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aervera · 7 hours ago

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Built To Break

synopsis. after nearly losing you on the battlefield, gojo struggles with what was left unsaid— contents. angst to fluff. mentions of blood and injury, mentions of dying.

MASTERLIST

the static in your ears hasn’t settled, not even after they carried you back.

your body is numb in parts that should never be, stitched clumsily by shoko while she muttered curses under her breath. the battlefield is long gone—left somewhere behind smoke and rubble and the sound of your own screams—but the chill of it remains, settling in your bones.

you don’t know how long you’ve been awake, only that the lights are too bright and the silence is too loud.

the door opens without a knock. of course it does.

gojo steps inside, fingers twitching by his sides, that usual cocky tilt to his mouth absent for once.

he sees you.

you see him.

he’s not wearing his blindfold. you wish he were. his eyes—ice-blue, frantic, storming—feel like too much all at once.

you try to sit up. “gojo—”

“don’t.”

he’s at your side in two long strides. you flinch when he reaches for you—he notices, freezes.

you’re quick to shake your head. “no, it’s not— i just… my ribs. still tender.”

he swallows visibly, his fingers curling inward, stopping just short of your hospital blanket. like touching you might make you vanish.

“you almost died, y/n.”

you laugh dryly, wincing at your own voice. “thanks for the update, doctor gojo.”

“don’t joke.” his voice cracks. “don’t ever joke about that again.”

you look at him. really look.

there’s blood on his collar. dried. not yours.

you whisper, “i didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“you think i haven’t seen worse?”

you avoid his gaze. “it’s different when it’s me.”

he doesn’t respond to that—not at first.

you shift slightly, grimacing at the twinge in your abdomen, and that’s when you notice how tightly his hands are clenched.

knuckles white.

breath shallow.

a slow, simmering anger behind his silence.

“y/n,” he starts, and you’ve heard him serious before—during missions, during death announcements, during curses that never should’ve existed—but this is different.

this is personal.

“why didn’t you say h-how bad it was?”

your throat dries up.

you blink at him, lips parting, but no words come.

he scoffs quietly, but it’s more of a broken exhale than a laugh. “you were bleeding out. you—god, you collapsed after that last technique and didn’t even let anyone get close to you until it was too late.”

“i didn’t want to be a burden—”

“don’t you dare.” his voice cuts sharp. “don’t you ever call yourself a burden.”

you’re stunned into silence.

gojo paces, runs a hand through his snow-white hair, stops just by the window like he needs space or air or both. then, like gravity’s too much, he drops into the chair beside you. elbows on knees. head in hands.

“…you always push through the pain,” he says after a long beat. “you always smile like it doesn’t hurt. like you’ve got something to prove.”

“i do,” you whisper.

his gaze flicks up. “to who?”

your lip trembles, and you hate that he sees it. “everyone.”

“you don’t need to prove anything to me,” he murmurs. “i already know how strong you are. you could rip my heart out, y/n.”

you laugh softly, then wince again.

gojo leans forward. “i mean it. you didn’t have to almost die to show me how brave you are. i already know.”

your eyes sting.

the tears that come feel foreign, like your body’s finally realizing it survived something it shouldn’t have.

“…i was scared,” you admit.

gojo moves instantly—kneels by your bedside, his large hand cupping your cheek with a reverence that nearly undoes you.

“you should’ve told me that too.”

“i didn’t want you to worry.”

“i always worry.”

you glance down at his hand. his thumb is rubbing soft circles into your cheek now, like muscle memory.

“you know,” he says, trying to smile, “if you die, i’ll have to kill you.”

you giggle wetly. “that makes no sense.”

“i don’t care.” he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “so next time, let me carry you before you break. let me worry in advance. let me be there, y/n.”

“you already are.”

“but not enough,” he says, and the pain in his voice makes your chest twist. “not if you’re still hiding how much it hurts.”

you reach up, fingers curling into his soft hair. “i didn’t think you’d handle seeing me weak.”

“y/n,” he whispers, “you’re not weak. you’ve never been.”

there’s a beat of silence, the kind that says everything words can’t.

then he murmurs, almost shyly, “when i thought i lost you—i… i lost my damn mind.”

you tilt your head. “gojo—”

“i’m not good at this.” he exhales shakily. “but i love you, and i need you to stop acting like that’s something that’ll weigh you down. you can lean on me. please.”

you feel the last of your resolve melt into his warmth.

you smile through your tears.

“…you’ll still love me even if i look like shit?”

he snorts. “y/n, you look like a raccoon who fought a blender. i still want to kiss you stupid.”

you laugh again, louder this time.

then softer, sincerely: “i love you too, gojo.”

his grin returns, faint but real, like the sun rising through stormclouds.

“yeah?” he says.

“yeah.”

“cool. now scoot over so i can lie beside you and make a big deal about your stitches.”

“you’ll hurt me.”

“i’ll hurt with you,” he corrects, easing into the space beside you like he belongs there. and he does.

you lean into his warmth, feeling—for the first time in what feels like forever—safe.

