.

his bricked up dick pressed against your wet clothed sex, his arms wrapping around your waist. “looks like my son isn’t treating you right, hm?” his fingers slide your panties down and find their way to your needy cunt, sliding in effortlessly. he knows how to touch you in all the right ways— ways that your boyfriend never did.

you knew this was wrong, but fuckk— how could you resist such a fine man as satoru himself? what was there to dislike and gag ‘n grimace (on his cock) about? your boyfriend couldn’t get you all hot ‘n bothered like this for months— so what’s wrong with letting his daddy do it for him? plus, he won’t be here until ten minutes. you’ve got all the time you want, actually. ‘cause you don’t care if he sees at this point.

[gojournalist]

nerd!gojo ᯓᡣ𐭩

- nerd!gojo definitely bring you to library dates, to study or to just enjoy each other's presence!!

- nerd!gojo who blushes everytime when you kiss him (or make out even), just for you to push his glasses up when they're that close to falling off.

- nerd!gojo helps you in your studies or when you have a hard time in something that you can't understand.

- nerd!gojo surely is sappy whenever he's a little drunk from the party his friends invited him to (he wanted to fit in with his friends too), and gosh he was such a blabbermouth.

- nerd!gojo who would kiss you whenever you're walking, or driving everywhere when you stop on a red light or wait at the post to cross the lane.

- nerd!gojo crashes in your place when you bring him home, cuddling up to you.

- nerd!gojo, who, in the end, apologizes for all the actions he caused, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way he's so nervous and shy all this time when you've been giving him freedom.

[remuslupining]

[gojoest]

satoru vs “you wonder how that happened?” while pointing at your baby bump anytime someone stares at it for a bit too long. he likes to show you off and let everyone know that you did it raw, but you’re still his wife and others shouldn’t really be looking at you. you need to physically shut him up because he will tell them exactly how it happened

[lamemeduturfu]

So... about that first draft...

i hate them i will kill them myself oh wait haha someone was faster than me ^^

[ariseur]

ok i saw you wanted some requests so im here to give you an idea!! im really angst about gojo right now and i need an angst fic. (spoilers for the manga)

ok so: gojo x reader but readers cursed technique is to be able to see into the future (but they can’t do anything about it or talk about it) and they get a vision of the gojo vs. sukuna fight and what happens. they get all upset about it and cling to gojo, trying to get him not to go. (established relationship pls🙏🏻)

sorry for the drabble, i’ve been aching for someone to write this haha

HOLD ME ( TIGHTER THAN YOU EVER WILL ) - SATORU GOJO

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - i’m not gonna lie anon, i just finished the manga and i fell to my knees when i saw this request. ilysm for this but you are EVIL ( kiss me rn thank you for providing me with this angst )

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - spoilers for jujutsu kaisen manga chpts 222 - 236, character death ( canon ), weirdly descriptive mentions of you choking back words ( like that feeling you get when you’re trying not to cry and it feels like there’s barbed wire in your throat😭 ), gojo calls you “my girl” twice so fem!reader in mind when writing this, i didn’t really describe it as much of a technique i mainly kept it like you were seeing visions since i didn’t know how to correlate the ct i’m sorry!!, intended lowercase, hope you guys enjoy 😚💕!!

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ word count - 1654 words, 9068 characterss

“satoru.”

gojo turned around, his footsteps coming to a halt down the hallway of the infirmary. his face tipped towards you, cocking a bit as he let out a low hum of question.

upon seeing his face, your stomach clenched; a deep regret swirling in your abdomen. with a look at his face, your bottom lip quivered with furrowed brows. he stood there, trying to decipher your expression as he awaited an answer. his eyes, narrowed with confidence stood out on display rather than shielded from his blindfold. there was nothing left to hide now, not his strength and not his arrogance. you remembered how you had always begged him to take it off at least once, just so you could see his pretty eyes.

and now looking back retrospectively, it didn’t matter. those visions you saw, how real they felt. they couldn’t have been dreams, they always haunted you as they showed up everywhere. your eyes fell to satoru’s pink lips, pressed together in confusion before another thought intruded your head — another sight to behold as you felt like gagging upon remembering his bruised face, the blood spouting out from his mouth tainting his lips.

“i just,” you swallowed thickly, “i don’t think it’s a good idea to do this just yet.”

he sighed, giving one shake of his head before he stepped forward towards you. your head hung low, your words choked at the back of your throat as they threatened to escape their enclosure behind your uvula. “megumi’s in danger, people are watchin’ — i can’t postpone it, baby, you know that.” his hand placed itself on your shoulder, softly rubbing against the fabric of your shirt where the seams met.

“i’m not saying that— i just mean,” you closed your eyes, letting out a quiet, shaky breath. you recalled the conversation that happened not too long ago, back with ijichi and shoko. lamenting with all the memories back in your youth, along with reminiscing over everything that’s happened. shibuya, megumi’s possession, okkotsu’s return. everybody who’s died, it haunted you like no other knowing there was nothing you could do to prevent it; kugisaki, nanami, all those lives dealt a bad hand at their dreadful end. even yuuji itadori, someone so young being used so carelessly.

“damn, so it’s just the four of us left.” gojo’s voice had echoed throughout the room of your previous conversation. your head tipping back against the cold lockers as you stood in the corner, the scent of tobacco wafting in the air and seeping in through your nostrils from shoko’s cigarette whilst she stood not even a few feet away from you.

