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skzbangchanniee · 2 months ago

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I'D GIVE YOU EVERYTHING (I JUST WANT TO SEE YOU WIN) ‧₊˚𓇢𓆸 ⸻ clan head Gojo

CHAPTER TWO: Lady Gojo

𓍯𓂃 pairing⋙ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

𓍯𓂃 description⋙ navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.

𓆰𓆪 cw in this chapter⋙ canon divergence, NSFW, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, one sided conflict, one sided pining, eventually both sided pining, so much yearning, slow burn, in a sort of eccentric way ngl, suggestive stuff, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, angst, some fluff, eventually fully, Mr. wife guy (non derogatory), condescending Gojo, this is quite an angsty chapter, lots of unhealed trauma, childhood abuse, physical abuse, mention of food, throwing up, riddled with insecurity, mention of death, blood, he is an idiot.

𓍯𓂃 a/n: art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt. honestly i do not think this is as sad as i am making it to be, lol it could be worse. and maybe it will get worse idk? anyway hope you have fun reading <3

word count: 8.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

People usually have a lot of expectations about the first day after their wedding. Things like sleeping in, making breakfast together, and having sex. Or go on a honeymoon, where you have more sex, to somewhere more scenic.

Unfortunately this was not a very usual marriage that you have stumbled upon. Being the lady of the Gojo clan was huge in and of itself, but when you are married to Gojo Satoru on top of that, the living enigma—it is hard to say if you can exist in the shadows anymore.

It was daunting, to say the least, being the center of everyone’s scrutiny and attention. Entirety of thirty six hours have gone by, with you becoming the new lady Gojo, standing beside Satoru, and trying not to get eclipsed by him. Which is a flawed expression of words when there stood the same amount of distance between you two, as the sun and the moon—you have spent some easier thirty six days in your life compared to these last thirty six hours.

Mere thirty six hours, and you have somehow driven your husband further away from you than the preexisting light years of difference between you two.

All you did was, do as you were told. And yet here you were. Somehow things just do not work out for you even when you do as instructed. Neither do they work out when you try to go against the grain.

There has always been a misfit piece of puzzle handed to you, and when you try to forcibly jam it in, everyone seems to get more mad at you. But what can you do with the hand of cards you were dealt with? You play them. But when those cards do not seem to win you anything, how late are you to back away from these games?

What are you to do when your husband calls you wrong for trying to live up to the expectations of the society, your gender, and your respective families? If only you truly knew the answers to all these questions, which are far bigger in the grand scheme of things, than your head could comprehend.

And now it is a lifetime of fumbling around, until you are yet again able to become translucent enough to be ignored for the rest of time.

You predict that your penchant for wanderlust into the pits of anxiety at this huge table, expanding along with the stretch of the entire room, would be a common occurring theme. Especially with the lack of a husband opposite you on the dining table, and an absence of appetite for the array of delicious food in front of you. Far too much for you to finish by yourself, and far too precious to disappoint the chef; who came up to you and introduced himself to you with the sweetest most welcoming smile that you have been offered by someone in a while.

“I hope you enjoy everything Gojo-san, Gojo-sama specially requested everything to be made to your liking. ” Was all he said before he disappeared back into the kitchen.

So you did your best. To finish as much as you could, at the very least, to try a bite out of everything chef Suzuki prepared, especially for you, apparently with your husband’s special request.

Even though he, himself, was not available to eat a proper meal with you under his roof. He made sure the food was catered to your preference, he most likely got the intel from your mother or someone else, because there was barely anything you could swallow down your throat without almost regurgitating it.

You have spent your life in the confines of your father’s estate trying to mold into a perfectly eligible lady for a clan head to wed off. And that required a very specific diet and taste. Which unfortunately you never really became fond of, nor did you get accustomed to. You distinctly remember how as a child when you threw a tantrum at the dining table, for not wanting to eat the same soup you were chugging down currently, you were left to starve the entire night instead.

The lashes of thin bamboo leaving red marks all over your arms, were still fresh in your memories. And when the sweet grandma who did your laundry, and her grandson, sneaked in some packaged chips for you—you remember how hard you cried for two days and fell ill, not because of the lashes you got as punishment, but because your one and only childhood friend, and his grandmother, the elderly lady who actually treated you like a child, were dismissed and driven out of your clan's estate without a single thought.

You do not want to repeat those mistakes again. One wrong move by you could have someone pay for it with their entire livelihood. Who knows if Gojo Satoru will even spare the chef his life. You have heard how much of a cruel man he is behind his suave facade, and you did not want to unmask that.

But how sure were you that the mask was not already being chipped away at? After the events of last night and this morning, you were not sure about your position in this game, what move to make next. Everything you know about the rules; the rights and wrongs, were all backfiring.

So the wisest thing to do here, is to sit pretty and do as you are told.

The first seven days after the wedding were monotonous to say the least, and somber to say the most. The tour of the estate took about almost three days, and even then you could only explore the entirety of the right wing’s ground floor and some parts in the center, leaving behind at least more than sixty percent of the property unexplored. And you were left too tired and too overwhelmed to finish the rest of it. So you simply told the ladies appointed to show you around, that,

‘I have a lifetime to familiarize myself with the entirety of it.’

Sure the nervous chuckle you gave them before turning on your feet and heading towards the opposite direction, seemed innocent and endearing enough for them to spread the word—that how happy their madame is to be here!

But the truth couldn't be further from that.

To simply put it, it was too frightening. And it felt like you were crossing some sort of imaginary boundary. In these last three days, you've been confined to the right side, and some partial space in the center of the building. And it felt like that's all you've been permitted access to, because that's how it has always been. In fact this was more than what you've been brought up with. Sure, your parental home isn't as vast and huge as your husband's, but even then it was huge in size compared to what you think most normal houses are. And you've only been able to walk through only some of the halls of the place which was meant to be your home.

For a place which you wanted to call your home, it sure never felt like it. Whenever you wandered anywhere other than the library you cherished, your own room, and the gardens, and some other sitting rooms; you were given stern punishments. Eventually the unknown nooks and crannies of your own house became not worth the stinging red lines on the palm of your hands, or the little amount of food that was served to your room.

So naturally, when Satoru carried you in through the main entrance, and walked through the halls to get to your room, you associated that selected path, and area as your newfound boundary. Even the stairs leading to the second story of the mansion was too forbidden of sorts, for you to walk up to.

So part of the reason why you are yet to tour the entire estate was this, and the other part was that you were not ready to stumble into your husband in these halls.

Even if it's your shared property, it's not your home. It's his, it's all his. And how dare you step a foot on something of his without proper permission? You should just be thankful enough to have been given so much, and it'd just be too greedy to ask for more.

So you left your husband to himself, and left him alone with some of the center, the left wing of the mansion, and the entirety of the first floor. In exchange, you gave yourself solace in the gardens surrounding the mansion, and the woods beyond it. So you couldn't dare to step over that line.

Except, maybe, the library.

Books have always been a lovely companion to you, when much of your own words didn't mean anything. So you appreciated all the books scattered across all the shelves in the rooms you did not hesitate to step into. But you wanted to allow yourself some audacity to look for the actual library. The thought of its sheer size and capacity to hold hundreds and thousands of centuries old books, made you want to step over that imaginary line you drew for yourself.

But then, you also have other things to distract you from giving into your desires.

The practice of acclimating with your duties as the now lady of the estate, was much easier than receiving the never ending messages of congratulations, or fighting the urges to cross over the unspoken boundaries that you drew out yourself. It was not as burdensome as you feared it would be, but nonetheless, the duties of the wife of the Gojo Satoru, was sure not easy.

The first few days were spent in awe of everything, even though you were not from someone’s blood lacking in any affluence; but your new residence, surname, and—the living legend of sorts—husband were scintillating to a blinding degree. And any apparent distant giggling teases of a feet sweeping honeymoon, envisioned by the ladies at your reception—was not happening, to their utter dismay.

Yet still you have come to enjoy the mundane tasks. Waking up to an empty bed for a straight week, since your first night with your husband, is compensated for by your ladies in waiting, namely, Mia and Suki . Both of their lively fuss in the morning over dressing you up feels more rejuvenating than any cup of coffee.

It makes you want to look forward to the mornings when you go to bed waiting for Satoru, only for him to slip under the sheets after he has been reassured by the maids that you are deep in slumber. So then he could walk into your room, as discreetly as possible, and get ready to slip under the same sheets as you.

To then only stare at how your eyelashes fall on your cheeks, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the bridge of your nose, and the blemishes on your skin, until he falls asleep himself—to then wake up before you, leaving his side of the bed cold and empty, and so neatly cleaned up. That it looks untouched.

Meeting Ichiji after breakfast, to go over Satoru’s schedule, before your husband’s departure to work, feels much more inviting than having breakfast at an empty table with your husband’s absence.

Discussing breakfast the previous night with chef Suzuki, lunch for yourself and the staff at the estate—as well as discussing what should be packed and sent for the lord of the estate’s lunch. Looking over the needs of each staff member, catering to their meal requirements etc. it was quite a hard job, when done genuinely, but it made you feel closer to each and every member of your new family.

Understanding the accounts of the estate expenditure, making notes of days when the staff are to be paid, fulfilling their requests, corresponding with other clan members etc. surprisingly kept you busy, as you did your best to remain accurate in your calculations. Because these were to then Bypass Satoru's finals checking.

It was a matter of concern for you before, how you will be spending your time usefully, rather than just sitting idly in a pretty attire. Before, you used to spend your days teaching destitute children, until your parents deemed your career as a good pastime that went on long enough, and eventually it was just that you were to focus on your overdue duties—marriage.

And just like that, that little freedom was also snatched away even after much groveling to your parents. So you presumed as much, it was going to be absurd to even ask your husband to continue that vocation—after all if the people of your own blood can confine you within a boundary before wedding you off on your merry way, like some livestock they raised to be butchered—then expecting anything more from a husband of a week and mere convenience, was out of the question.

The hardest possible job was calling your husband during a particular time of the day, to enquire about his preference for each day's dinner. When he would be on his break, you'd call him, but not at a time when he was actually free enough to pick up his phone immediately. But just busy enough to not be actually able to pick up the phone himself.

It took you some time to perfect the right timing. It is exactly two and a half rings, before you could hang up the phone without any guilt. It was long enough that it showed, ‘oh yes she really called.’, but not long enough for your husband to actually pick up the phone and converse with you. Of course it was silly. Why would you call him if you did not even mean to speak to him?

Because that was not the purpose of the call. It was almost another formality. And how dare you ruin all the efforts he has been putting into to ignore you, for an entire week at that? Of course it was nothing enraging enough to make you do petty things, because this was not petty! You just either really wanted to respect his wishes, or that you were too scared to start another conversation with him. And maybe the answer could be an amalgamation of all the aforementioned reasons.

It seems that you would rather go to far fetched lengths than speak to your own husband directly about what he would like for the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Instead, it was easier to call Ichiji with the excuse that Satoru did not pick up, to then have him ask and relay back what should be prepared for dinner.

It was not that it was imperative for you to ask Satoru such tedious things, you were not even sure how this whole thing started. The very first day after you two were wed, and later in the morning when he walked out on you after calling you wrong for trying to abide by your wifely duties, the kitchen asked for your opinion for dinner. And after that nauseating breakfast experience, you did not have the mind to think about food, so you skipped lunch, and so did Satoru, without you at the table he simply dismissed everyone to their own vices and returned to his hiding. You wanted to respect their wishes and give them an answer, but you also did not really have anything on your mind.

Naturally, you told them to just ask Satoru, but since apparently your husband already locked himself in his office in the very opposite end of the estate from you, and had some important people over to congratulate him, no one was brave enough to disrupt him.

But something told them it was acceptable for you to intervene.

“How- how am I supposed to ask him? I, I do not think I should.” You spoke loud enough for the staff to hear, but it was mostly for yourself to hear those words, and know your place.

“We truly think Gojo-sama would not mind if you went in, madam. Well, if you are still so hesitant, why not just call him?” Chef Suzuki suggested for the others to nod along with him. And you did not have the heart to tell them the already sour nature of your relationship with their lord. So you sat down in the nearest sitting room, if you can even call such a massive room, just that. The Gojo estate expanded through truly acres and acres of land, so there were plenty of rooms with the most comfortable couches and chairs, and plenty more telephone to communicate with people in the other areas of the estate.

One ring. Two rings. Two and a half rings. Three rings-

“Hello.”

Oh he picked up. And oh, his voice sounded different. Different from how he speaks with you. It sounded more authoritative. More rough, more distant.

And here you thought only you were subjugated to his apathy and ignorance.

“Hello?” Oh right, you answer someone when they pick up the phone, right.

“Um- hello.” All sound on his end halted. Or maybe it felt like that to him.

“I- I just, I mean- the chef wanted to ask- what would you like for dinner?” Goodness, when did you get so bad at conversing over the phone?

There was a long awkward pause after that question. You were fully expecting him to just scoff at your audacity to even think you could call him to ask such things, and hang up on you. You were expecting dinner to be cancelled altogether. And after skipping lunch, and throwing up everything you had for breakfast, you couldn't afford that.

“Please let the chef know that I'll have whatever you'd like.” His voice sounded softer than how he previously spoke, or maybe it was just that he was trying to not shout at you in front of his guests. Either way, you were grateful. That he did not prolong this call with names of illegible culinary words you could not relay back, and get deemed unsophisticated.

“Alright. Please be at the table by the time it is served.” You did not expect him to have dinner with you. But you still asked, maybe there was some pleading in your voice as well. Or maybe you just did not want to eat alone.

“Of course, sweetheart. And I'm sorry about this morning.”

Oh?

Oh!

He says sorry? The head of the Gojo clan says sorry, to his wife? In front of other people of authority? You've had some wild and confusing interactions with this man since you married him not even barely twenty four hours ago, and this was probably the wildest interaction you've had with a man in your life. A man with such power at that. And you could not, or maybe you did not know how to answer him. So you did the next worst thing to stutter an ok, you hung up on him.

Everyone around you giggled and smiled discreetly, as you scrambled away to the kitchen, offering not needed, but appreciated, help to chef Suzuki.

And when dinner time came, you started setting up that huge table by yourself, dismissing everyone to eat their own meals. Not expecting a husband to accompany you for the meal, you busied yourself with the cutlery and fine china, when a looming figure leaned on the door frame to observe you from a far.

It seems as though Gojo Satoru has developed a weird pension for staring at his wife from afar.

And he has also developed the knack for scaring her by silently coming up to her from behind without any warning. He liked that you shriek and jump when you realize you're not just by yourself anymore. He likes to think that one day you'll jump in joy rather than surprise to see him walk in without any warning.

So you both silently sat yourselves down at the very opposite ends of the dining table, both at the head of each end, and silently ate your dinner. Which was much easier to chow down than the breakfast you had earlier. Which thankfully did not upset your stomach too bad. You did not exchange words, just silently stole glances, and when your eyes would land on his eyes, which would be already trained on you more than half of the time—you’d scurry to finish your meal before him and leave him at an empty table.

Reap what you sow.

Now that is how this entire calling Satoru—or Ichiji to be more exact—thing started. Everyday since then you've never failed to call him, and hung up after that almost third ring, to not allow him the chance to respond; to then ask him through Ichiji, what he'd like for dinner. For lunch, If he was at his home office, he'd eat there. And if he was not home, his lunch would be packed and delivered.

Some sorry it was. Given as a formality, and taken not seriously.

The chef, or the staff, or the ladies appointed to you, never clarified that you did not have to do this entire thing, calling him everyday to just ask about dinner. This was not part of the duties assigned to you, and the kitchen has always cycled through a set of preparation their lord preferred, and it was already an established, much easier, routine. But no one tried to object to the new everyday routine.

Especially when Satoru himself did not mind the new routine. Sure, he'd much appreciate you asking him directly, but he'd have the short end of the bargain either way.

And everyday it was more than enough entertainment for all of them to see their madame struggle to address their master. Satoru was never truly involved in such tasks, much of the responsibilities you take care of now used to fall on poor Ichiji’s shoulders, so the change of pace was much appreciated by everyone. After all, he was too busy being the strongest weapon in jujutsu history to look after everything himself.

So somewhere everyone, including your husband, found your insistence to note down his opinions over such trivial things, too endearing to enlighten you. Though this routine of calls have become quite complicated over the past week. And so you have developed a habit of having lunch with the chef and kitchen staff.

On rare, yet day by day more frequent occasions, like today, instead of the kitchen staff, you would be sitting opposite your husband over lunch.

It was not often you sat down in a room with Satoru without any reason, in fact you can count on one hand how many times you have done that. So waiting for lunch to be served on a comically large dining table, sitting on the very opposite end from him, was new everytime. It was awkward enough to share any meal other than the scheduled dinner with him, that too he always left much earlier than you, thankfully.

Who knows what it was? Was it his engulfing cologne clogging your nose, disabling you from smelling the food served in front of you. Or simply the annoyingly perfect sight of him, so casually eating like it was the most natural thing to do—while you sat there, a nervous wreck. But regardless, you did not seem to have any appetite. Which was apparent enough for everyone, including Satoru to notice that across from the table.

“Is there anything on your plate that you don’t like? I can ask the chef to make you something else.” There was, as if, a genuine concern in his voice. For you, that was simply weird.

“Oh. No, I am fine. I just had a snack earlier.” The poorly told lie was not one to pass Gojo Satoru or his six eyes. But for you he was willing to make an excuse.

“Is that so? I think I am done as well.” It was a risky tactic he was employing, trying to bait you with guilt was low even for him.

“But you’ve barely started!?” “And you barely had any breakfast. I am more than sure if I asked anyone here what fulfilling snack you had, the answer would be underwhelming.” How would he even know what you did or not have for breakfast when he was not even there to begin with?

For a few seconds he sat there assessing if he had pissed you off again. As invigorating as it is to mildly anger you, he would not have that at the cost of your meal. To his relief without any more protest you went back to your plate to take a proper mouthful bite.

If anyone tested Satoru’s patience as you did, as well as avoided him as skillfully as you have; it would have ended up not as kindly as it has been with you. He has been trying to give you space, to let you breathe, and foster a home for yourself, in his house. Unfortunately in those attempts he has made you feel neglected and ignored instead, for someone so perceptive, he sure is clueless.

Because when he tried to give you that space, after that poorly said sorry, he thought by extension it was part of the apology. Which mistranslated to you, as some formality and ignorance. When he was merely trying to make you feel more comfortable, and holding himself back from stepping over any more land mines.

Those said land mines are simply just his unfathomably and rapidly growing feelings for you. His concerns, and worries about your wellbeing. And just thoughts of you randomly hijacking his mind. It takes Suguru one too many times a day to nudge his head, to bring him out of some sort of trance that he goes into when you come into his mind.