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aervera · 2 days ago

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PUBLIC MENACE

synopsis. gojo thinks you’re the real troublemaker for being too cute in a crowded café. contents. SFW, tooth-rotting fluff, gojo being gojo. notes. my first ever imagine. be gentle with me please.

MASTERLIST

it’s not your fault.

you were just sitting there, minding your own business, sipping an iced matcha latte and flipping through the menu at your favorite café in shibuya. your sundress was modest — okay, maybe it had a bow at the back and a slightly twirly skirt, but you hadn’t dressed with intentions. you’d only planned to meet your annoying, cocky, ridiculously attractive boyfriend for lunch.

and then satoru gojo walked in like he owned the entire ward.

he spots you in a second, even though the café is packed. his eyes — though hidden behind his signature black sunglasses — lock onto you like a homing missile. and you already know, from the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, that he’s up to something.

you watch him approach with that confident, lazy gait — hands in pockets, white hair slightly mussed, jujutsu high hoodie casually slung over one shoulder. he looks like he belongs in a commercial, or worse, a fanfiction.

he drops into the seat across from you and doesn’t even glance at the menu. instead, he leans in, rests his chin on one hand, and grins.

“your cuteness,” he says, voice low enough to feel like a secret, “is making everyone stare. stop it.”

you blink.

then you scoff. “excuse me?”

gojo tilts his head, as if he’s genuinely concerned. “i’m serious. that thing you’re doing with your lips while reading the menu? adorable. that little crinkle in your nose when you’re trying to decide if you want fries or mochi pancakes? weaponized cuteness.”

you raise a brow. “you’re the one who walked in here looking like an off-duty k-pop idol. if anyone��s getting stared at, it’s you.”

he shrugs, completely unbothered. “that’s different. i’m always stared at. but you?” he leans even closer, and you can smell the faint trace of his cologne — something fresh, clean, dangerously addictive. “you’re my secret weapon. my greatest weakness. my biggest distraction.”

you roll your eyes, trying to suppress the heat crawling up your neck. “you’re being dramatic.”

he rests his cheek on his palm and smiles wider. “and you’re blushing. which, by the way, is also making everyone stare.”

you glance around. a few people are sneaking peeks. whether it’s at you or at gojo is anyone’s guess, but you pretend to hide behind your menu anyway.

“i should’ve picked a quieter place,” you mumble.

he hums in agreement, but there’s mischief dancing in his expression. “but then i wouldn’t get to show off how cute my girlfriend is to the general public. i mean, look at you. you're like a cupcake with legs.”

you shoot him a look. “you’re so weird.”

“weirdly in love,” he corrects, and then groans dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “god, even your annoyed face is cute. what am i supposed to do? you’re out here breaking hearts, babe.”

you snort. “the only heart i plan on breaking is yours if you keep talking like that.”

“ooh, threats. now that’s hot.”

you try to stay irritated, but it’s difficult when he’s beaming at you like you hung the stars. even when he’s being obnoxious — especially when he’s being obnoxious — he manages to make your heart skip. you glance down at the menu again, hoping he’ll stop staring.

he doesn’t.

you sigh. “do you want to order or just keep flirting?”

he smirks. “who says i can’t do both?”

you deadpan, “gojo—”

“alright, alright,” he surrenders, raising his hands in mock defeat. “but only because i can’t let my cupcake starve. what are you having?”

you end up ordering the mochi pancakes and he gets some ridiculous triple-shot iced espresso with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. the barista barely blinks — clearly used to his chaos — but you can’t help but laugh.

“you have the palate of a ten-year-old.”

“and you,” he says, swirling his straw like it’s a fine wine glass, “have the laugh of an angel. seriously, they should bottle that sound.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“but you love me.”

“unfortunately,” you mutter, just as the food arrives.

he steals a bite of your pancakes and makes an exaggerated moan. “delicious. just like you.”

you swat his hand. “people are watching, gojo!”

“that’s what i’ve been saying!” he exclaims, pointing at you with his fork. “you’re the one being criminally adorable! i’m just responding to the threat!”

you give him a look that promises vengeance, but he only winks in response. and for a moment, despite the noise around you, the packed café fades into a comfortable blur.

there’s a kind of bubble that gojo pulls you into — effortless, warm, and just a little chaotic. and even though he can be a menace, he’s your menace.

you eat in a kind of teasing peace, trading bites and sarcastic commentary, until he says — more quietly this time — “you know i mean it, right?”

you glance up.

he’s taken off his sunglasses, revealing those impossibly blue eyes, and his usual grin is softened with something more honest.

“you are cute,” he says. “but it’s not just the dress or your smile. it’s the way you light up when you talk about your favorite shows. the way you pout when you’re concentrating. the way you make even a quiet lunch feel like the best part of my day.”

you stare at him, suddenly speechless.

and then he adds, “still — i do wish you’d stop being so cute in public.”

you blink, touched but also unable to resist. “because people are staring?”

“because,” he says, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand, “it’s really hard not to kiss you right now, and i don’t think the world is ready for that level of public affection.”

you snort and squeeze back. “you’re lucky you’re hot.”

“don’t i know it.”

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