“well, there’s still also that idiot.” she huffed, transparent smoke slipping out in thin shapes from past her lips.

being around her for so long, the smell became indelible in your brain, your senses immediately causing you to retrace back to ieiri’s bad habit. even now, as you stood in front of your beloved — even as his distant musk flew up to your head as it had just barely intoxicated you, the smell of cigarettes and menthol was still unforgettable. you remembered the scratch in your throat as you hummed in agreement, your voice uneasy and raspy from misuse as gojo looked back up at shoko. “. . that’s true.”

eyes fluttering closed, you let out a small huff as you heard ijichi debriefing about something related to nanami, not that you could pay attention anyways. the voices and the images and the downright fuckery that went on in your brain was too loud for you to focus on anything else, including satoru’s face right in front of yours as you stopped recalling the transpired events as your head bowed down even further.

“look at me,” you heard him say. he gave your shoulders a gentle shake as his hand snaked up from your arm to your chin, trying to redirect your attention back to him no matter how much your head resisted. “where’s my girl at? don’t be shy, jus’ talk to me.”

your eyebrows crinkled as they met in the middle, the slight bit of skin creasing at contact when you finally looked up at him. his lashes ridged around his upper eyelids, pupils gazing ever so delicately as they softened at the sight of you. his thumb turned to face vertically, grazing your lip as he cocked his head; and then, he smiled. what once was so comforting long ago, where you two would spend mornings lazing around in bed as you’d forget about the first years, forget about yaga, forget about responsibilities. it was like you were in that high school bliss again, unable to care about anything more than the person right in front of you — even if they were drooling all over your arm. his smile, canines on display, only made you feel sicker about what you knew.

he pulled you into his chest slowly ( giving you enough time to thrash out of his embrace and tell him to knock it off, even if it’d hurt his pride a bit ) and as he rested his chin on you, he mumbled against your ear, “you can cry it out, you know.”

“‘m not crying.” you smacked his shoulder, pulling away as you sniffled — an obviously very convincing sign of totally not getting upset.

he snorted, “okay ma’am, don’t need the attitude — i’m just saying you can if you needed to.” he kept you at an arms length before he tilted your chin up again, causing you to roll your eyes and give him a sharp huff.

“gojo—!” you heard from around the corner. a high, stern voice interrupting the small bickering back and forth between you two. his hand faltered on your face, his thumb no longer brushing your cheek as your body tilted to the side only to find utahime walking in your line of sight. her eyebrows raised at the two of you, her mouth quirking to the side in shock as she sputtered, “not to ruin the moment but,” she shrugged slightly; a way of telling you indirectly, ‘it’s time.’

“few more minutes ‘hime, and i’ll be out.” he called out singsonging along as she walked away.

“don’t call me that,” she repeated in the same cadence, her voice collecting more distance the further she retreated — allowing you guys to have a moment before they prepare to go out.

satoru turned back towards you, his smirk growing wider as you looked away, your hand grabbing the one glued to your faced as you savored the warmth in between his fingers. “ah, there she is,” he teased, “my girl.”

“‘toru?”

he hummed, his hands squeezing yours. your eyes zipped up to his. “please,” you pouted at him, “be careful, yeah?”

he laughed as he shook his head in amusement. taking a few steps back, he extended both of your arms before ceremoniously letting go. “i think it’ll be okay — i am the strongest, after all,” gojo chuckled.

you managed a meager, bittersweet smile as you let out a wry laugh. no matter what kind of sounds left your lips, he always relished in them knowing only he could pull them out of you. whether it’s a small laugh, a full on abundance of giggles, whimpers along with your squirming about that he’d always tease you for; satoru never failed to appreciate them. even your groans of discomfort when he’d piss you off, all it took was some sweet talking and a trail of kisses along your jaw and he’d bounce back all sunshine and rainbows.

it wasn’t your voice or your body ( although those were major bonuses, might he have added ), and it wasn’t even the way you’d purse your lips to stop an embarrassed smile from painting itself on your face whenever he would make a stupid joke ( another thing he had loved about you ) — it was the fact that you saw him. he wasn’t the strongest when he was with you — he was ‘toru, only satoru.

he began to walk away, his shoes tapping against the hard floors as you watched his white robe flow behind him. you swallowed back a small whine at the back of your throat as you watched him leave; his hand about to slide the double doors open until you called for him once more. “satoru—?”

“huh?” he let out an airy laugh, mixed in with the syllable.

you put a hand on your hip, swallowing to try and moisten your dry throat. you let out an awkward laugh, “i love you — so much.”

gojo put a hand to his mouth before sending it off with you as he blew you a dramatic air kiss. “i love you, always.”

and with that, he turned away; the door sliding open with a satisfying sound before it closed behind him. left alone, with your thoughts only growing louder. you couldn’t help but scrunch your eyes shut, your hand clutching your head as your fingers buried themselves under your hair.

behind that door, gojo stood as he took a deep breath. he had burned your face into his memory, his brain fading back into images of your eyes — so piercing, always searching into his own, whether that was for the better or worst remained unknown in both his and your mind. as always, you had come, you had seen, and you had loved.

as he walked out to where utahime and gakuganji were waiting, he couldn’t help but think about you. satoru gojo could be held down by anybody, with all of their might — and be stabbed with sharpest of swords and the strongest of curses, but he’d never stop loving you. because you had never stopped loving him. satoru gojo had never stopped being seen by you; for he wasn’t the strongest, merely satoru.

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