But after the first week, he has found himself to enjoy invading your space rather than trying to give you space. It made him ecstatic to hear your voice panic a little when from time to time he would pick up your routinely strategic calls instead of missing them. He does think, even you have to admit for yourself, that two and a half rings are far too few before hanging up on someone. Also he did not appreciate Ichiji asking him what he would like for dinner, instead of you. You made this new habit, you must be the one to ask as well.

“What would you like for the chef to prepare tonight?”

“Hmm?” he looked a little dumbfounded at your sudden question, was it not enough you were infiltrating his mind and now you are reading his thoughts as well? Upon acclimating with the situation, he sees his own and your empty plates. Guess he finished his meal while he was too busy thinking of, again, you.

“I mean, what do you want for dinner?” you ask once again, in hopes of a more clear answer. But god forbid your husband ever gave you a desirable answer to your questions.

“You.”

If someone wanted to learn how to kill someone with a single word, it should be recorded how this exchange happened. The food in your mouth choked in your throat, it had your husband sprint from his own seat to your end of the table, to pat you on the back and hand you a glass of water. After a few minutes and some water later, the food went down the pipe, but the word did not.

“Goodness, I was only joking, sweets.”

He was in fact, not joking.

“Y-you were?” He nodded a very convincing yes, trying not to scare off his already spooked wife.

“It was a very poor attempt at a joke. But I appreciate the effort.” You ended your sentence with a smile that subconsciously made its way to your lips. He does not remember when was the last time you smiled at him, or, for him.

And he chuckled at your honesty. He found it so refreshing and interesting. It is not that no one has ever told him how bad his jokes were, or worse when people laugh at his jokes merely outbid fear. He knows his humor was not to everyone's taste. But he liked that you did not just put him down, maybe out of your still very scared view of him, or maybe out of sympathy. But he appreciated the change of pace where his friends would just shit on him for such jokes, or when people would laugh too loud and too obviously out of fear.

But then again, he was just trying to mask truth with humor.

Which has been a staple for him. The truth is as plain as he said it, he wants you. He wants you carnally maybe, he wants to eat you up. He wants you to chew him up like a gum and spit him out at your convenience.

But more than that, Satoru thinks he also wants you beyond bodily, physical needs. He does not think he even thought about touching you since your first meeting, until he actually touched your skin that night. He saw you in that room, sitting behind that cedar wood table, looking smaller than everyone in that room, despite your status. And he thought—’Great. A meek little mouse instead of a bride.’

But when you actually answered his teasing, and honestly, patronizing question instead of timidly bowing your head in respect, like he expected you to—he saw a dwindling spark in your eyes in that moment, instead of fear and vast pit of emptiness, that he first saw in them when he opened those doors.

And he knew even if there was someone more capable to stand beside him, maybe he would rather stand with you.

He cannot still exactly pinpoint what it is that he craved from you, or if it's just that he simply craves you, but he wants more. He wants more of you, more from you. He wants you just simply to exist around him. Your skin sent waves of heat through his skin when he touched it, it was burning hot compared to his own cold body, you felt so warm and so alive in that moment, and he simply wants more.

He does not think he loves you. Yet. At the very least. He does not think he fell in love with you just as he laid his eyes on you that day, maybe he pities you that much. Maybe it is just like adopting a frail kitten stuck in a storm and giving her a shelter to thrive in. He has thought about that. But he came to the conclusion that he is done playing some hero.

The world has had enough of Gojo Satoru—the strongest, the saviour, and the weapon.

He simply wants to exist, as he wants to exist for someone. He does not want to sacrifice anymore. For once he wants to be selfish. He wants to selfishly live on, and live with someone. And he has chosen that someone to be you.

And if you were just some sympathy case, he doesn't think he would've felt such feelings for you. He truly needs you, more than he wants you. He needs you to want him, he needs you to look at him with the same eyes as you did when you told him off for being late, or when you looked him up through those blurry pupils while being pinned under him.

He truly, earnestly, needs to have you. Most romantically, spiritually, and disrespectfully.

He would rather have you on this table than the spread of a very well prepared meal. But those aren't thoughts that can be easily dumped on his wife, who has schemed up tactful ways to avoid even hearing his voice through the phone.

“Just ask them to prepare what you'd like.” He smiled reassuringly before picking up your plate, as well as his, so quickly, even beating the staff and you to it—and headed straight to the kitchen sink.

To maybe drown himself in the sink after putting away the dirty plates.

It is truly magnificent, how wonderful the garden looks at night.

How the koi pond dims down at night, and the stones and the sand become cold with the dropping temperature. The pine trees rustled and threw their needles all over the ground, as if to deter the sharp wind, to protect their garden from its sharp claws. And it seems like an entire play is happening right outside of your windows.

But you have been more interested in what goes on behind that battle ground. In the little grove of trees, and wild flowers, where the wind seems more forgiving, and the trees feel more comforting.

And it feels like an entirely new world beyond the bridge over the stream, that connects to the lake nestled in the trees. And you've come to find a safety net in that new world of yours.

Particularly sitting down on one of those benches under the cherry blossom trees by the said lake, the one near the bridge seems too out of your reach, so you always opt for the one across it—the only reason why is because your husband seems to like that bench for himself.

Though it takes a bit of a walk from your room on the right side, or even the left wing of the mansion, to go over the only bridge that crosses the stream, which lies as a boundary between the tidy gardens and the unbridled woods—it was easily accessible from the center.

After the first time you did dare to cross that bridge, you did not think of crossing it again. Maybe because you were too busy waiting for your husband to return to bed, or afraid of interrupting Satoru. Either way, you tried your best to not cross that bridge.

The second time you went there, was when you saw Satoru crossing that bridge around twelve AM, when you were just sprawled on the couch in that particular drawing room that looked over the bridge. Not ready to retire to that huge bed by yourself, you followed him there.

And all he did was sit on the bench under the cherry blossom tree, which stood by the lake around twenty five steps away from the bridge.

You did not dare to disturb him, he looked so calm, and at peace. For once, from what you could make out from behind the huge and unkempt hydrangea bushes, his eyes did not look pained.

It is that people often saw Gojo Satoru only with his blindfold on, but you mostly ever saw him without it. So you honestly felt like he was punishing you when he started wearing them around you more often since the first time you two had dinner together. You hadn't seen him for the entirety of that day, the entire morning you spent hunched over the toilet, and the evening you spent by replaying the conversation you had with him over the phone.

‘I’m sorry.’

Is what he said. And you thought, maybe it was just a fluke, what happened that morning. Things will get better. Then to only be greeted with a husband across that long table, with a blindfold covering half of his face. And it felt more punishing than being told that you were wrong.

But from what you made out of what you have seen of his eyes, and those half empty smiles and smirks he threw your way—he was pained. It hurt him, to simply see you, just to be around you. The only place where he roamed around so freely without those obstructions in front of his eyes, for his own good, was his home—and now you've taken that away from him as well.

So then you started to ignore him. After waiting for him in that huge bed, that huge table, those huge rooms—you gave up easily. As easily as he threw a half assed apology for you to latch onto some false hope. You avoided walking into him. You avoided trying to stay up for him, or starving yourself, you avoided his voice, and but you still tried to get a peek of his hidden eyes.

Until you couldn't help but follow him into these woods. And so you sat there looking at him, creeping in the shadows, while the lake’s water reflected beams of light on his face, and made his blue eyes shine a different shade of blue than what it usually reflects. And the scars that dug themselves on his skin, looked deeper than what they usually did. It looked like he was freshly wounded, and the most vulnerable, he could allow himself to be.

You waited there until he got up from his seat and disappeared into the thin air.

And that's how your own routine started. You waited until twelve AM to see if Satoru went into the woods, and waited for about an hour and a half more to check if the lights in your room were turned on from under the door. To then sneak into the woods. Some days he'd be gone, other days he'd still be under that cherry blossom tree.

And if he was not there, you'd make your own way to take a seat under the cherry blossom tree across the lake, other times you'd wait for him to disappear from behind those hydrangea bushes.

Today was one of those days.

You waited, and waited, until it seemed like he had teleported back to your bedroom, to make your way to the bench on the other side. And when you made it there, you found it out to be occupied by your husband himself. So you did what you could do, in a state of panic, you tried your best to silently turn around and walk away without rumbling the bushes or rustling the grass under your feet. To make your escape.

“You're leaving already?” His voice came out smooth and steady as ever. And you stopped in your tracks with your back to his back.

“Come here, sit down.” He simply said, without as much as even turning around from where he sat.

And you could not help but obey. If it was possible, you'd run, run so fast and quick that even his techniques would not be able to track you down. But that is just a delusional imagination.

“I won't repeat.” He said in a heavier tone, but it didn't sound commanding, it was playful if anything. Light and breezy, but sharp. Sharp enough that if you tried to avoid it, it'd cut right through. So despite yourself, you walked over to the bench you've come to love so dearly over the course of the last few weeks, and sat down on the very edge of it. As far away from him as you possibly could sit.

But Satoru couldn't allow that.

It took him a second to lift his left hand off his lap, to lean slightly to your side and drag you towards him by your waist. The ring you put on him the day you married you, shined in the darkness with his swift movements.

And just like that, you were sitting side by side with your husband. Your bare arm touched the soft fabric of the sleeves on his t-shirt, and the rigid muscles under them pushed into your own arm. His left arm loosened around your back, but his hand remained steady and static on your waist. And your lungs stopped working.

“Need help with breathing also?” It was only his taunting tone that gave your lungs the air needed to not pass out then and there.

You did not answer him. You did not wish to entertain him. You've entertained him enough by thinking you could get away with trying to sneak past his eyes, when he had his sight on you from the beginning, all six of them. And yet again you felt like a defeated fool against him.

“You- come here often?” The suppressed giggle in his throat almost spilled over with each word uttered.

“Don’t ask questions that you already know the answers to.” You looked away from him, to face the lake, and the ripples in the water. It's as if even the lake was coming down with a second hand embarrassment, looking at how chaotically it's water started moving.

“Alrightttt, alright. I'll stop.” With a last few giggles, he looked away from your face, and focused his covered eyes on the same cherry blossom tree you were eyeing. The one he usually sits under, looked completely different from the other side.

“I wish they'd bloom soon.” He spoke out loud, it sounded like a passing thought that spilled out unintentionally.

“Do you like cherry blossoms?” You turned your face towards him, his face however, did not turn.

“No. Not really.” “Really?”

“Why? Couldn't you tell that by just looking at me?” he smiled a big toothy grin. That stretched across his face, but even with the blindfold on, you could tell it didn't reach his eyes.

“No. I couldn't. Especially with that thing covering half of your face.” You sure were feeling brave today. Maybe it was the darkness of the night, or the secrecy in the woods, or just the embarrassment of how you ended up here. But words just seemed to flow out of your mouth instead of getting stuck in your throat.

He finally looked towards you, and cranked his neck to look down at your eyes, looking up at him. And he could tell that you knew. That you knew even with his blindfold between your eyes and his, whether he was lying or not. So why bother with it at all right?

He brought his right hand up to his face, to hook his index and middle finger under his blindfold, and dragged it down on his neck.“I don't think I enjoy how quickly they wither away. But I like how they look when they fall. Unihibited and free.”

He looked back over towards the lake. With his eyes free to shine under the moonlight. And there it was, the pain.

“Is that why you have been avoiding me?” you blurted out with furrowed eyebrows and determined eyes.

“I've been- what? Because of the cherry blossoms?” His head whipped towards you as fast as it could without snapping his neck, his left hand tightened around you, and he looked confused.

“No. Because you look like you are in pain whenever you're around me.” Your throat was starting to tighten up.

Suddenly you felt like crying. In fact, your eyes started to well up after every passing moment from when you said your thoughts out loud. This is weird. You don't cry. You never cry. It's been years since you cried. Why are you crying? Is he going to reprimand you for that?

Well, you can't wait here on this bench to find that out. So you haphazardly pulled yourself out of his arms, and made your way back to the mansion.

You couldn't even make it past the fifth step, when Satoru dragged you back towards him. He was still sitting on that bench, except now you stood there between him and the cherry blossom tree, in between his legs. Once again, stuck. His chin rested itself on your stomach, as it fluttered away, his eyes looked so soft and his face looked like it wanted to be caressed. Both of his hands ended up on either side of your hips, as if his legs weren't enough to keep you captured. Even when your protests didn't match his strength.

He patiently waited like that until you stopped protesting, and just looked down at his face, still resting on your stomach, looking up at you, and you gave in trying to shove him off of you by his shoulders. Instead you just let them rest there.

“Would you like to elaborate? Pleaseee?” If you told anyone that Gojo Satoru was whining to you right now, they'd call you insane. And maybe that's what's happening to you.

“No.” You are becoming insane.

“Please.” Other than his many ancient and sought after techniques, his most lethal weapon was his pout. So how could you resist those quivering billowy lips?

“I- You just-”, you stuttered trying to answer him, thinking whether or not you could get away with some excuse or straight up lies. But of course you cannot. He truly is too dangerous.

“You just, always- you look as if you're in so much pain when you're around me.” You sighed, finally voicing it out loud, “Isn’t that why you started wearing these around the house, around me?” You passingly pulled on the blindfold hanging on his neck, to make a point.

Yet again, he was left speechless. It's as if you deploy all his devices useless. You render him to nothing.

How was he supposed to answer you?

That yes, yes you pain him. Your presence simply has become so enthralling that it physically hurts him to hold himself back. To not cross lines he might not be able to come back from. That your claws are creeping deeper in his chest, and he is doing nothing to stop that bleeding.

He has bled to death on a battlefield twice, with no regrets on his mind. But if you were the one to sever him to death—he would gladly take it. And he'd regret that why couldn't he die at your hands an infinite amount of times more. This time around he'd be truly unhappy to leave behind the mortal realm. Because it’d mean leaving you behind with it.

He could not do that. He cannot survive, he simply cannot do anything against you.

And that pains him. Aches him really, to be this close and yet so far away from you.

He hates to make you feel avoided, and neglected, but what is he to do when he doesn't have any control over his thoughts and actions when he's around you?

When your scent simply travels with the wind when you sneak into the woods trying to not alert him, his chest starts tightening up. Your clogged up loose hair in the shower runs a shiver down his spine. When you chew the food on your plate across from him, he wants to leap over the table and pull you into a kiss.

He wants to be the one to show you around the entire estate, and pull you into random little corners and halls, to kiss you helplessly, hidden away from some passing eyes. He wants to be the one to show you the library because he heard from a helper at parent's house that is where you spent most of your days, he wants to buy you all the books you have ever wanted and will ever want.

He'd like to hold you and lull you to sleep, and dig his face in your chest, and just fall asleep listening to your heart beat—to feel your blood flow under his touch, and your skin warm up against him.

And it truly hurts him. It hurts to know you've never known a home.

So he wants to give you that. He wants to hand you all the control over him, and have you pull all the strings from here onwards. He wants you to know that everything to his name is yours, even his name is yours, his mere existence is all yours. Because he wants to give it all up to you.

So it hurts him. It hurts to know that you don't know that.

“I'll take your silence as confirmation then.” His grasp on you easily broke off, maybe he was in a trance again, or maybe it was just the power you already held over him. But to you he was simply found guilty of the accusations that you made. And with no sense of justice, you walked away from him.

And he did not protest.

Because maybe it's too fast. It's too quick. To feel what he is feeling. How was he going to ever even verbalize these things to you? And not sound crazy? Let alone give you a satisfying explanation.

It has been barely a month since he has married you, barely two months since he's known you. Wouldn't it be too sudden to go from essentially neglecting you, to professing his vow of devotion to you?

But it's just that suddenly, Gojo Satoru realized then and there, how deep he is. That there were no excuses left to make. That perhaps it was too sudden, too quick, just as quick as cherry blossoms blooming and withering away in spring—maybe he is falling for you.

No. Scratch that. It's idiotic to even question this at this point. He has uninhibitedly and freely, fallen for you.

NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from, and watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

thank you to indie @indiewritesxoxo beloved for proof reading pre edit <3 wouldn't be out today otherwise

i do not think it was that bad, was it? also i am just calling him husband and blah blah by his titles a lot. which if you find annoying womp womp because i am using that as part of the narration, like she will slowly start to see him more than that. and again it is slow burn, so sit with it. i am making bro so emotionally constipated muahahahaha he is gonna be rambling about sighhhh she is so sighhhhh and then be like hmm not like i love her or anything yk. he is just like me frfr

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojoao @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad +

#clan leader gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru

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skzbangchanniee · 2 months ago

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Is reminds me of choso asking yuji to call him onichan

I'm back with the pirate Captain!Reader agenda!

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=et-VRZoChLY&si=5RzzJgb8KayMf8a1

It felt necessary to share. It seemed Pirate Captain!Reader coded

Also have you ever thought about the classic angel x demon trope? Or Guardian Angel Reader x JJK men so that they don't actually die in series and they can get their happy ending with their amazing angell

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=J1BaLSQQmAM&si=1oc_Wk4POoTB-

Also just wanted to share this

-🌟🦈

OUUU HELL YEAHHH THIS IS SO PIRATE CAPTAIN!READER 😩😩 And heheh I haaaave omg I actually have a guardian angel AU in my outlines somewhere 👀 Maybe this is my sign to write it 👀

#tonytalks

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skzbangchanniee · 2 months ago

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— after hours ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ‹shared au masterlist›

› this is a masterlist of all my fanfics that share a single au titled after hours, cause oddly enough, i've made most of my characters either night owls or nocturnal animals haha.

› i've arranged them in the order that i recommend to read. but feel free to read them in the order you prefer •⩊•

backstage | lee seokmin (M)

♡ pairings: lee seokmin x female reader ♡ genre: smut, fluff ♡ au: theatre actor seokmin, best friends to lovers ♡ word count: 52.6k ♡ read here – main story is finished

heartbreaker | choi seungcheol (M)

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: angst, smut ✧ aus: boss seungcheol, ex boyfriend seungcheol ✧ word count: 80.4k ✧ read here

city lights | joshua hong (M)

✮ pairings: joshua hong x female reader ✮ genre: angst, fluff, smut ✮ au: rock singer joshua, neighbour joshua ✮ word count: 177k ✮ read here

lights out series | h.js – y.jh (M)

✮pairings: joshua hong x female reader x yoon jeonghan ✮ genre: angst, fluff, smut [18+] ✮ aus: rockstar joshua, theatre director jeonghan, polyamory ✮ word count: 147k – ongoing ✮ read here

guilty pleasures | boo seungkwan (M)

✾ pairings: boo seungkwan x female reader ✾ genre: fluff, smut ✾ au: theatre performer seungkwan, childhood crush to lovers ✾ word count: 40.5k ✾ read here

wicked games | kim mingyu (M)

☆ pairings: kim mingyu x female reader ☆ genre: smut, angst ☆ au: bartender mingyu, fwb, rebound fuck ☆ word count: 16k ☆ read here

#svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svthub #svt fanfic

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skzbangchanniee · 2 months ago

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In Every Lifetime. | minwon

pairing: idol!mingyu x idol!wonwoo

genre: angst, slice of life, fluff (if you squint)

synpopsis: wonwoo has lived countless lifetimes, and in every single one, he falls in love with mingyu—only to lose him too soon. now, as trainees debuting in the same idol group, wonwoo is determined to break the cycle by keeping his distance. if he never gets close, maybe mingyu will live. but fate is persistent, and no matter how hard wonwoo tries to push him away, the pull between them is undeniable. as memories of the past seep into the present, he begins to wonder—was it love that doomed mingyu each time, or was it the very act of staying apart?

a four-part series of wonwoo trying to not love mingyu but fails.

MASTERLIST

prologue. Again, He Dies

the cycle repeats, and wonwoo wakes up knowing mingyu is here again.

part one. A Familiar Stranger

wonwoo meets mingyu again in this lifetime, but he tries to act like they’re strangers

part two. A Thread That Won’t Break

no matter how much wonwoo tries to stay away, fate keeps tying them together.

part three. The Ghosts of Us

wonwoo begins remembering more about their past lives, realizing the pattern he has been trapped in.

part four. Not This Time

the realization, the choice, and the breaking of the cycle—this time, wonwoo stays.

______________________________________________________________

first fic, yay! please be good to me

#svt #wonwoo #mingyu #minwon

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skzbangchanniee · 3 months ago

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Guarded by You | C.Seungcheol

- TRAILER & MASTERLIST

Parings:

Hollywood.model!reader(f) x Bodyguard!seungcheol

Synopsis | Character description below the cut | M.List

Y/n:

You’re Hollywood’s golden girl—an international supermodel with the world at your feet. Dripping in luxury, gracing magazine covers, and ruling the runway, you’re the industry’s darling with a smile that could stop time. But beneath the glitz and flashing cameras, you crave something real. Warm, playful, and effortlessly charming, you light up every room—except for one grumpy bodyguard who seems immune to your shine. Too bad he’s the only one you want to make smile.

Seungcheol:

Choi Seungcheol is the bodyguard everyone fears—but you? You’re his only weakness. A former military officer turned top-tier personal security, he’s disciplined, calculated, and always three steps ahead. Built like a fortress, trained to eliminate threats, he’s the last line of defense between you and the chaos of fame. His job is to protect you, nothing more. But when you tease him, flash that sunshine smile, or slip past his ironclad walls, he finds himself breaking his own rules. He doesn’t do distractions, doesn’t do emotions—but for you, he might just risk it all.

Synopsis:

As Hollywood’s biggest model, you’re used to living in the spotlight—flashing cameras, A-list parties, and headlines that never stop. But when a string of security threats puts you in danger, your agency hires Choi Seungcheol—an ex-military, no-nonsense bodyguard who takes his job way too seriously. He’s cold, distant, and frustratingly immune to your charm, but there’s one problem—the paparazzi think you’re dating. To control the rumors, your team turns the scandal into a PR move: a fake relationship. Now, trapped in a whirlwind of staged romance and stolen moments, you start to wonder… is he really just here to protect you, or is there something he’s not saying?

M.LIST

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15 {epilogue}

#seventeen #scoups x reader #kpop x reader #svt #svt x reader

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skzbangchanniee · 3 months ago

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never leave this bed

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: husband!jeon wonwoo x curvy!f.reader

once your husband returns from a long trip you want nothing more then to stay in bed together.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, established relationship

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): non idol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: very fluffy, they’re both super in love with each other, mentions of past body insecurities, wonwoo is obsessed with his wives curvy body, mentions of have having children in the future, smut warning below the cut.

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: explicit, smut, 18+

𝐚𝐧: this is a part of my series I’m going to writing with the SVT boys as husbands called ‘my only one’.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: big dick wonwoo, soft dom wonwoo, needy mc, pussy stretching, unprotected sex (mc is on birth control), breeding kink, mention of impregnating the reader, wonwoo is obsessed with his wife’s thick thighs, body worship, size kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, nipple play, fingering, cockwarming, alluding to shower sex

Rolling over you cuddled into your husband chests. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips as you wrapped your arm around his strong chest. You’re both completely naked from the long night you spent together.

You had been married for two years and neither of you had ever been happier in your lives. You had met because you were friends with Mingyu and he had introduced them to each other. Mingyu had told Wonwoo he found his future wife from him, and to this day Mingyu tells everyone you got married because of him.

Wonwoo was home from a two week long work trip. You had decided to spend the day in bed just enjoying each other.

Slowly you pressed your lips to his neck, and put your leg over his stomach. You were basically laying on top of him, but he didn’t care. He always told you he loved when you laid on him. According to him you weigh nothing. Your soft stomach and thick thighs strongly disagree with him. Anytime you even got slightly insecure about your body your husband would immediately let you know how attracted to you he is.

Gripping your thigh he held her close. His fingers gently kneading your flesh. This man has always had a fascination with your thighs. “We’re not getting out of bed today,” he said as you pressed your lips to his neck again. Leaving a trail of open mouth kisses. You wonder if he'll mind you leaving a mark.

“Nope I’m staying right here,” you murmured against his neck.

Slowly he ran his hand up and down your thigh holding you close. He couldn’t get enough of his wife. He hated going on work trips and being away from you. But you made coming home truly worth it. Even if it was just spending the day in bed cuddling. If you had your way your husband would have been naked the moment he walked in the door.

He got in at eleven at night and the moment the front door was locked you practically jumped him. You didn’t even let him take you to bed. A sea of clothes littered the living room as you sat naked on your husband’s lap. His huge cock snug inside you as you kissed anywhere your lips could reach.

Once he finally got you in bed he told you he desperately wanted to just hold you. Who were you to say no to his request?

“I love you so much,” he smiled.

“I love you too,” you said, moving so you could look at him.

Looking toward his wife he smiled and leaned down and pressed his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “You’re perfect,” he said, resting his nose against yours. His loving words caused you to smile. Finding Wonwoo was the best thing that had ever happened to you. The love he had for you was like something you could only dream of.

“What if we just never left this bed?” You asked, leaning back onto the bed away from Wonwoo.

“I would never leave this bed if I didn’t have to work,” he rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand and looked over at you as you stared up at the ceiling.

“It's a shame you can’t just work from home everyday. I need my husband to stay in bed with me forever,” you smiled. In a dream world he wouldn’t have to travel so much for work.

You knew when you got together there were going to be times he had to leave for long work trips. You knew about the details of his job from the moment Mingyu introduced you. He might be gone often, but you knew no matter what he was always gonna come back to you after his trips.

“You look so beautiful in the morning,” he said, causing your cheeks to flush.

“You are literally the perfect man,” you rolled onto her side so you were staring at each other.

“I want to be the perfect man for you. Now come back over here and lay on me again,” he rolled on to his back again. He never missed a chance to feel your body weight on him.

A soft laugh passed your lips as you moved over and cuddled back into your husband. You rested on his chest and your arm was resting across his stomach.

“We’re not leaving this bed today,” you sighed with a little smile.

“I’m only getting out of bed to take you in the shower, and to possibly eat.” Of course this man is already thinking about shower sex. That might be his favorite to take you other than your bed. Lifting your thigh you put more weight back on his stomach. “Baby I know I said I want to cuddle, but I want to be inside you so badly.”

His words earn a laugh from you. “How do you plan on making that happen? I thought you wanted to cuddle?”

“Lay on your back for me baby.”

Listening to his request you lay on your back and spread your legs without him having to ask. Laying on his side pressed up against your side, his fingers dip between your legs. His index finger plays with your clit while he rubs his growing erection against your thigh.

“You feel so good,” he groans against your skin. You can’t even respond, you just moan as he starts pumping two fingers in your already wet hole. “I need to stretch you out, little baby. I’m not going to fit if I don’t prep you.” In the beginning of your relationship that statement wouldn’t be wrong. Wonwoo has the biggest dick you’ve ever taken before. When you first started dating you couldn’t jump into having sex without him giving you some foreplay. Now four years into your relationship you’ve grown accustomed to the stretch of him filling you for the first few thrust.

“I don’t need prep. You fucked me like two hours ago,” you moan.

“Someone is needy,” he laughs. The hill of his palm continues to rub against your sensitive clit. Hooking his fingers he rubs the spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. “Just come one my hand once and I’ll fuck you nice and slow from behind.” Wonwoo never misses an opportunity to take you from behind. “All you have to do is cum once.” He whispers.

Closing your eyes, rolling your head back, your whole body feels like it’s tightening as you get closer to the edge.

Gasping his name you fall apart on his hand. Your walls contract around his fingers. His hands continue to thrust in and out of you slowly helping you ride out your high.

“Lay on your side baby.” Following his request you lay on your side facing away from him. He pushes your knee up giving him access to your wet core. His large hand kneads the flesh off your ass pressing himself against you.

“Please don’t tease me.” You just want your husband to fuck you already.

“So needy,” he’s running his hardened length through your folds. “Are you stretched out enough for me?”

“Please fuck me,” you moan. Each time his length brushes your clit you see stars.

Taking himself in his hand he slowly pushes into you. He fills you completely. His pelvis is pressed up firmly against your ass. His hand gropes your breast as he moans in your ear. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

Rolling your head back you can’t help but moan. His pace is slow. A trail of love bites are being left against your bare shoulder.

“Harder,” you whisper. You want the slow pace but just harder. He listens to you without another word. Rolling his hips into you over and over again. The roam is filled with echoing sounds of whimpers and moans.

“Won-“ you can’t even properly form his name.

“Do you want me to fill you up?” His hand moves from your breast down to your pussy. His fingers toy with your clit earning a moan.

“Please.”

“Do you want me to put a baby in you?” This has been one of your husband’s favorite things to bring up in bed now. You are ready to have a baby with him. His new breeding kink has definitely worn off on you.

“I’m going to cu-“ your body feels like a live water as your orgasm washes over you. “Wonwoo-“ your hand grips his hand that’s playing with your clit. Overstimulation kicks in as he keeps thrusting into you over and over as your high continues.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he groans.

He continues his slow but firm pace. Your hand clings to his hand. Your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks. “Wonwoo-“

The way he moans your name as he cums, painting your walls white is absolutely intoxicating. His hands dig into your hips holding your flush against him.

“We might need to get out of bed to shower,” you say, earning a soft laugh from him.

“God I love you.” He kisses your shoulder gently.

“I love you too.”

He’s still inside you and the way he is holding you you don’t think he plans on pulling out. You have no problem staying in bed cockwarming your husband for a while.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

#jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo smut #husband wonwoo

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skzbangchanniee · 3 months ago

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࿐ vows of duty ── part 1

࿐pairing. arranged clanhead! satoru x fem! reader

࿐summary. the gojo clan is untouchable, and their new ruler, gojo satoru, is the most powerful sorcerer of his generation—unrivaled, unrestricted, and utterly uncontrollable. for years, he has defied the expectations of his clan, rejecting tradition, resisting the cage they built for him. but even the strongest must bow to duty. a deal struck, a marriage arranged. you, the daughter of a fallen clan, are chosen to stand at his side. not out of love, but because gojo satoru always gets what he wants. and if he's obligated to marry, fuck it, he wants you. though, you quickly learn that your place is not beside him—but beneath him. why? because gojo satoru doesn’t do love.

࿐tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, angst (with eventual fluff), slight canon divergence, arranged marriage, satoru is emotionally detached, he's kinda a dick at times, breeding, breeding kink, praise kink, some degradation, loss of virginity, mentions of infidelity, mentions of a prior scandal (i'll update tags as i write more) » 【this part — involves a 7 yr time skip, from both reader and satoru's pov. satoru's a little shit. he's arrogant and gives no fucks. suguru defects. sexual content. fingering, handjob, orgasms, male ejaculation on tits, lots of dirty talk】

࿐wc. 16.4k (suuuurprise.... heh)

࿐a/n. hiiii. it's finally here—the full fic of this drabble. you can expect this fic to be multiple parts, i'm just not sure how many yet. anyways, i had fun writing a canon version of satoru. i love my canon pookie. even if he's emotionally constipated here. enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/_3aem on X )

Your mother had always told you—there were four great clans in jujutsu society. Four names that shaped history, wielding power that stretched back for centuries.

The Zenin Clan, ruthless in tradition, where strength dictated worth and weakness was met with exile.

The Kamo Clan, a relic of the past, clinging desperately to their once-unshakable influence, willing to spill whatever blood necessary to remain relevant.

The Gojo Clan, untouchable, revered—the bloodline of gods. A name so powerful it stood above all others, their very existence defined by the Six Eyes and Limitless, abilities so rare they might as well have been myth.

And then, there was your clan.

A family as old as Kyoto itself, a bloodline sharpened by centuries of discipline and technique. The fourth great clan, standing alongside these names not as a rival, but as an equal. You were always told that your family had not built its legacy on brute force or deception, nor had it relied on a singular, overwhelming ability to dominate the battlefield.

No—your clan thrived on precision. Strategy. Control.

Respected. Feared. Established.

Yes, let it be known that your family produced some of the finest jujutsu sorcerers Kyoto had ever seen—that alone secured your place among the elite. And so, you had spent your life walking the delicate line between tradition and expectation, power and obedience. You were raised to be precise, to be measured—a perfect reflection of the strength your family stood for.

And that was why you were here tonight.

Because power, recognized power.

And tonight, the most powerful clan of them all was crowning a new king.

Tonight—December 7th—on his eighteenth birthday, Gojo Satoru would be proclaimed Clan Head of the Gojo family. The invitation had been sent to only the most respected and esteemed. This was more than a celebration; it was a display. A reminder.

All of Japan had known for years that the next ruler of the strongest clan had been chosen. Ever since the moment Gojo Satoru was born, it had been inevitable. But tonight, it would become official.

Inhaling deeply, you forced stillness into your spine—your expression smoothing into something unreadable.

You were no stranger to moving through halls filled with power—no, you had been raised for moments like these. You knew how to hold yourself, how to command respect, how to navigate a room full of Kyoto’s most dangerous and influential figures.

And yet…

There was something about tonight that felt… different.

Perhaps it’s because, for the first time, you would stand in the same room as him. The prodigy. The untouchable. The strongest sorcerer of his generation—a living legend before he was ever grown, a force of nature wrapped in a human body.

You had heard his name more times than you could count, but you had never seen him.

Not in person. Not until tonight.

"Fix your kimono.”

Your mother’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the car, sharp and precise as ever.

She didn’t look at you as she said it—she never had to. The flick of her gaze toward your reflection in the window was enough. Cool, assessing. She expected perfection.

You didn’t argue. You never argued.

Instead, your hands moved instinctively, smoothing the silk draped over your lap. Midnight blue, embroidered with delicate silver cranes in flight—a symbol of strength, of longevity, of duty. A reminder of the life you were bound to.

The obi at your waist had been tied flawlessly earlier that evening, its silken folds pressed into place with meticulous care—yet you still adjusted it. Not because it was imperfect, but because she had told you to.

Exhaling softly, your mother’s eyes swept over you briefly—as though the smallest flaw in your presentation might tarnish the family name.

"Appearances matter," she murmured, smoothing the folds of her own ivory kimono, embroidered with peonies and bamboo—symbols of wealth and resilience. Even in the dim light of the car, she radiated elegance, flawless as always.

"Tonight, we do not lower ourselves."

She spoke as if you didn’t already know. As if she hadn’t spent years molding you into a perfect reflection of the family’s strength.

Across from you, your father shifted, stretching his legs slightly as he leaned back into his seat. The glow of his phone screen flickered over his face, casting sharp shadows across his features. As his fingers tapped idly against the side of the device, the screen was angled just enough that neither you nor your mother could see it.

Yeah… that was a habit of his. One you had learned not to acknowledge.

Your mother never acknowledged it either. Not in words, at least.

But you saw it in the way her fingers tensed against her sleeve, in the subtle shift of her posture, as if willing herself to ignore the obvious.

"You put too much weight on these things," your father muttered, carrying an air of finality. "The Gojo Clan already knows who we are. No amount of perfect posture is going to change their minds."

The silence that followed was familiar.

A subtle tension seeped into the space between them—the kind that had no beginning and no resolution. Something ever-present, like a thread woven too tightly through the fabric of their marriage.

Lowering her gaze slightly, your mother adjusted the folds of her sleeve with slow, deliberate care.

"Power is not always displayed through strength alone," she said, softer now. "It is seen in the way others perceive you. The moment you allow someone to look down on you, you have already lost."

Exhaling through his nose, a quiet sound rumbles through your father’s chest—neither agreement nor disagreement. He wasn’t listening. Not really.

"Depends," he sighs dismissively. "There are worse things than being looked down on."

Your mother’s hands froze for just a moment, before she recovered, smoothing out her sleeve with a quiet nod.

"Of course…" she murmured, conceding with practiced ease.

She would not challenge him. She never did.

Turning yourself toward the window, you felt the weight of their silence settle into your ribs.

You had seen this scene too many times before. So you looked away. Focusing on the world outside, rather than the quiet battlefield inside the car. Then, finally, it came into view.

The Gojo Estate.

It did not sit among the rest of Kyoto. It stood above it.

Carved into the mountainside, the estate loomed over the landscape like something untouched by time. Its outer walls stretched endlessly into the dark, built of aged wood and blackened stone, reinforced not just with craftsmanship but with sorcery itself. A silent warning. A declaration of power—this was not a place where outsiders were welcome.

Beyond the towering gates, the estate unfurled like a painting.

The courtyard was vast, an expanse of raked gravel and polished stone pathways that twisted through pruned bonsai, moss-covered lanterns, and koi-filled ponds shimmering beneath the moonlight. Each element was a silent testament to a clan that valued not just power, but control—as if even the earth beneath the Gojos’ feet bowed to their authority.

A long row of cherry blossom trees lined the outer garden, their pale petals quivering in the night breeze. Winter had stolen the color from Kyoto’s streets, but here, the blossoms remained in eternal bloom—preserved unnaturally, suspended in time by the lingering touch of sorcery. As the wind passed through them, petals drifted down in soft flurries, catching in the air like falling snow.

Your breath stilled slightly.

Even for someone raised in a powerful clan, the sight of the Gojo estate was enough to humble.

The car slowed to a stop, just before the entrance, and your gaze flickered toward the attendants waiting outside before shifting upward, toward the main hall that loomed beyond the courtyard.

It was not a home.

It was a throne.

And tonight, the man who would rule it was waiting inside.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Y’know, I really don’t get why everyone’s making such a big deal out of this,” Satoru drawls, tugging at the stiff collar of his ceremonial robes with a dramatic grimace. “They’ve known I’m the strongest since birth. Feels a little redundant, don’t y’think?”

Across the room, Suguru lets out a slow exhale, his shoulder pressed lazily against the wooden frame of the window. Beyond him, Kyoto stretches into the night—rooftops bathed in silver moonlight, the glow of distant lanterns flickering like dying embers. But he isn’t looking at the view. His gaze flickers toward Satoru through the mirror’s reflection, watching as his friend fussed with the layers of fine silk draped over his shoulders, like it’s a burden rather than an honor.

“They have to make a big deal out of it,” Suguru murmurs, quiet, almost bored. “Otherwise, what’s left for them?”

Satoru scoffs, shifting his weight as he tugs at the sash around his waist, loosening it just to tighten it again.

“Yeah, well. If this keeps ‘em busy, maybe they’ll hold off on nagging me about marriage for another year.”

Suguru hums, pushing off the window frame. Taking a slow step forward, his hands slip into the wide sleeves of his yukata as he watches Satoru wrestle against his robes like they were shackles.

“You say that like they won’t have a new excuse next week.”

Catching Suguru’s gaze in the mirror, Satoru’s lips curl into a lazy, knowing grin.

“Think they’ll get creative?”

“They always do.”

Clicking his tongue, an exaggerated sigh slips from Satoru’s lips as he finally turns from the mirror to grab the ceremonial overcoat folded on the edge of the lacquered table. The fabric is rich and regal—deep indigo silk embroidered with gold, the threads gleaming under the dim candlelight.

“Tch… I swear…” he barely spares the elegant silk a glance before throwing it over his shoulders, the heavy material settling like a crown he never asked for. “Maybe I should start charging for every goddamn time they waste my time.”

Suguru hums, tilting his head.

“You’d make a fortune.”

“Please,” Satoru scoffs, flicking at the intricate gold trim on his sleeve, grin sharp and self-satisfied. “I’m already loaded.”

Suguru lets out a quiet breath, one hand slipping into his sleeve before pulling out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers.

“And yet…” he muses, placing it between his lips as he fishes for his lighter, “all that money, and you’re still stuck wearing that ridiculous thing.”

Satoru let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his shoulders under the weight of the overcoat, shifting slightly—like he could somehow make it sit lighter on him.

“Right?” He turns back toward the mirror, tugging at the stiff collar with an annoyed pull. “I look like I belong in a fucking museum.”

Suguru says nothing at first. The metal flicks, a sharp scratch of sound, flame briefly illuminating his face as he lights the cigarette. The glow reflects in his violet eyes for half a second as he takes a slow drag.

“Or on a wedding altar,” he exhales smoke in a measured breath.

Satoru’s hands freeze mid-adjustment. His head snaps up, and through the mirror, he shoots Suguru a flat look.

“Not funny.”

Suguru smirks, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers as smoke curls through the air. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, tapping ash into a nearby tray. “Wouldn’t put it past them to slip an engagement announcement into tonight’s festivities. You know how they like their surprises.”

Clicking his tongue, Satoru runs a hand through his hair, deliberately messing it up again.

“Yeah, well… first sign of trouble and I’m teleporting the hell out of there.”

A quiet chuckle slips through Suguru’s lips, but there’s no humor in it.

“And then what?” his voice softens, but the words weigh heavier. “You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?”

Satoru shrugs. “If I have to.” He’s grinning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

With quiet consideration, Suguru exhales, watching Satoru with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion. But this time, it’s not his reflection he’s looking at. It’s him—standing there in those ceremonial robes, draping over him like chains, wearing arrogance like armor.

“You… really think it’s that simple?”

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. His grin sharpens, flashing white teeth like a blade.

“Of course it is. I’m Satoru fucking Gojo.”

Though Suguru’s expression doesn’t shift, his gaze darkens, something quiet and knowing creeping into his features.

“Yeah…” he murmurs. “You are.”

“C’mon, you think they actually care?” He pauses, eyes flicking to Suguru through the mirror. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the name. The bloodline. Hell, they’d be throwing this same party for a rock if it had the Six Eyes.”

There’s a lingering silence.

Through the mirror, Satoru sees Suguru’s expression shift—his posture still loose but somehow weighted, as if each breath he takes is heavier with words unspoken. Suguru’s long raven hair falls slightly into his face, but it doesn’t quite hide the quiet strain pulling at his features.

“Damn…” Satoru exhales sharply through his nose. “You look like shit, man.”

Suguru blinks, briefly startled, before scoffing, rolling his eyes as he flicks ash into the tray beside him.

“Gee, thanks.”

But Satoru doesn’t let up. His gaze lingers, cutting through pretenses like a blade.

“No, seriously. Have you slept at all this week? ‘Cause from here, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle, but it’s weak, hollow—gone before it ever really forms.

“Yeah…” he lifts the cigarette back to his lips, taking another slow drag. “I dunno. ‘m just tired.”

The ember burns bright for a moment, casting sharper shadows along his best friend’s face—deepening the lines of exhaustion—a quiet weight that Satoru’s been too busy to address. Then, clicking his tongue, Satoru focuses back to the mirror, dragging a hand through his hair with careless ease.

“You’re thinking too much again…” he mutters. “Always a bad sign.”

“Yeah, well...” Suguru exhales, smoke curling lazily around him. “Guess someone’s gotta do it.”

Quirking a brow, Satoru turns toward him fully this time.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Suguru smirks, but it’s small, faint—the kind that barely lifts the corners of his lips before disappearing altogether. As he leans back against the wooden frame of the window, his fingers tap against his arm, holding the cigarette loosely in his grip.

“What are you thinking about?” Satoru asks.

Suguru quirks a brow before he huffs, shaking his head slightly.

The silence sits heavier this time. There’s something distant in his expression—like his thoughts are a step ahead of him, somewhere neither of them can quite reach. Flicking the cigarette between his fingers, he taps ash into the tray with slow precision.

“I’m just wondering…” Suguru mutters, his voice quieter now, something careful in the way he says it. “If you weren’t who you are—would they still be kneeling at your feet?”

Satoru blinks.

“Uh. Duh.”

Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep.

“No, Satoru. If you weren’t—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose, his jaw flexing slightly like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to. Instead, he shakes his head. “Never mind…”

Satoru’s gaze narrows.

“Um. The hell was that? You can’t just say something cryptic and then drop it.”

For a moment, there’s something unspoken between them—something lingering just beneath the surface, pressing at the space between words. Then, just as quickly, Suguru’s expression smooths over. Whatever flicker of thought had been there vanishing behind an effortless, practiced mask.

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t.

But whatever it was, Suguru wasn’t going to say it.

Exhaling through his nose, Satoru watches him for a second longer before rolling his shoulders—shaking off the conversation entirely.

“Anyways,” he sighs, stretching his arms above his head as he strides toward the door, loose and unaffected, like he’s just heading out for a stroll instead of stepping into the weight of his legacy.

As he passes the lacquered table, his hand instinctively reaches for his sunglasses, flipping them open with a careless flick before sliding them onto the bridge of his nose.

Suguru’s gaze drags back to him, eyes lingering over the contrast of expensive, embroidered silk and dark tinted glasses. He smirks. “Doesn’t really fit the robes.”

Satoru groans, shoving his sunglasses up into his hairline before letting them drop back onto his nose.

“Tch. I know, I know. Too fucking modern for their delicate sensibilities, right?”

Suguru chuckles, putting out his cigarette. “Something like that.”

With a resigned huff, Satoru tosses the sunglasses onto the table with a clatter.

“Fine fine…” he grumbles, pausing—considering. A wicked smile curls onto his lips. “Hey… what do you think—should I blindfold myself instead and pretend I can’t find the stage? Give ‘em a little show?”

Suguru barks out a short laugh, shaking his head as he exhales.

“You’re really gonna make a fucking scene on your own celebration?”

“Oh, Suguru,” Satoru’s grin is all teeth as he makes his way toward the door. “Make a scene? When have I ever done that?”

Suguru gives him a long, slow look as he follows.

“Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?”

Satoru snorts. “Smartass.” He shoves the door open without hesitation. “Y’think I can piss off at least three elders before the night’s over?”

“Mm... four, if you really try.”

“That’s the spirit.”

And as Satoru steps forward—toward the weight of a legacy that meant nothing to him, Suguru lingers behind him, watching as Satoru walks ahead, carrying the world like it’s weightless.

But Suguru knows better.

He always has.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Stand up straight,” your mother murmurs quietly—so soft that only you can hear it. “And try not to stare.”

Your spine straightens instinctively, shoulders pressing back—but stare? Fuck. How can you not? The Gojo estate is unlike anything you have ever stepped foot in.

The ceilings stretch impossibly high, wooden beams arching overhead like the ribs of some celestial beast. Hand-painted fusuma panels line the walls, gold leaf catching the candlelight, depicting Kyoto’s landscapes in elegant brushstrokes. There is a stillness here—something ancient, untouched by time. Unshaken by war or weakness.

A faint trace of aged incense lingers in the air, blending with the clean scent of fresh tatami, wrapping around you like something sacred—a quiet reminder that tradition is absolute here.

The steady flow of guests direct you down the grand walkway, toward the main hall, and the air hums with low voices—silk robes rustling as elders and elite sorcerers file in, taking their assigned seats.

Assigned by status.

The highest-ranking families settle nearest to the center of the hall, where Gojo Satoru will take his place, while the lesser clans drift toward the outer edges, far enough to understand their place.

You barely register it.

Because just beyond the walkway, past a row of sliding doors left slightly open, something catches your eye.

A dojo.

Wide and open, its polished wooden floors gleam under the dim glow of candlelight. Tall, arched windows invite in the cool night air, carrying the rustling of bamboo from the gardens beyond. Along the walls, beautifully crafted bokken rest neatly in their racks beside long naginata and aged katana, their lacquered hilts gleaming faintly.

It is… perfect.

Unlike anything your own estate has ever had. A proper space for training—not the rigid, structured sessions dictated by the elders, but something freer. A place to move, to breathe, to fight.

God… it’s everything you’ve always wanted.

After all, your clan was built on precision, control, intelligence. Not raw combat. You have trained—mastered every movement drilled into you since childhood—but never were you allowed to spar without restraint. Never trained to be a sorcerer, never encouraged to fight in a way that would leave bruises—that would stain silk with sweat and blood.

You were raised to be a perfect reflection of your family, a perfect wife—that is all.

And yet, here it is. Fuck. A proper dojo—what a dream. So perfectly built for battle, yet it’s tucked into the halls of the most powerful clan in Jujutsu society, probably taken for granted as if it were nothing.

As your steps slow, you barely realize how long you’ve been staring, until you feel the lightest tug on your sleeve.

“Enough,” your mother mutters, grip light but firm.

Your heart jumps. Shit. It was one thing to observe. To admire. But it was another to linger.

“Eyes forward,” she lifts her chin, and you follow her deeper inside.

Moving ahead, the crowd shifts around you, elders and elite sorcerers weaving through the grand hall, settling into their assigned seats—but damn it. You’re still thinking about that damn dojo.

What must it be like to strike and be struck back, to train not just for form but for battle?

But your mother’s grip subtly shifts. Tightening.

Then, with the slightest turn of her head, she murmurs, “…w-what? Where did he go…”

Your breath stills as you realize, your father is no longer beside her. Glancing around, he is nowhere to be seen, lost in the sea of flowing silk and quiet murmurs. But you don’t need to ask where he’s gone—you already know. And… so does she.

Despite it, she doesn’t curse. Doesn’t let her expression falter. Doesn’t break stride. But you see the way your mother’s lips press together, the way her fingers curl slightly against the sleeve of her kimono, gripping fabric like it’s the only thing she can control.

A slow, measured breath leaves her nose. Then, with a practiced ease, she smooths out the folds of her sleeve.

“Wait at your seat…” she instructs softly. “I’ll find him.”

And just like that, she is gone.

It’s not the first time.

Not the first time she’s swallowed the weight of his absence, nor the first time she’s forced herself to chase after a man who has never once stopped running. A man who dishonors her with such frequency that it no longer feels like betrayal—only expectation.

And she goes anyway. Every time.

Why?

You begin to ponder.

How many wives have had to smile through disgrace, bound by duty to men who do not see them? How many have sat in silence, enduring the quiet disintegration of a marriage, knowing their suffering is only theirs to bear?

The thought lingers as you move toward your assigned seat, your steps slow, lost in quiet contemplation. You barely register the way silk brushes against you, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows across the polished floors.

“You’re in my seat.”

The words are crisp. Clipped.

You barely have time to process them before the weight of who they belong to settles in your chest like stone. Glancing up, your stomach drops.

Shit.

You’ve sat in the wrong seat.

Not just any seat.

His seat.

Gojo Hajime.

An elder of the Gojo clan. A man whose presence alone commands respect and caution in equal measure. His reputation is built upon unforgiving discipline, a fierce advocate for upholding the hierarchy that governs jujutsu society. You have seen how lesser-ranked sorcerers bow deeper in his presence, how his voice alone is enough to quiet a whole fucking room.

And you—you—have just taken his seat.

You should apologize. Immediately. Stand, lower your head, bow so deeply your knees kiss the floor—but you don’t even get the chance. Because the moment your lips part, his voice cuts through the air again.

“How disgraceful.”

The murmurs start immediately. Soft at first. Rippling outward.

A misplaced seat is not just an accident—it is an insult. A disruption to the hierarchy, an unspoken challenge to status. And it is not just your mistake—it is your family’s.

Eyes begin to turn.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, panic coiling tight in your stomach. You can feel the weight of scrutiny, the silent condemnation pressing against your skin like needles. But just as the tension threatens to crack open, before you can even move, before you can correct your mistake—

“Damn,” a voice cuts in. “I didn’t know we had assigned seats based on grumpiness. If that’s the case, maybe we oughta scoot you a little further up, gramps.”

The murmurs die instantly. A ripple of silk as heads turn, a breath caught collectively in the throats of the room.

Because everyone knows that voice.

Gojo Satoru.

And when you finally force yourself to look, when you finally shift your gaze toward the source of your salvation, you find yourself staring into the bluest damn eyes you’ve ever seen.

They are a color not meant for this world—icy, piercing, almost otherworldly under the flickering candlelight. Not simply blue, but something deeper, something endless, like the sky when it stretches too far, too high, too unreachable.

And then, just as effortlessly, he drops into the seat beside you.

“Hope ya don’t mind if I sit here, gramps,” he sighs, propping his chin against his palm with a lazy grin. “Since, y’know… you’re already standing.”

The elder bristles.

“Gojo-sama…” he says slowly, voice strained. “Seats are assigned with purpose.”

Satoru exhales loudly, stretching his neck. “Right, right,” he drawls. “And lemme guess—some dusty old men in a room decided where everyone sits?”

“The council—”

“Right, right,” he interjects, waving a dismissive hand. “The same council that decided I needed to wear this stiff-ass robe tonight.” He tugs at the embroidered silk draped over his shoulders for emphasis before flashing a sharp grin. “Real forward thinkers, those guys.”

A flicker of disbelief passes over the elder’s face.

Satoru hums, tapping his fingers idly against the table. “Tell ya what… since I’m feeling generous tonight, how ‘bout we just let it slide? Y’know, pretend we’re not wasting all this energy over a damn seat?” He leans back, stretching his arms over his head, his voice dropping to something lower, lazier. “Unless, of course, you’d rather keep arguing with me in front of all these lovely guests? On my birthday, need I remind you?”

The words are spoken lightly, casually, but there’s an underlying challenge in them—something daring, something edged with amusement, as if he already knows how this will end.

And the elder does, too. Because what can he say? What will he do? It’s a battle he can’t win. Not against the strongest.

A long breath drags through his nose before he bows his head stiffly.

“…as you wish, Gojo-sama.”

Satoru grins, entirely pleased with himself. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

With that, the elder moves stiffly to another seat, the murmurs gradually settling into quiet acceptance, though you can still feel the lingering weight of curious glances thrown your way.

And finally—finally—your lungs remember how to breathe.

You should say something. Thank him. But before you can, Satoru turns his attention to you, tilting his head slightly, that easy smirk still curving his lips.

“There,” his fingers play idly with a tousle of your hair, letting it twirl between his grasp. “A lady of your caliber deserves the best seat in the house, don’t y’think?”

You blink, still caught between lingering panic and something dangerously close to awe.

Because just like that, with a grin and a few well-placed words, he had made a mockery of the entire situation. Had turned the weight of expectation into something trivial, something meaningless.

Had made defiance look so damn effortless. And for the first time tonight, you wonder what it would be like to live that freely.

Satoru watches you, head tilted slightly, as if waiting for something. Amusement flickers in those ridiculously bright eyes, sharp and unreadable beneath the flickering candlelight.

You realize then—you haven’t said a word.

Shit.

Heat pricks at the back of your neck. You force yourself to blink, to breathe, to gather the scattered remains of your dignity before finally managing, “…oh, um… t-thank you, Gojo-sama.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Ugh. Don’t do that.”

You blink. “…do what?”

“That whole ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Bleh.” He scrunches his nose, expression twisted in exaggerated distaste. “You make me sound old.”

You hesitate, caught between confusion and amusement. “But… you’re the Clan Head now.”

He groans dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Your lips twitch, just barely suppressing a laugh, and his gaze flickers to you at that, something playful sparking in his eyes. Leaning in slightly, his elbows rest on the low table, voice dropping to something conspiratorial.

“You wouldn’t believe how many speeches I’ve had to sit through already. I swear, they’ve been reciting my life story like I’m some kind of historical relic.”

You raise a brow. “…aren’t you?”

Satoru gasps, clutching his chest like you just struck him. “Wow. The betrayal.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you finally allow a small laugh to slip out.

“I… didn’t mean it like that.”

“Uh-huh.” He squints at you in mock suspicion before his lips stretch back into an easy grin. “Alright, I’ll let that one slide, since I like you.”

Your stomach does a strange little flip.

It’s nothing… right? Just the nerves. The residual stress from earlier. The weight of too many eyes lingering in the periphery.

But as he watches you—head tilting slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out—you don’t know what the hell to say. And yet… you also find yourself not wanting to look away.

Because Satoru Gojo is beautiful. Undeniably.

He is elegance without effort, arrogance without apology, a man who moves through the world like it was built to accommodate him. His snowy-white hair is a tousled mess, catching silver beneath the candlelight, framing the sharp angles of his jaw, the high curve of his cheekbones, the ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

And his eyes—God, his eyes.

They aren’t just blue. They’re endless. A shade too sharp, too striking—like fractured gemstones, like glacial ice catching the light at just the right angle. They don’t just see, they consume, pulling you in as if the whole fucking world just disappears when he looks at you.

What the hell are you supposed to say to him?

Shit. You’re lingering again. Your mother would curse you for this. You should speak—say something, anything. But the words never come.

Luckily, you don’t have to figure it out.

Because just then, a sharp chime rings through the grand hall, signaling the start of the formal ceremony. A ripple of movement stirs through the guests as heads turn toward the center of the room, where the elders begin to take their places.

Satoru exhales, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy arc. “Guess that’s my cue.”

He rises smoothly, adjusting the heavy silk of his robes with little care, as if he’s already bored of the whole affair. But then—before stepping away—he casts you one last glance, that ever-present grin still playing at the edges of his lips.

“See ya around, sweetheart.”

And then, like this entire night is nothing more than a game to him, he waves, casting you a playful wink. Casual. Effortless. Like you’re old friends. Like this moment, fleeting as it is, belongs to just the two of you—despite the dozens of eyes still lingering in your direction.

And, without hesitation, he turns, stepping toward the center of the room, where the weight of his legacy awaits him.

༻༺♥༻༺

The ceremony is exactly what Satoru expected—long, tedious, and filled with more self-important speeches than he cares to count. The elders take turns praising the significance of his ascension, the legacy he carries, the burden he must now bear.

As if he doesn’t already fucking know. As if the weight of the Gojo name hasn’t pressed against his spine since the moment he was born.

He stands at the center of it all, a crownless king in layered silk, his every move watched, measured, and judged by the dozens of expectant faces surrounding him.

Whatever. Let them say whatever they want.

Because at the end of the day—he is still Gojo Satoru. And they can dress him up in their finest robes, seat him at the highest throne, weigh him down with the expectations of an entire clan—but they can’t make him care.

And they know it.

So, when the speeches end and the ritual formalities dissolve into something more palatable—celebration, sake, music—the real scheming begins.

The moment the first note is played, an elder clears his throat. Satoru doesn’t even look up.

“We have taken the liberty of selecting your first dance, Gojo-sama,” the man says, hands folded neatly in his sleeves, the picture of diplomatic grace. “She is from a highly esteemed bloodline. A perfect candidate for marriage and—”

Satoru groans. Loudly.

“Oh, come on.” He drags a hand down his face, tilting his head back like this entire conversation physically pains him. “You’re really pulling the marriage card already? I just fucking turned eighteen.”

The elder’s expression doesn’t shift. Doesn’t falter. They’ve played this game with him before. They know Gojo Satoru only bends when it suits him.

“We must get ahead of things. And it is tradition for the head of the Gojo Clan to take his first dance with a suitable partner—”

“Right, right.” Satoru waves a dismissive hand, eyes scanning the room for anything more interesting than this conversation. “And lemme guess—she’s got a nice lineage, proper manners, and the personality of a wet napkin?”

A pause as the elder clears his throat. Yeah. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

Satoru exhales, shaking his head, fingers drumming lazily against the lacquered armrest of his chair.

“Yeah… I think I’ll pass,” he’s rising from his seat as the elder begins ushering a poised, graceful young woman towards him—clad in silk, the color of cherry blossoms.

Satoru doesn’t even look at her.

He’s looking for an escape, and as his eyes sweep the crowd, he sees you.

The girl from earlier.

And just like that, his mind is made up.

Before the elder can say another word, before the girl can step any closer, Satoru moves.

Not toward her.

Toward you.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Dance with me.”

You blink, gaze dropping to his hand, extended toward you, palm open, fingers relaxed.

It’s not a request.

It’s a decision.

A disruption—a defiance of everything expected of him.

And the room knows it.

The air seems to tighten, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as hushed murmurs flicker between the guests, silk rustling as heads turn. The weight of attention presses against your skin, heavier than the finest-woven kimono, heavier than the eyes of your parents, now fixed on you, unreadable.

Your lips part slightly, but no words come. Fuck. You should at least breathe. But you don’t. You can’t. Your mind is barely processing what the fuck is happening.

Then, a quiet but pointed sound—your mother clearing her throat beside you.

“She would love to.”

Her voice is soft, but firm, a smooth, graceful assertion that leaves no room for question. A response crafted not for you, but for those watching, those weighing this moment, those who will whisper about it long after the night ends. Because this is not just a dance. This is a spectacle. A shift in the script carefully written for the evening.

And your mother knows that. To refuse would be foolish. To hesitate would be disgraceful. To accept, however—

An honor.

So, when she turns toward you, offering the smallest, most practiced of smiles, you understand her meaning entirely.

You will dance with Satoru Gojo.

With a breath you weren’t aware you had been holding, you glance back toward him. He’s watching you, amusement flickering in those impossibly blue eyes, that lazy, knowing grin still curling at his lips.

“See?” he hums. “Mother knows best.”

You don’t know what possesses you—perhaps the weight of expectation, or perhaps something else entirely—but your hand lifts. Fingers barely brushing against his before he takes it completely, enclosing it in a grasp that is warm, steady, unwavering.

And just like that, he pulls you into the center of the room.

Into the center of everything.

His grip is firm but unhurried as he leads you, like none of this is a big deal. Like he hasn’t just overturned an entire evening’s worth of careful tradition.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, your breath barely finding its way back into your lungs as you let him guide you into position. One of his hands settles lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

“Relax,” he murmurs, just low enough for only you to hear. “You’re stiffer than my old kendo instructor.”

You huff, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm against yours. “I—this is just… unexpected.”

Exhaling dramatically, he spins you effortlessly into the first steps of dance. “Tell me about it,” he groans. “You just saved me from another goddamn elder trying to shove some proper young lady into my arms.”

You blink. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, twirling you smoothly before pulling you back into his grasp. “The matchmaking schemers are working overtime tonight. Bet they’re seething right now.”

You stifle a laugh. “So… you picked me out of spite?”

“I picked you because you looked like you needed saving too.” His eyes flicker toward you, sharp but warm, like he’s seeing straight through you.

You hesitate. He’s… not wrong.

“Well… my mother was about to give me a very long lecture about decorum,” you admit quietly.

His grin widens as he hums. “Guess that makes me your knight in shining silk, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbling in your chest betrays you.

Satoru’s grip shifts slightly, his hand pressing just a fraction firmer against your waist as he leads you through another step. He moves so effortlessly, like the weight of expectation never touches him, like the rules of this world bend just for him.

For a moment, the heaviness in the air fades.

For a moment, you almost forget the crowd watching.

For a moment… it’s just the two of you.

As the melody slows—the last few notes stretch through the grand hall like a fading breath—you barely register the shifting of the crowd around you. It feels like the world has shrunk.

And then, stillness. The dance is over.

You should step away. You should let go.

But Satoru lingers.

His fingers remain curled lightly around yours, as if he’s forgotten to let go—or maybe he just doesn’t feel like doing so yet. His touch is warm, steady, and entirely too deliberate for someone who seems to take nothing seriously.

As his gaze drops to your hand for a fraction of a second, his smirk deepens, something unreadable flashing in those impossible blue eyes. Then, with a casual ease—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—he lifts your hand slightly and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

Soft. Unhurried.

Barely a brush of his lips against your skin, but enough to send something fluttering wildly in your stomach.

Damn him.

You feel it everywhere—the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his hold lingers a second too long before he finally lets go. When your hand drops back to your side, it’s still tingling from the contact, and you know you should say something, but your tongue feels too damn heavy in your mouth again.

Satoru, however, looks perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t just turned your world sideways with a single fleeting kiss. Still, the moment stretches—something about it feels… different. A beat too long, a silence that carries something unspoken.

But when he shifts, the moment simmers away as he turns his head slightly, his attention suddenly caught by something beyond you. Or, someone.

Geto Suguru. His best friend.

His posture loosens as he exhales through his nose, casting you a final glance. “Well, sweetheart,” he drawls lazily, taking a step back. “Hate to dance and dash, but duty calls.”

And just like before, he lifts a hand in that same casual wave, and winks—slipping back into the crowd with the ease of someone who has done this a hundred times before.

Following his gaze, you look just past the cluster of mingling sorcerers, at the figure leaning lazily against one of the wooden pillars. His dark long hair falls across his shoulders, his arms are folded neatly into the side sleeves of his yukata, and his eyes are half-lidded, bored.

Satoru reaches him in just a few strides, and whatever the two of them exchange is lost to you beneath the hum of the room—but they’re laughing, at ease.

Exhaling slowly, you force your trembling hands to steady at your sides, your racing heart to settle, remembering where you are. Because the world moves on. The music starts anew. The guests return to their conversations.

But you don’t. Not yet.

Because this—this is something you’ll remember. The night you first met Gojo Satoru.

The night you first saw him for who he was—not just the head of the Gojo Clan, not just the strongest, but something untouchable, something defiant. Something free.

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you will always hold onto that moment.

A moment you wish you could claim for yourself.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

Seven years have passed since that night. Seven years since the weight of an entire clan was draped over his shoulders like a silk noose.

Gojo Satoru is still the strongest, still the untouchable ruler of the Gojo Clan, but the years have done little to change the one thing the elders have always hated about him—he refuses to be controlled.

But their patience is wearing thin.

The moment he steps into the council chamber, Satoru already knows he’s going to hate every second of this.

Same old stiff-ass room, same old stiff-ass elders. The walls lined with painted screens depicting wars won centuries ago, incense burning in the background like it’s meant to cleanse him of his sins or some shit. He exhales loudly, rolling his shoulders back, then strolls forward with all the urgency of a man walking to his own execution.

Dropping lazily onto the tatami, Satoru lets out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Alright,” he drawls, popping his neck with a slow tilt of his head. “Let’s hear it. What crime have I committed this time?”

A tense silence follows.

Gojo Hiroshi, the eldest of the council, lets out a long, deliberate sigh, his sharp gaze steady beneath thick silver brows. “Your inappropriate conduct has reached our ears again.”

Satoru smirks. “Oh? I’ve got fans? You geezers keeping tabs on me now?”

His words are met with cold, unimpressed stares.

“You mustn’t treat this as a joke,” another elder chimes in, voice lined with restrained patience. “Your recklessness is a stain upon our clan’s legacy.”

Satoru scoffs. “Recklessness? I’m pretty sure I’ve saved more lives than any of you sitting here. Y’know, by doing my actual job.”

“The strongest should not act so carelessly,” Hiroshi cuts in. “And yet, all you do is goof off. Throwing yourself around, jumping from woman to woman, acting like some common fool—”

Satoru groans loudly, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh. “God, is this really about me having a good time? I hate to break it to ya, old man, but I’m twenty-five, not fifty. Maybe if you all had a little fun in your youth, you wouldn’t be so damn uptight.”

The closest elder levels him with a stern glare. “We have tolerated your… indulgences long enough.”

“You speak of a ‘good time’,” another elder continues, fingers steepled together. “But you must consider the future. This—this frivolity—must end.”

Satoru clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers lazily against his knee. “Yeah? And just where are ya gettin’ at, gramps?”

Silence. A slow exchange of glances between them.

Satoru watches as they silently decide who will be the one to say it. They always do this. Always sit in their stiff little circles, acting like their words carry the weight of gods.

Finally, Hiroshi exhales, slow and measured, before speaking.

“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”

There it is.

Satoru lets out a slow, exaggerated breath, tilting his head back. “Man… you guys really need a new hobby.”

“We have been patient,” Hiroshi continues, ignoring him. “But the time for childish defiance is over.”

Satoru’s lips twitch. Childish? He could wipe this entire damn room off the map if he wanted. Not that he would, though—he’s mostly reasonable.

An elder shifts slightly, fingers curling over the edge of a plain, unassuming folder resting beneath his palm, and as Satoru’s gaze flicks to it, recognition flares.

Ugh. Not this bullshit again.

This isn’t new. He knows what’s inside. A folder full of names. A folder of candidates—eligible women, bloodlines deemed strong enough, clans deemed worthy. A relic of a past he never fucking asked for.

His irritation spikes as he begins to rise.

“Yeah, so… fuck this. I’m gonna stop ya right there—”

“You will sit down, Satoru.”

The words are sharp. Final. Satoru freezes mid-step, the weight behind them pressing like a blade against his spine.

The fucking audacity. A command? A fucking order?!

Exhaling through his nose, he bites back the burn of frustration clawing up his throat. “Nah,” he mutters, waving a dismissive hand as he turns on his heel. “Fuck off.”

“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”

Satoru stops.

A slow laugh bubbles up from his chest—sharp, humorless, before turning back to face them. Tilting his head, an icy chill threads his voice.

“Let me get this fucking straight. You dragged me all the way here, wasted my precious time, just to tell me I need to knock someone up? Wow.” He lets out a sharp whistle, slowly clapping his hands together in mock awe. “Out of all of your excuses, this one takes the fucking cake.”

“You fail to take this seriously,” Hiroshi’s voice is quieter than the others, but heavier in its own way. “You never have.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Maybe because I don’t need to. I’m the strongest, remember?”

“And yet,” Hiroshi exhales, “even the strongest will one day fall.”

The words settle in the air like a foregone truth. Satoru doesn’t flinch. But something in his jaw ticks, barely perceptible.

Even the strongest will one day fall.

He hates the way those words burrow under his skin, clawing at something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“You refuse to take a wife. You refuse to consider the future,” Hiroshi continues, voice steady. “You’ve left us no choice. And so, we have taken it upon ourselves to make the choice for you. Marriage arrangements are already in place.”

Satoru’s brow furrows—a seething rage building underneath his skin. Pulling down his blindfold in a slow, deliberate movement, he reveals the impossible, piercing blue of his Six Eyes.

“Excuse me?”

The air shifts, thickening under the weight of power, of warning—of a challenge.

For a moment, all he can hear is the rush of his own blood in his ears. And then, just beneath the suffocating weight of his own fury, another voice cuts through.

‘You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?’

A memory. A voice.

Suguru.

The words hit him like a hammer, striking something raw, something he thought he buried a long time ago.

Geto Suguru.

His best friend. His brother. The one person who had ever truly understood him. The only person who could ever match him step for step, thought for thought.

The person he lost. A man who had abandoned all right or reason. Who had turned his back on everything. On Jujutsu High. On their ideals. On him.

And suddenly, the weight of it all presses heavier on Satoru’s shoulders. It feels suffocating. Because for the first time in years, something inside him wavers. And damnit… that pisses him off.

With a sharp step forward, Satoru’s hand snatches the folder from the table in one swift motion, the rustle of paper slicing through the silence like a blade.

The room tenses as he flips it open, eyes scanning the pages, the names, the faces—the future they’ve decided for him.

As he goes through its contents, a folder he’s seen often but never truly looked into, he realizes it’s exactly what he expected—polished profiles, lists of pedigreed women, hand-selected for their bloodlines, their breeding, their usefulness.

Every file reads the same.

Perfect posture. Proper etiquette. Skilled in traditional arts. Fluent in tea ceremonies. Raised to serve, obey, bear children.

Gross.

His brow furrows in irritation as he skims through the neatly cataloged qualities, as if he’s browsing a fucking menu.

Expert in tea ceremonies. Elegant calligraphy. Well-versed in ikebana.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, he flips to the next file with a flick of his wrist.

Gentle temperament. Raised to uphold family honor. Culinary excellence.

Jesus.

It’s all the same.

Not a single original thought, not a single fucking thing that isn’t meant to mold them into perfect little wives and mothers.

Satoru’s fingers twitch as disgust curls up his throat.

What? Is he supposed to just pick one, put a ring on her, fuck her like some obligation? Breed an heir with a woman whose only defining trait is knowing how to arrange flowers?

Tch.

He’s already itching to slam the folder shut and walk out of this room, consequences be damned.

But then—he halts. His gaze briefly catching on a familiar face.

You.

A picture clipped neatly to your file, just like all the others, but something about it makes him pause.

He knows you… right?

Or—at least, you look somewhat familiar.

Satoru has slept with countless women, but he’s pretty damn sure he’d remember if you were one of them. Plus… you’re a virgin, according to your file, so… that can’t be it.

He scans the page with mild curiosity, barely reading at first—and low and behold, it’s another list of fucking perfect traits designed to impress him.

Cooking. Baking. Floral arrangements.

Right. Of course. Same as the rest.

But then, his eyes flick lower.

Martial arts.

His brow lifts.

Huh. Now that’s new.

Shifting his weight, his gaze lingers on that one detail.You practice martial arts? Interesting.

The corner of his lips twitch, intrigue curling at the edges of his amusement as he flips through the rest of your file—skimming for anything else that isn’t some prim manufactured selling point.

Not much stands out amongst the crowd, expect that, yeah, you’re hot too. That certainly doesn’t hurt.

If they’re really forcing him to do this shit—if he really has to fuck a woman and produce an heir—he’s at least going to pick someone who can actually hold his attention. Hell, if he has to fuck her, she better be someone who can at least get his dick up.

Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker back up to the elders, their bated breaths held with anticipation.

“…fine,” he mutters, “I’ll marry.”

A ripple of movement shifts immediately—a murmur of approval.

“But.” His voice cuts through their satisfaction like a knife. “Cancel whatever bullshit arrangement you had planned.” His Six Eyes gleam as his gaze flickers up, sharp, glacial. “If I’m doing this,” he exhales, voice smooth as glass, “I’m doing it my way.”

And with that, he slams the folder down, open with a photo of you.

“I at least want a say in who the fuck I’m picking,” he mutters, voice cool, final. Then, his gaze flickers up. A smirk—sharp and defiant—curls at the corner of his lips. “So… there ya have it. I pick her.”

A beat of silence. Then another.

Satoru watches as the elders’ expressions shift as they take in your photo, their brows knitting together, their lips pressing into thin, disapproving lines. There’s something unspoken between them—hesitation. Uncertainty.

Jesus Christ... what now?

His fingers tap idly against the table, impatience curling at the edges of his composure. Rolling his eyes, he exhales sharply before plopping back down onto the tatami.

“What?” his irritation spikes, gaze flickering between the stiff-ass old men. “You gonna tell me she’s not good enough? That her tea ceremony etiquette isn’t up to your impossible fucking standards? She was in your folder!”

Silence.

Then, Gojo Hiroshi clears his throat.

“There is… history.” His words are careful, measured. “With her clan.”

Satoru lifts a brow, unimpressed. “Okay… and?”

A flicker of unease passes between the elders.

“Satoru,” another speaks, voice steady, placating. “Clan politics are not so simple—”

He scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You think I give a shit about clan politics?”

More exchanged glances. More unreadable expressions. But Hiroshi remains still.

“It is not just politics…” he finally says, gaze unwavering. “There was a… scandal.”

Satoru exhales, fingers pausing mid-drum.

God, he fucking hates when people beat around the bush. His patience is wearing thin. He agreed, didn’t he? What the hell more do they want?

“Scandal?” he echoes, voice flat, uninterested. “Oh, let me guess. Daddy lost a business deal? Mommy hosted the wrong kind of dinner party? Spare me.”

A slow breath.

“…her family has been outcasted.”

A pause.

“Disgraced,” another adds. “Stripped of their status. They have nothing. They live in ruin.”

Arching a brow, Satoru lets the silence linger—lets them wait for him to grasp the supposed severity of the situation.

But he doesn’t give a shit about status.

He just wants these crusty old men off his back, and your folder was the least boring in that entire damn stack.

“…and?” his voice is flat. “I fail to see what the fuck any of this has to do with me. She was in your folder. That’s who I pick.”

The tension thickens as the air feels heavier. The elders remain silent, exchanging glances, waiting for him to finally understand—to realize what he’s signing up for.

Hiroshi is the one to finally speak.

“She comes with nothing now, Satoru,” his tone’s heavier now. “She was a suitable candidate… yes. But now? She has no wealth. No influence. Her mother is drowning in debt. If you choose her, you will be marrying into ruin.”

Satoru groans, loudly, dragging a hand down his face. He’s so fucking tired of this conversation. With a sigh, he rises, reaching into his pocket for his blindfold.

“You old geezers really think I give a shit about money?” he mutters, shaking out the fabric before sliding it over his eyes slowly—like he’s already disengaging from the conversation. “God, you’re all so dramatic. I’m loaded. Who fucking cares.”

“Satoru—”

“I said I’d marry. It’s her or nothing,” his voice is final, unwavering.

The folder snaps shut in his hands, the sharp sound slicing through the hushed tension. A flick of his wrist sends it skidding back across the polished table.

“So, there you have it. Call her mother, we’ll draft an arrangement.”

A ripple of unease shifts through the council, their stiff expressions unreadable. Hiroshi’s brow knits. “An arrangement?”

Satoru exhales, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms overhead like this entire conversation has physically exhausted him.

“Yup.” His fingers splay lazily as he waves a hand through the air, tone entirely too casual. “I’ll pay off their debts. In return, she marries me. Win-win. There. Easy.”

Then, that smirk—cocky, taunting—pulls at his lips as he leans back, tipping his chin up in mock amusement.

“Anyways. Good talk.” He pauses. “Sooo… uh. We done?”

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Eat.”

The command is soft but firm, breaking the silence that has stretched too long across the small table before you.

Your mother sits across from you, poised as ever, lifting her chopsticks with careful precision, plucking a small piece of tofu from her bowl. The once-pristine silk of her kimono has dulled with time, its ivory threads faded from wear, from struggle. But she wears it the same way she always has—with quiet dignity, spine straight, hands resting carefully in her lap, an image of control that nothing—not scandal, not exile—has managed to break.

She doesn’t look up as she speaks to you once more.

“You’re staring at your food again.”

You don’t remember the last time dinner felt this quiet.

Well, at least not this kind of quiet. This quiet is… different.

It’s not the quiet like when your father was still here—sitting where your mother is now, tapping idly at his phone, barely listening as you spoke about your day. Not like the quiet nights when he would come home late—smelling of perfume that didn’t belong to your mother.

Not like the quiet night he left—walking out the door, taking everything with him.

A soft clink pulls you back—the sound of your mother setting her chopsticks down with slow, deliberate care. When you lift your eyes, she is already watching you, her expression as unreadable as ever.

“You must eat.”

Picking up the chopsticks, your fingers feel stiff against the smooth wood. The miso soup in front of you has gone lukewarm, its thin broth barely fragrant, stretched with water to make it last longer. A meal meant to sustain, not satisfy.

“I’m… not hungry.”

Your mother doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t frown. She simply takes another bite of her meal, chewing with quiet deliberation before dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“A weakened body leads to a weakened mind,” she murmurs. “You cannot afford to be careless with your health.”

You don’t roll your eyes, but damnit, the urge is there.

Even now, she speaks in lessons, in discipline. As if you still had a name to uphold, a family to represent. As if any of that mattered anymore.

Frustration coils in your stomach, tight and twisting, but you don’t let it show. Because she won’t. She never has.

Not even the night he left.

You still remember it—the way your mother stood there, unmoving, as your father walked out the door. No screaming. No pleading. No chasing after the man who had stolen everything from her, from you.

Just stillness. A quiet that swallowed everything—a quiet that never fucking leaves.

And then, the fallout.

The scandal that burned through the clan like wildfire. The disgrace. The exile. The slow, agonizing unraveling of everything you once knew.

You swallow hard, forcing the thoughts down, lifting your chopsticks to take a bite.

Because your mother doesn’t dwell on the past. She doesn’t even acknowledge it.

And so, neither do you.

Suddenly, a sharp ring slices through the air.

Your mother stills—her gaze lingering on the telephone for a moment before she moves, rising to her feet with effortless grace, lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

As she silently listens to whoever’s on the other line, her shoulders stiffen. It’s subtle, but you see it. The faint tightening of her jaw. The way her fingers curl around the receiver, gripping it just a fraction tighter than necessary.

“I see…”

Another pause.

“Yes. Understood.”

The quiet click of the receiver settling into its cradle echoes through the small room, and you study your mother for a moment as she remains still—motionless.

“…mother?”

When she turns, something flickers in her eyes. Not worry. Not resignation. Something else. Something you haven’t seen in years.

Hope.

“…we have been summoned.”

Smoothing down the fabric of her kimono, she settles back at the table—smiling serenely.

You blink. “Oh… okay. By who?”

“Gojo Satoru.”

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

A familiar weight settles over your shoulders as you step past the towering gates of the Gojo estate. It’s been so long since you last walked these halls, and yet you still remember the first time, seven years ago—the grand ceilings stretching impossibly high, the golden glow of lantern light against hand-painted fusuma panels, the hushed murmurs of Kyoto’s elite.

Now, as you pass through the inner courtyard, it is just as intimidating as you remember.

Just as breathtaking.

A servant bows low, silently ushering you toward the tea room, leading both you and your mother in graceful step. As the entrance nears, her voice breaks the silence.

“You will be on your best behavior,” she murmurs, not unkind, but firm.

Right… as if you needed the reminder.

Stepping inside, the tatami mats barely creak under your careful steps, and the scent of incense greets you first—rich, woody, cloying. A low table sits at its center, the lacquered wood polished to perfection, a ceremonial tea set already in place. And across from it, seated with an unmistakable air of ease, is him.

Gojo Satoru.

Even draped in expensive silk—his robes stitched with the distinguished colors of his clan—he carries himself with an irreverence that clashes against the rigid atmosphere of the room. One arm rests against the table, the other draped carelessly over his knee. His blindfold is absent, and for the first time in seven years, you once again meet those impossibly blue eyes head-on.

“Ah, there she is,” he hums, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Thought I was getting stood up.”

Your mother clears her throat pointedly, bowing in greeting. You quickly follow suit, the practiced motion ingrained in you.

“Gojo-sama,” she says smoothly, “it is an honor to be welcomed into your home.”

Satoru waves a dismissive hand, leaning back. “Yeah, yeah. Big honor. Let’s skip the formalities, huh?”

Seated around the table, the elders watch the exchange in silence, their presence heavy, suffocating. You recognize Gojo Hiroshi among them—his sharp, assessing gaze narrowing on you briefly.

Oh… awkward.

Is he still mad about his seat?

Hiroshi exhales, dragging his gaze to your mother. “We will discuss the terms of the arrangement in the study,” he says, voice calm, measured. “In the meantime, Gojo-sama and his intended should use this opportunity to… familiarize themselves.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, Satoru sighs—stretching his arms with a dramatic groan. “Right. Tea ceremonies. My favorite.”

Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, your mother gives you a knowing glance, a silent reminder—behave.

And then, with a final bow, she follows the elders as they shuffle toward the adjoining room, their hushed voices retreating beyond the sliding doors. The quiet click of wood sliding echoes in the stillness, leaving just the two of you.

Alone with Gojo Satoru.

A familiar weight settles in your chest, something tight, uncertain. His gaze lingers—not scrutinizing, not cold, but assessing. And God, he’s just as beautiful as you remember him. Too beautiful. The same easy confidence. The same impossibly blue eyes that seem to pierce through everything.

You’ve always held onto that feeling from the first time you met him—what was it, exactly? Admiration?

“Well,” Satoru exhales, stretching his legs slightly beneath the table. “Guess it’s just us now.”

Something about the way he says it makes your tummy clench. Is that the admiration? Fuck, whatever. You know what this meeting is supposed to be. A display of grace, a demonstration of propriety. A wife’s first duty to her husband-to-be.

And so, you inhale, slow and controlled—reaching for the tea set.

“Care for some tea?” you murmur, lifting the delicate porcelain into your fingertips, moving through the familiar, measured motions of ceremony. Of tradition.

Lifting the teapot with both hands, you tilt it just so, allowing the warm liquid to pour in an elegant arc, no wasted movement, no hesitation. The way you were taught. The way it has always been.

Then, with just as much care, you offer it to him, your gaze respectfully lowered.

“Please… enjoy.”

With an unreadable expression, Satoru’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the cup from your hands. Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker down at the tea, before taking a slow sip.

There is an unnerving silence.

“Is it… to your liking?”

“Uh…” he shrugs, flashing a boyish grin. “Tastes like tea?”

You blink.

What are you supposed to say to that?

A growing nervousness flutters in your chest. Your mother is depending on you—don’t fuck this up. Nodding, your hands fold neatly in your lap as you recite the lines of tradition.

“It is an honor to serve you, Gojo-sama. May this tea be a reflection of the harmony I hope to uphold in our union.”

For a moment, nothing.

Then—Satoru laughs. Not a small chuckle. Not polite amusement. Full-bodied, head-tilted-back laughter.

It startles you, your body tensing at the sound as he sets his cup onto the table and doubles over, catching his breath between chuckles.

You stiffen. What the hell was so funny?

“…did I say something amusing?” you ask carefully.

Satoru waves a hand, shaking his head as he wipes beneath his eyes. “No, no. It’s just… wow. You really went full perfect wife mode, huh?”

Your brows pull together slightly. “Yes… well. It is only proper to conduct myself with—”

“Yeeeah… let’s not,” he waves a hand, leaning forward slightly, arms folding over the table. “You don’t have to do that with me, y’know.”

You hesitate. “Do… what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely at you, expression amused but pointed. “The stiff politeness, the whole ‘it is an honor to serve you’ thing. Jeez… feels like I’m at another meeting with the elders.”

You blink, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “But… this is a formal arrangement.”

He hums, tapping a long finger against the porcelain cup. “Yeah, but we’re also people… aren’t we?”

His words catch you off guard.

People.

You’re not sure if you’ve ever been allowed to simply be that—just a person. Not an heiress, not a proper wife, not a disgraced daughter in need of redemption.

You glance at him, at Gojo Satoru, and suddenly… he doesn’t feel so unreachable.

Oh…

He’s the same as you remember—the man who saved you seven years ago. The one who made defiance look so effortless, so free.

Perhaps… with him, you can breathe. Live freely.

Shifting slightly, your fingers relax in your lap.

“…Very well,” you murmur. “Then how would you prefer I speak to you, Gojo-sama?”

Satoru exhales dramatically, tilting his head to the side. “Well for starters, drop the ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Hate that.”

You bite back a smile. “It’s a title of respect.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a hand. “But every time you say it, I feel like I need to go yell at some underlings or something. I’m twenty-five, not fucking ancient.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Alright… what should I call you then?”

He grins. “Just Satoru s’good.”

“…mmkay,” you hesitate for a moment. “Satoru, then.”

His smile widens, pleased.

“Perfect.” He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his palm, one long finger tapping against the table. “Now… be honest. You don’t actually like this crap, do you?”

You blink. “Pardon?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely at the tea set, the meticulously arranged porcelain, the lingering scent of incense curling in the air. “All this traditional, stiff-ass, sit-in-silence tea ceremony nonsense.”

Your fingers clench slightly in your lap. “It’s… important.”

Satoru hums, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. But do you like it?”

You hesitate. It’s a simple question. A stupid one, even. But for some reason, it feels… foreign. Like no one has ever asked before. You should say yes. It would be the correct answer. The proper one.

“…it’s familiar,” you settle on.

Satoru hums again, watching you closely. “That’s not a yes.”

Looking down at the tea in front of you, a quiet weight settles in your chest. Then—he leans back with a sigh, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Sooo… whadda say we ditch?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I mean, c’mon,” he groans, tilting his head to the side like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “This is boring as hell. You don’t actually wanna sit here drinking tea all day, right?”

You lift a brow. “But… isn’t this what the elders want?”

Satoru’s grin turns sharp. Mischievous.

“Yeah, and I like pissing them off,” his voice dips slightly as he shifts closer. “So… let’s try something.”

He pats his lap. Once. Twice.

“C’mere,” he says, lazily.

You stare—heat rising up your neck, your fingers gripping the fabric in your lap.

“…what?”

Satoru lifts a brow. “What?” he echoes, with a grin. Then, he pats his thigh again, nonchalant. “You heard me. C’mere. Sit.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Then open it again. “Erm… how does… this have anything to do with ditching?”

“Hmm… maybe, it doesn’t.” Satoru shrugs, lips curling at the edges. “Maybe I just wanna see if you’ll do it.”

A pause. Your stomach flips. Your pulse skips. Your brain is screaming at you. This is improper. Completely inappropriate. Unbefitting of a proper woman, much less a bride-to-be.

And yet—

Fuck. He’s watching you with expectation, amusement, curiosity. Because this is Gojo Satoru. The man who has always done whatever the hell he wants—and somehow, that makes you feel like you can too.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you drag in a deep breath, then move—shifting onto your knees and leaning forward. With a quiet exhale, you turn, lowering yourself onto his lap, your back against his chest as your hands rest awkwardly in your lap.

The moment you settle, his arms curl around your waist. The air changes, and your heart flutters.

“…huh,” his voice is closer than expected, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze—when suddenly, the world bends.

Weightlessness seizes you—like free-falling, like slipping through space itself. Your stomach lurches as reality warps around you, fleeting, untethered—until solid ground finds you again.

A slow blink. Gone is the tea room.

Where the hell are you?

Soft lantern light flickers against dark wood and paper screens, casting shifting shadows along the floor. The air is crisp, laced with pine, and beyond the open veranda, a private onsen awaits—its surface steaming beneath the early evening sky, mist curling lazily across the mountain air like silk. The distant hum of cicadas thrums through the silence, the world around you untouched, secluded, still.

Satoru exhales, a pleased hum, shifting beneath you.

“Ahh, much better…”

Warm fingers thread through your hair. Slow, deliberate—gathering the strands to one side. You feel a brush of lips against your shoulder as he murmurs,

“…don’t you agree?”

Shit. The realization settles over you like heat—you’re still in his lap.

“Wha—” the room is hazy—you’re a bit breathless from the sudden shift in reality, and fuck, it’s mixing dangerously with the heat of his touch as his fingers slowly drag along your waist.

Hesitantly, you tilt your head back, meeting his eyes. Blue. Endless. Watching you. You should look away, but you don’t.

“Um…”

“Ta-da,” he murmurs smugly.

Shifting slightly, you try to will away the heat in your face, slipping away from his chest as you adjust. Your thighs drape over his lap now, half-facing him. And fuck—was that a mistake?

Because now, he’s all you can see.

Snowy white hair, framing a face too perfect to be real—his mouth curving into a lazy grin that makes your tummy clench in a way you’re entirely unfamiliar with.

“Where… are we?” you manage.

Satoru hums, shifting beneath you—his fingers dancing over the silk of your obi. “Oh… y’know,” his hand drags higher, resting just below the curve of your breast. “Just somewhere no one will bother us…”

As your dizzy mind tries to recalibrate from teleporting, you blink, finally processing the position you’re in. Or rather, the position he’s in—lounging on a shikifuton.

His fingers twirl the tie of your obi, and you tense, suddenly incredibly nervous.

“G-Gojo…”

He clicks his tongue. “Satoru.”

“Um…” his other hand begins to slide higher up your thigh. “S-Satoru,” you amend, barely above a whisper.

A dangerous grin. “Good girl.”

Oh. You’re fucked. A shudder rolls through you.

“This place… um…” you try to distract yourself with words. Because what the fuck are you supposed to do when he’s touching you like this?! “Its… not the estate, is it?”

“Nah,” he murmurs lazily. “One of my private villas.I’ve got property all over Japan, sweetheart. Figured I’d take you somewhere more… comfortable.”

Comfortable.

Because sitting in his lap counts as comfortable… right?

And shit. Just what is this heat coiling at the base of your stomach? It’s dizzying. You need to move—need space, need air. But as you shift, attempting to slip from his lap, his grip tightens.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, hands steadying you with effortless strength. “Easy there, sweetheart.”

Your pulse stammers, and for a second, you forget to breathe.

“I—I just need to—”

“Stay put.” His fingers flex against your waist. Firm. Unyielding. “We just teleported. Move too fast, and you’ll tip over.”

As your lips begin to part—a protest forming—a sudden wave of dizziness washes over you. Your breath hitches as the edges of your vision blur for a fraction of a second, and you sway, balance slipping.

“Ohp. There it is.”

Satoru moves before you can even react.

One hand slips behind your back, the other finding your hand as he gently lays you back against the futon. The silk of your kimono pools around you as his palm slides back to the curve of your waist.

And suddenly, he’s everywhere.

Leaning over you, elbow propped up—half above, half beside you. A frame too broad, his snowy-white hair falling forward just slightly, strands ghosting against your forehead.

The air shifts.

Those impossibly blue eyes drink you in, framed by thick lashes that soften the sharp cut of his jaw. “Still dizzy?” he murmurs teasingly.

Inhaling shakily, your eyes flutter shut for just a second, searching for something steady, something solid. But there’s only him—his presence, his warmth, the scent of him—clean, crisp, intoxicating.

Yup. You’re fucked.

“…no,” you whisper. But it’s a lie.

Because it’s not the teleporting that’s making your head spin anymore.

Satoru hums, knowing.

“Since we’re to be wed…” his fingers resettle just below your breast, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smirk. “I think you deserve a sample, don’t you?”

Huh?

You should say something. Anything. Your lips part instinctively, but before you can form a thought, before hesitation can settle in—Satoru is leaning in and your brain is short circuiting.

His hand lifts, cupping your cheek as he tilts your chin just so, and with a tenderness, his lips brush against yours in a soft, lingering press.

It’s like a dream. Gojo Satoru—the man you’ve admired, so sweet, so charming, so free—kissing you? Is this real life?

When he pulls back, he studies your expression, a smug grin dragging up his lips.

“What? You want more?” his lips brush against yours, and you barely process it when he mutters, “…wanna ruin you…” kissing you again.

This time, his lips are moving—slow, languid, like he’s introducing himself to you in a way words never could, coaxing you into the unfamiliar rhythm. He doesn’t rush. He guides. Mapping out your hesitation, your breath, the way your body tenses before melting beneath him.

Is your heart going to beat out of your chest? It feels like it. Just as you ease into his movements, his tongue flicks against the seam of your lower lip—soft, teasing.

“C’mon…” he quietly demands, tongue tracing your lips again, “open up f’me…”

And God, you do. Because he feels too good not to.

“Atta girl…” he hums, tongue slipping past your lips with ease. And now, that slow, lazy exploration turns headier, more consuming, more demanding. Groaning quietly, he’s pulling you in, guiding you. Leading. Teaching.

Oh.

That heat in your tummy… it’s spreading down between your legs now. You’re simmering with an inexplainable heat, and you instinctively clutch his robes, whining involuntarily as he kisses you stupid.

He’s grinning smugly against your lips, your sound fueling him as he devours you more. As your lips crash, you feel him shift, his fingers tugging at your kimono—toying with the delicate knot of your obi.

Wait.

You freeze.

Oh god.

Are you about to lose your virginity to the man you are to marry—before your wedding night?

Noticing you tense, Satoru’s smirk gentles and his movements slow. His lips taper, trailing down your jaw with tender pecks.

“Heh… relax, sweetheart…” he purrs against your skin, caressing your body. “In case you’re wondering, ’m not taking that tonight.”

Your breath stutters, heat curling beneath your skin.

Are… you relieved? Fuck… do you want him to fuck you? He’s making your head spin, and with him, tradition feels unnecessary.

“Oh… I-I just…” you swallow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He raises a brow, a slow smirk pulling up his lips. “Yeah? Then I can show you, baby.” His lips graze the curve of your throat, fingers still teasing at your obi. “But I need to hear it from you first.”

You blink up at him, heat pooling between your legs at the look in his eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, consuming.

“What do you want? Gonna let me play with what’s mine?”

Your heart stammers. Fuck, you should hesitate. This is entirely unbefitting of a proper lady. It’s against everything you were raised to be. But the moment his teeth graze your jaw, fuck it, you’re already nodding.

“…yes, please.”

Satoru hums. “Good girl.”

And then, with a deft tug, your kimono slips open as he pulls it apart—the cool air kissing your skin just before he does, lips trailing from your collarbone to the curve of your breast.

“Fuck,” he breathes. ��So pretty… look at these tits…” His tongue flicks against your nipple, and you whine, “S-Satoru—ahhh…” shuddering as his mouth wraps around it, swirling his tongue as he sucks the peak.

Smirking, he releases your nipple with a wet pop. “Bet you’re not as prim and proper as you look…” he muses, lips dragging lower, nipping at the sensitive dip of your waist. “Bet there’s a filthy little thing hiding under all this tradition…”

His palms descend, smoothing over your thighs, coaxing them apart with ease, but you tense just a bit.

His gaze lifts, ice-blue and smoldering. “Nervous, sweetheart?” he teases, kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs, thumbs sweeping slow, lazy circles—soothing, patient. But there’s a tension in him, the way his breath deepens, the way his hands flex like he’s holding back.

Your lashes flutter. “I… I just… I dunno how to, I—”

“Shhh,” he coos, smirking, “relax f’me, yeah?”

You give him a little nod as your thighs part further beneath the coaxing of his hands, and fuck, fuck, the sight of you like this—open, pliant, so soft and untouched—has his cock aching.

His breath shudders, fingers dragging up your inner thigh. “Mmm… I can already tell—you’re gonna be a dream wrapped around my cock.” A choked whine escapes you, body shivering, and his smirk deepens. “Ohhh, you like that?” he chuckles, fingers slipping beneath the silk of your kimono, spreading it further open. “Like hearing how bad I wanna fuck you?”

And fuck, does he want to fuck you. The restraint it takes to not flip you over and rut into your cunt is damn near unbearable.

It’s been days since Satoru’s had someone in his bed—days of listening to those stiff-ass elders drone on about duty, responsibility, marriage. Fucking is his stress relief. His role—this position as clanhead, as the strongest. God, he acts like he doesn’t give a shit but it’s exhausting. So, he fucks who he wants, when he wants. And now? Now he’s got you beneath him, trembling and breathless, your kimono slipping from your shoulders like a perfectly wrapped gift waiting to be undone.

It’s almost enough to make him say fuck it and take you right now.

Almost.

But he’s not completely selfish—knows you’re untouched, knows he’d probably wreck you if he took you raw the way he wants to. And as much as he loves breaking pretty little things, he’s gotta prepare you. Prepare you for the worst. Because Satoru? He doesn’t make love, he fucks.

“Satoru… I… I’ve never—"

“I gotchu sweetheart,” he drawls, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your cotton panties. “Gonna take my time. Let’s see how filthy my pretty little wife can get f’me, hm?”

You whimper as his middle finger circles the entrance of your slick cunt, teasing, testing, before pressing in an inch, feeling a small taste of your tight heat wrapped around him.

“Mnnh…” your voice wavers as your fingers grip his robes. “S-Satoru.” He groans, dragging his fingers through your slick, spreading it, making sure you feel every stroke. “Shit, baby…” his voice dips, husky, teasing. “Already soaked, hm? Just from me kissing you? Heh… see.” A wicked grin curls against your neck and you’re whining as he parts your folds, circling against your wet heat. “Knew it. You’re a naughty girl. Feels good huh?”

You nod, head tipping back as your cunt drips on the futon, hips shifting toward him.

“I-I… haaa…” you look up at him with pleading eyes as the tip of his finger sinks inside your tiny hole, then retreating just as quickly, playing with you. He groans, “God I’m gonna fucking ruin you… lemme feel how tight this little pussy is f’me…” and then he pushes his finger in fully, sinking knuckle-deep in your entrance.

“Ahhh!” you gasp, body shuddering, face burying into his neck as your cunt clenches him greedily. “Ohhh, shit,” he groans through his teeth because fuck—your tiny pussy’s already swallowing his finger like you don’t wanna let go. Satoru’s cock is twitching painfully in his hakama, leaking, straining against the fabric. He can’t wait to split you open on his thick throbbing dick.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” he coos, lips brushing against your ear. “Nice and easy, baby.” He’s moving now, curling his finger against that tender spot, and you gasp “S-Satoru…” burying further into his neck as you soak his hand, clutching his kimono as you whine, “nngh… s’too much…”

“Aww… s’okay…” he’s pressing wet open-mouthed kisses along your throat, finger slowly fucking into you, “Shit… this is only one finger sweetheart. Poor thing. M’gonna have to stretch you real good, huh?” he pumps through every word. “And you’ll take all of me, wont’cha? Take me like a good girl?”

Your lashes flutter. It’s overwhelming, but god, you love it. Stretching your hot little cunt with his long finger, the way his pretty blue eyes watch you, the way his voice drips into your ears, coaxing you further under. “I-I… nnngh…” your needy pussy’s gushing all over his knuckles, “Satoruuu…” you whimper, squirming slightly, unsure what you’re asking for.

But he knows. Of course he fucking knows.

“Faster?” he croons, nipping at your earlobe, pumping you fast, and fuck, your eyes roll back. The sounds of your sopping slick mix with the hum of cicadas. “That’s it… m’gonna teach you. Show my perfect little slut of a wife how to take cock, how to be a good girl for her husband.”

He curls his finger further, sliding against your tight wet walls. “S-Satoru—ahhh…”

“Shhh, I got you,” he soothes, cock angry in his pants as he pumps you stupid. “Shit, you’re so wet… feel that?” his free hand splays over your stomach, feeling your tiny hole flutter around him. “Ah, fuck… you’re gonna feel so tight around my dick… can’t wait to fuckin’ pound this needy pussy.”

Your breath is stuttering as he’s stretching you faster, making your cunt drool all over him, pretty blue eyes watching you through fluttering white lashes.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby…” he murmurs in your ear, voice deep, velvety. “Hope you’re ready, gonna milk my fuckin’ dick, be my little obedient, sexy toy for me to use whenever I want. Yeah?”

Your body moves on its own and you arch further into him, desperate for more of his ministrations.

“…satoru,” you pant, and his cock leaps in his pants the moment you ask, “m-more… please?”

“Shit…” he groans, slipping another finger into your sopping cunt. “Knew you’re not as innocent as you look. Gonna pump you so fucking full, paint your insides white with my hot, thick cum,” he pants, finger fucking you faster. “This want you wanted needy girl?”

“Mhmm…” you nod, eyes squeezed shut, legs squeezing around him, a whimper spilling for your lips. “Ohh, fuck yes…” he growls, licking into your mouth.

Fuck, Satoru’s cock is throbbing so much is hurts now.

The thought of fucking you raw? Of splitting you open on his cock, ruining that untouched little cunt, making you stretch around him, crying, gasping, begging? Fuck—he could cum in his pants just thinking about it.

Because that is something he doesn’t do with other women. He’s always careful. Always keeps things clean, simple. Never finishes inside—ensuring there’s something between him and whatever meaningless distraction is spread out beneath him. Because at the end of the day, Gojo Satoru has a lot of meaningless distractions, and none of them are worth that kind of indulgence.

But you? Breeding you? Filling your tiny little hole, stuffing you full, making you drip with his cum until you’re leaking, messy, begging for more? Fuck, that’s more than a perk—that’s a goddamn plus.

A plus that, at least in marrying you, he’ll have someone to fuck whenever he wants. Satoru always gets what he wants. And he loves to fuck.

That’s all this is. That’s all you’ll be. A perfect little wife, ready to spread your legs and take him like you were made for it. Why? Because Satoru hates being tied down. But if the elders want an heir?

Fine. He’ll fucking give ‘em that.

“O-Oh… ohmygod…” you’re whimpering now, nails digging into his shoulders as he’s scissoring your dripping pussy, stretching you wider. “Ahhh!” The moment his thumb finds your clit, your body jolts, and he chuckles. “Mmm… there it is…” he’s rubbing slow circles against your swollen bud, pumping your cunt as your whimper and writhe. “That’s what I wanna see… let it take you… let it break you, baby.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes hooded, lips parted, white hair falling over his gaze. Fuck, he looks ruined just watching you come apart. You’re gasping, chest rising and falling, and he smirks. “S’too much,” you whine, voice trembling, “too much, Satoru… I… ahhh!”

Leaning in, his lips brush against yours. “C’mon sweet thing,” he rasps, “Cum f’me. Lemme see how pretty you look when you fall apart…”

And fuck, you do.

Your pussy clenches, tightening around his fingers as the coil in your stomach snaps, sending pleasure crashing through you.

A choked cry slips from your lips as your body shudders violently, legs squeezing around his wrist, cunt gushing down his knuckles. He groans, feeling every pulse of your release, the hot slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

“Oh, fuck,” he grits out, watching you unravel beneath him. His lips curl, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s it, baby… look at you, makin’ such a mess on my fingers.” His thrusts slow, easing you down from your high, his free hand stroking up your trembling thigh as you’re panting, gripping the sleeve of his kimono as you look up at him with dewy eyes.

“Mmm… such a good girl f’me,” he murmurs.

Your lashes flutter, hazy and weak, as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your spent, fluttering hole. You whimper, body jerking slightly at the sensitivity, and a thin, glistening string of arousal connects his fingers to your soaked entrance before it snaps, slick dripping down your thighs.

Satoru hums. “Well, well…” he’s lifting his hand to the lantern light, watching you glisten on his fingers. “You really did make such a mess, sweetheart…”

Your dazed gaze meets his just as his tongue slips between his fingers, sucking them clean. “Mmm…” he groans, lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back before pulling them out with a wet pop. “Can’t wait to devour your cunt properly… bury my face between those pretty thighs n’ make you cum on my tongue while I feed you my dick…”

You’re fucking speechless, barely processing his filthy words before he’s shifting, his free hand dipping beneath the folds of his hakama. Blinking, dazed, you look down and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

He’s pulling himself free, that thick flushed cock springing up—flushed, red, and glistening with precum. It throbs, slapping against his abs, needy and aching. You look at Satoru’s blue eyes and they’re watching you, amusement tugging at his lips.

Gripping the base, he gives it a slow stroke. “Mhn… see what you do to me?” he smears his arousal lazily over the swollen head, exhaling. “Ahhh… look how fuckin’ hard I am just from playing with your pretty cunt…”

Swallowing, your thighs press together, heat blooming in your tummy. Each pump of his cock is hypnotic, deliberate—like he has all the time in the world.

You can’t take your eyes off it.

Fuck

His fingers were already enough to drive you insane, but that? How—how the hell are you supposed to fit that inside your pussy?

Satoru catches the way you bite your lip, the flicker of uncertainty in your gaze.

He smirks, tilting his head. “C’mere,” and he’s reaching for your hand, bringing it toward him. “Wanna play with it?”

Your fingers twitch. “But, Satoru—”

“Shhh,” his thumb brushes soothing circles across your wrist. “Told you, ‘m gonna teach you.” Lifting your hand, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm—soft, sweet. “You’re gonna be my wife, baby… that means learning how to handle my cock, too.”

“Oh…” your lashers flutter, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Okay.”

For a fleeting second, the moment feels… almost tender.

But it shatters as he’s spitting directly into your palm—hot, slick, filthy.

“Gotta get it niiiice and wet…” he mutters, guiding your drenched hand to his throbbing dick, smearing the sticky substance around his shaft. “Grip it like this… kay?”

“Okay…” your murmur, thumb brushing against a thick vein. And god, it’s hot—hotter than you expect—twitching in your grip, heavy and pulsing beneath your tiny fingers.

“Mm, good girl,” he exhales, watching you through lidded eyes. “Start slow, yeah? Let me feel you.” He moves your hand beneath his, setting a pace, slow and teasing. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, lashes fluttering as his head tips back. “Fuuuuck… yeah… that’s it, jus’ like that, baby…”

Biting your lip, you look up at his filthy expression. “Like…this?” you experiment, squeezing a little harder, gripping his dick with more purpose. His cock twitches violently and his lips part. “Fuuuuck…” he grunts, grip tightening on your wrist, “y-yeah… that’s it—shit—keep going, just like that.”

God, the way he looks right now has you dizzy—lidded eyes, jaw slack, breath coming short and heavy. He’s falling apart from your touch alone—like there’s a power to it. That realization makes you bolder, your strokes growing more confident.

And fuck, he seems to like that.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” his cock’s jerking in your grip as he pulls back completely, pretty blue eyes flicking form your hand to your face, smirk turning pure filth. “God, look at you… pretty little wife, strokin’ my cock so fuckin’ well. Maybe I oughta let you do this every night, huh? Put those soft little hands to good use.”

The slick, obscene sounds of your hand working over his cock fills the space as he leans back, shamelessly reveling in it, hips twitching into your grasp.

“Nnngh… keep strokin’ me just like that…” his lips hover a breath away from yours, panting, desperate. You squeeze a little harder, rolling your wrist, and his brows furrow, a sharp hiss escaping him. “Shit—” his head lolls back, voice wrecked, “fuck, you’re such a quick learner… bet you’d let me fuck that tight little throat next, wouldn’t you?”

You cunt is throbbing at his words, slick pooling in your panties. God, how are you supposed to answer him? He’s filthy. But you love it. Your thighs squeeze together, and Satoru sees the way you shift—his grin stretching, wicked.

“Betcha like strokin’ me.” His voice is rough, thick with need, fingers threading into your hair. “Betcha like feelin’ my cock throb in your hand, huh?”

Biting your lip, you squeeze his dick harder. “Y-Yeah…” your cheeks burn at your own filthy admission, and his smirk is vicious, pure sin. “Knew it. Fuckin’ knew it.” He groans, cock twitching in your palm as his flushed tip drools all over your tiny hands. “Naughty little thing… keep that up, n’ m’gonna cum all over these pretty fingers…”

You swipe your thumb over the tip, rolling the head as you murmur “what if… I want that?” and as the words slip out, Satoru’s eyes snap to yours, blown wide, something feral in those cerulean depths.

“Oh?” His grip in your hair tightens, a sharp, desperate inhale through clenched teeth. “Say that again.”

You breathe slowly, smearing his drooling dick, and Satoru’s cock leaks more, jerking violently the moment you mutter, “I… I wanna see you cum.”

With a primal growl, he snaps—lunging forward, lips crashing against yours, messy, consuming. Breathless, desperate, your strokes turn frenzied as he’s groaning into your mouth, his hand groping your tit, his cock jolting in your palm, pulsing vigorously.

“Fuck,” he pants, forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged, needy. “Faster—m’fuckin’ close—fuck, baby, don’t stop—”

You obey, jerking him quicker, harder, your palm slick and messy with his slick. The lewd, obscene sounds spilling from his lips are shameless, his hips jerking up, chasing the friction.

It’s invigorating, and so—fuck it.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean forward, part your lips—and spit. A long, slick stream dripping down, coating his thick cock, gliding over your fingers as you pump him faster.

Satoru chokes on a breath.

“Shit. Shit. Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, head tipping back, throat bared, veins straining. “Goddamn…” his voice cracks, laughter breaking through. “Look at that. Gonna turn you into the perfect little slut f’me, aren’t I?”

Your hand is a blur now—stroking, twisting, rolling over the ridge of his cock, milking him as he gasps, shuddering, hands roaming over your tits, groping, squeezing.

“G-Gonna cum all over you,” he groans, voice unraveling, grip tightening as his thumb flicks your nipple. “Wanna see it? Fuck—my cum dripping down your hand—” A ragged whine catches in his throat. “Or maybe—m-maybe your tits? Haaa… s-shit… yeah.”

Suddenly, his hand shoves you down, pinning you against the futon as he straddles you, knees pressing against your sides. Your eyes widen as his cock hovers above you, dripping, leaking, his grip tight around the base as he strokes himself furiously.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck!” The wet faps of his fist grow louder, his panting wrecked, desperate. “Gonna fuckin’—haaaa—s-shit, take my cum!”

And then, he’s spurting his thick gooey seed all over you, spilling rope after rope of that sticky white essence, shooting it from the ridge of his pulsing dick as it erupts is messy arcs. It's warm and wet, his body lingering above you, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants as he wrings every last drop.

Groaning, his head lolls, lazily pumping the last few spurts, blue eyes dropping to the mess he’s made of you—cum dripping down your tits, pooling in the dip of your stomach.

“Fuck…” he exhales, thumb grazing your bottom lip before tilting your chin up. “Just look at you. Drenched in me.”

You blink, dazed, body still humming, skin sticky and dewy with sweat and cum. Satoru watches you for a moment, then huffs a lazy chuckle, shifting off you. You barely register the way he reaches for something beside the futon, only catching the warm press of a damp cloth against your skin a second later.

Lying there, breathless, he carelessly wipes his release off you. He’s not gentle, not exactly, but he’s careful—moving with the ease of someone who’s done this plenty of times before. When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside, stretches his arms over his head, and flops onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

There’s a beat of silence as you both exhale. The weight of what the fuck just happened, settling in your chest. Then, his smirk returns as he tilts his head at you.

“Welp,” he sits up, rolling a shoulder, cracking his neck, as if already moving past the moment. “S’pose we oughta head back, huh?”

Your stomach knots. “Oh… um. B-Back?” Because how the fuck are you supposed to sit in front of the elders, in front of your mother, after this? After he’s just—after this?

Satoru snorts, already adjusting himself, tucking his cock back into his hakama like none of this just happened. “Yeah.” He grins, fixing the folds of his robes. “I got what I wanted. You had your fun, yeah?”

O-Oh? Your breath stutters. You swallow.

He smirks, glancing over at you, a few stray drops of his cum still drying on your skin. “Besides… can’t have ‘em thinking I already knocked you up before the wedding.”

The implication is clear. The possessiveness is clear. But the affection? That’s missing. It’s like… he’s already moved on, like this was nothing more than a way to pass the time.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t love you.

He owns you.

And as he extends his hand to you, waiting for you to take it so he can pull you up, there’s… no warmth in his touch.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos, blue eyes gleaming—calm, unreadable, detached. “Time to go home.”

Home.

But, it’s not a home—it’s a throne. And not yours to claim, only yours to be kept in.

a/n. hiiii welcome to the debut of this fic! i had to set a lot up here before we dive into the angst and the smutfest that's to come. ngl, this is a bit out of my comfort zone bc as a demisexual i crave emotional connection with sex. like, i'm really gonna want satoru to hold me after he fucks me stupid 🥲 but ALAS. this fic is not that (at least... not yet. give satoru some time, soon he's gonna be whipped for readers coochie, hehe 🤭) anyways, tysm for reading. would love to hear your thoughts 🫶🏻 like i said, this is going to be multiple parts. no clue how many just yet tho!

taglist pt 1:

@forest-nymph420 @linabugaboo @enhasrii @indiewritesxoxo @yamagucji

@aerareads @devils-blackrose @starpachinko @sadmonke @sylussss7

@slutoru1207 @satoruxsc @sukunasunflower @reihimbo @madamechrissy

@sleepykittyenergy @artist1936 @eggrollforyou @nishloves @serenxtii

@lastsubstance @sarapherna1ia @7thsthings @merrydoe @earliergrave

@106-94 @propan-3-ol @oromanticism @chxllix @nonamebbsblog

@honeybunnnnie @beereadzzz @moonchhu @bunheadusa @atschii

@cherriee-ee @kiyoko182 @itsinherited @fairygardenprincesss @7haze

@hedgefundmeg @adreamingpendulum @etsuniiru @velvetyshu @genshingeeksworld

@waterfallu @haruhatake @schooki @magnificientscarlett @strychnynegirl

#satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru angst #satoru smut #gojo satoru

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skzbangchanniee · 3 months ago

Text

Gojo Satoru X OC

Summary: You and your boyfriend Gojo Satoru go on an impossible mission 10 years into the past to protect your younger selves from a dangerous curse. While Gojo is more than excited to meet a 19 year old version of his cute girlfriend, you can't imagine how much more immature and troublesome an 18 year old Gojo would be.

Warnings: age gap, slow burn, nsfw, yandere tendencies; all characters are adults

~• Intro •~

The green digital text on the screen displayed the numbers 05, indicating that the next train would arrive in another five minutes. (y/n) reached for her little flip phone and sent a voice note to her best friend.

"(bff/n), the train will be here in five minutes. I'll meet you at the cafe."

She gently tapped on the little icon on her phone to send the voice note and swung her bag back and forth while waiting. As the noise of the speeding train approached closer, she headed towards the edge of the platform, ready to board. It happened in less than a second. Even though the station was fairly empty and she hadn't seen anyone behind or beside her, it felt like somebody shoved her aggressively.

She didn't even have the time to process what happened before she felt like she was pushed on the train tracks. She closed her eyes and images of her mama, papa, and her best friend flashed before her eyes.

She was so sure her feet had left the ground, but when her eyes opened, she saw a man with platinum blonde hair wearing a blindfold. Just before the train could collide against her body to crush her like a watermelon, warm hands had wrapped around her waist and pulled her back.

She stared at the stranger, who now had a wide grin on his face. "I made it in time, thank god." He said, his hands still wrapped around her protectively. "Wow, you really are (y/n). I can't believe this. You really look 19 years old, how cute!"

She stumbled a step back in confusion. Words wouldn't even form on her lips as she absorbed all the events around her. What could she even say to him? "Who are you? How do you know my name? Did you really appear in thin air and save me?" So many questions, yet all she managed was, "Eh?"

"It's me, Gojo Satoru. Your boyfriend from ten years in the future."

~• Chapter 1 •~

The previous night

"Yaga-sensei, tell him to not interfere in my missions. This is really unfair, that was my curse to kill!" She whined, making her way into the office.

"You would literally die if I hadn't appeared to save your ass. You Grade 1, loser sorcerer-" Gojo Satoru started, immediately earning a punch on his shoulder.

"You're a loser sorcerer. I was so close to defeating him, but you always step in and ruin things." She retorted. "If I defeated that curse today, I'd easily be promoted to Special Grade-"

"No." Gojo Satoru's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

(y/n) grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled it back. "No? You dare restrict me from something?" She asked, pulling his head down to her level. "You, as a boyfriend, will control the missions I take up? Gojo Satoru, know your place in this relationship." She warned.

It was interesting how Gojo never used his Limitless cursed technique against (y/n). It would be such a waste to do that. The feeling of her soft fingers in his hair was too precious, even it was currently causing him pain. "You can't take up Special Grade missions for the rest of your loser life. I'll never let you." He groaned, still in pain.

"That's enough! You're both adults! I'd prefer if you acted your age." Yaga-sensei scolded. "We have actually discovered some really concerning information for the two of you." Principal Yaga's tone caused the both of them to straighten up. "The Special Grade curse you both fought today is an ancient deity that went over to the dark side 600 years ago." He explained.

"Wow, something like that happened?" She asked curiously.

"I mean, deities were born from human needs and wishes. When they prayed for more and more, their reverse cursed energy condensed to form a being that could help those wishes come true." Gojo Satoru interjected. "Its only natural that the deity could eventually gain a conscious of its own and it may choose to go over to the evil side if it wants to."

"So we defeated something that high and mighty today?" She asked in surprise.

"No, you both didn't defeat it. That deity is one that can travel through time. It doesn't have any violent or flashy cursed techniques, but its abilities are the most dangerous of all. It can travel back in time to erase the future of its targets." He announced, causing (y/n) to clench her fingers into a fist. "If his cursed energy touched you even once, he can go ten years into your past and kill you. That will erase your present and future."

She was slightly stressed while Gojo had a bored expression on his face. "Mr. Ijichi reported that you shook hands with the curse as a joke. How can you be so careless, Satoru?!" His voice thundered in the office and (y/n) immediately took the opportunity to throw oil into the fire.

"When I was struggling during the fight, Satoru was showing off how he could shake hands with the curse and make a fool out of it." She complained.

"Thanks to your recklessness, the curse has access to both of your lives when you were 18 and 19 years old." He informed. "But thankfully, the curse travels really slow in time, so we have a chance to save you. Both of you will have to go on a mission to prevent the worst from occurring. Principal Gakuganji will arrive today evening from Kyoto. Apparently, his sorcerer acquaintance knows a way to temporarily travel into the past. If you can exorcise the curse in time travel, it will disappear from the past. You can then try to seal it. Unfortunately, there's no way to exorcise it." He explained while (y/n) and Satoru exchanged glances.

---

A couple of hours later, (y/n) had given up on being frustrated with Gojo Satoru's antics. All her aggression melted away when he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and begged her to forgive him.

(y/n) now sat comfortably on his lap, in his bed, as he peppered her neck with kisses. Her eyes were closed, fingers clutching his shirt. "Satoru, are we really going to go into the past? Isn't that dangerous?" She asked innocently.

"Hm, it is." Gojo replied as his hands guided her by her waist so she could turn around to straddle him. He reached to undo the first few buttons of her shirt and ran his fingers on the smooth skin over her collarbones. "Apparently, we have to go back and protect each other from the curse."

(y/n)'s eyebrows furrowed. "Each other-?" A sweet little sound escaped her lips mid sentence as his fingers traced the shape of her clothed breasts through her shirt.

"Yeah, we can't meet our own past self because that would be like meeting an apparition of ourself. One of us could then disappear from the world." He explained.

"What? I don't get it." She looked at him blankly. Gojo Satoru raised his hand to softly run his thumb against her cheek.

"Doppelganger, you dumb bitch."

She smacked him for the second time that day. "I'm leaving-" She started getting out of his hold, but Gojo pulled her right back towards him.

"Okay I'm sorry, I won't be mean." He said as he tightened his grip around her waist. "Yaga-sensei said that since the curse used to be a deity in the past, it may still have divine powers. It may have adapted to my current cursed techniques. I hadn't mastered Hollow Purple or Reverse Cursed Technique back when I was still 18, so killing him becomes a possibility. If he dies, I might also dis-" Gojo Satoru didn't get to complete his sentence. In a matter of seconds, (y/n) had captured his lips with her own. Her eyes were closed, hands pulling him by the collar of his white shirt.

"That's not going to happen!" She exclaimed. "Even if you think I'm a loser and even if you think my cursed technique doesn't compare to your own, I'm a Grade 1 sorcerer. I'll never let something like that happen!" Her strong resolve paired with her cute voice made Gojo Satoru chuckle in response.

"I was a Special Grade sorcerer at 18-"

"Doesn't fucking matter." She replied. "I'll protect you Satoru, do you not trust me?!"

"Not really-"

"I'll exorcise that curse or deity or whatever and I'll bring its head back." Gojo couldn't help but kiss her face affectionately. "You're not taking me seriously, are you?" She asked him, clearly offended.

"Of course I am." The undone buttons of her shirt made it easier for him to slide it downward. He gently placed a kiss on her exposed shoulder. "Its just one day, but somehow, I don't feel like leaving. It feels like I might not see you for a long time." Gojo Satoru said, almost like he felt lonely. His fingers swiftly got the shirt out of his way, leaving (y/n) in just her bra. Oh, how he wanted to get that nuisance of a bra out of his way so he could worship her pretty pair of breasts. "I love you so much." He whispered. You're my sweet and my perfect little sl-"

But then, (y/n) had something absolutely different on her mind as she held his wrist to stop him. "We should strategize, Satoru. If we can defeat the curse early, we'll be back within a day or two." She said and got out of Gojo Satoru's hold, causing him to pout like a little kid. She headed over to his desk and grabbed a notebook to trace out her plan.

Almost immediately, a mischievous smile appeared on Gojo Satoru's lips. "Wait, I'll get to meet you from when you were 19 years old." He started.

"Eh? So?"

"I've only known you for the past two years from when you were 27, I can't imagine what you were like back then. Were you the same, bitchy and loud, like you are now?" He asked, causing her to throw a pencil on him, which he easily stopped using Limitless. "Or were you like, cute and innocent back then? At what age did you have your first kiss?" He asked.

"Satoru, you're not allowed to do anything funny. I'll annihilate you when you come back." She warned.

"Use your hands to kill me instead, its sexier. I don't wanna die by your loser cursed technique," Gojo Satoru immediately earned three more smacks on his head. He retaliated and as usual, they began to scuffle, (y/n) still wearing only her bra. Gojo Satoru loved doing things to get a reaction out of her and he loved how she fell for it every time.

~• Chapter 2 ~•

Gojo Satoru

"Thank you so much for saving me earlier." 19 year old (y/n) bowed down in gratitude, but when her head raised up, she gave the man a stern look. "However, please stop following me. I will report you to the police." She warned politely. The man wearing the blindfold didn't respond.

As soon as Gojo Satoru had arrived in the past, he sought all the information about (y/n)'s family and her current whereabouts. He was extremely lucky to have found her just in time to save her when the curse pushed her in front of the train. If needed, Gojo Satoru was willing to crush the entire train using his Limitless cursed technique to save (y/n).

The thing was, Gojo Satoru didn't know when the curse would appear and try to attack her. He had to be with her at all times, but doing that discreetly was no fun. He had a chance to meet (y/n) from a time before he knew her. A version of his cute girlfriend that he had never seen. How could he spend all that time in hiding?

"I'm a Special Grade sorcerer." He bragged.

"I'm not interested in becoming a sorcerer like my parents, so leave me alone. I don't want to get involved in your world." (y/n) replied, worry evident on her face. There was a sense of urgency in the way she said it, almost like she wanted to get away from him as soon as possible.

Gojo Satoru felt slightly offended. Am I repulsive? He watched as she turned her back on him and walked away. He felt a little disappointed. The (y/n) he knew was loud and irritable, she laughed a lot and cried just as easily, she cared too much about what's fair and what isn't, she hugged him tightly and always responded to jokes with violence. She had always been so warm and lovable. That's why when she treated him like he was a stranger, Gojo Satoru couldn't help but feel hurt.

He wasn't going to leave (y/n) alone, since the curse could use any opportunity to kill her and consequently, the 29 year old (y/n) would disappear. Gojo Satoru called the Kyoto Jujutsu High office and requested them to arrange a meeting with Principal Gakuganji that evening. He then approached (y/n) while she was currently on the phone with her best friend.

"I'm so sorry, (bff/n). I know you've been waiting for long, I'll be there in-" Gojo Satoru abruptly took the phone from her hand and placed it beside his ear.

"(y/n) can't make it, she's so sorry, she'll be leaving for Kyoto today." Gojo Satoru said in the most cheerful tone and disconnected the call.

"What the hell-" She protested and stood on her toes to reach for her phone, but Gojo Satoru was built like a tree. He raised his hand to keep the phone out of her reach and placed two fingers on her forehead.

(y/n) didn't remember much of what happened after. She blacked out.

______________

(y/n) woke up to the sound of someone typing away on the keyboard. Sitting up on the bed, she saw the same man sitting before a study table in the corner. Despite having his strange blindfold on, she wondered how he was seeing anything on the monitor he faced.

Then she recalled his words from this afternoon. I'm your boyfriend from ten years in the future. Was he really? That sounded so ridiculous to even think about.

(y/n) soundlessly got out of bed and tiptoed towards the door until-

"(y/n) apart from basic necessities like your clothes and toothbrush and stuff, is there anything else you want?" He suddenly asked.

"Huh?" Everything he said was so confusing.

"I'm just ordering some essentials. I don't know how long we might have to stay at Kyoto Jujutsu High to keep you protected." He informed.

"Did you just say Kyoto?" She asked in horror. "Is this another lowly attempt of my parents to make me a Jujutsu Sorcerer?" Her fingers clenched into a fist and she headed towards the door.

"No, although I informed your family about this, I'm not here for something silly like that. You're in danger and I'm here to protect you." He started. "A curse from 2017 came all the way to the current timeline so he can kill you. Do you understand that? We don't know when he'll arrive or how he'll attack, that's why I brought you here to Kyoto. The barrier will keep you safe inside the Jujutsu High School." Gojo Satoru's explanation only made half sense to her, but for the moment, it was sufficient to make (y/n) shut up. It was a lot to process.

"So, you're here from the future to exorcise a curse?" She asked innocently.

"Yeah, mainly to protect you." He smiled. "Like a bodyguard?" He looked at her in a way that caused (y/n) to avert her gaze. Almost like he paid too much attention to her.

"What did you mean earlier when you said you're... my boyfriend?" (y/n) asked as she avoided eye contact with him and fidgeted with the fabric of the sheets.

"Are you curious?" Gojo Satoru grinned. "We met in 2015 when you transferred to Tokyo Jujutsu High and we started dating the next year. You're actually one year older than me."

(y/n) narrowed her eyes at him. "Just because you're from Jujutsu High, I'm not going to believe everything you say. You could totally be lying about this." Pulling herself out of the bed, (y/n) went outside to confirm the information Gojo Satoru gave her. Talking to the assistants at the Kyoto Jujutsu High, she realised that this man wasn't lying about protecting her from a curse.

"Did you have lunch yet, (y/n)?" Gojo Satoru's concerned voice sounded strangely irritating to her. However, the truth was that (y/n) was going to meet her friend for lunch. Her stomach was rumbling due to lack of food.

"Not yet." She meekly replied and looked away. Gojo Satoru smiled and led her to the dining area of the Kyoto Jujutsu High.

As food was served, she couldn't help but wonder how important this Gojo Satoru guy could've been. Why was he receiving special treatment in the lair of someone as scheming and annoying as principal Gakuganji. She knew about the power hierarchy in the Jujutsu world from her parents. It was a major reason why (y/n) wanted to stay out of the system and never become a sorcerer.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Gojo Satoru asked. (y/n) was sitting across him in the dining area, warm food placed in front of her. Her fingers toyed with the spoon as she observed him.

"I would never date a shady man that wears a creepy-ass blindfold." (y/n) said, causing Gojo to choke on the soup. He was caught off-guard and started coughing.

When he composed himself a bit, he realised how it was only (y/n) who could surprise him like this with her words. He could read people so easily and (y/n) was no exception. He knew what she was thinking and feeling, yet her words and actions were so unpredictable. Despite being a Grade 1 sorcerer, she always had an attitude that even rivaled Special Grades. That's what made her so different and interesting to him.

Gojo Satoru looked at the 19-year-old (y/n) in front of him. He was definitely going to win her over in this timeline too. "This blindfold is to cover my six eyes. Otherwise, my eyes take in too much unnecessary information, it's annoying." He said before bringing another spoonful of rice to his mouth.

"Six eyes?" She asked curiously. "So you're that Gojo kid." As a child, (y/n) often heard close relatives discuss about the prodigy child of the Gojo clan. The one who had inherited the six eyes and Limitless cursed technique. It was difficult to believe he would become her boyfriend in the future. "Isn't there a Gojo Satoru in my world as well? He would be around my age. Are you going to meet him too?" (y/n) asked, causing Gojo Satoru to pause and wonder.

"Hm, it might create a doppelganger type effect and he might think I'm a threat and try to attack me, I don't know." Gojo Satoru replied. "The current Gojo Satoru is one year younger than you so he'd be around 18. I can't interfere too much with the past so I'm going to avoid meeting him." Gojo smiled, but (y/n) could only look at the table, still trying to process everything this man told her.

"Did I stress you out too much by telling you these things?" Gojo Satoru asked.

(y/n) shook her head. "I'm not stressed. I'm just trying to make sense of everything you told me. How long will I have to stay here?" She asked.

"Until I defeat and seal the curse. It shouldn't take more than a day or two. Finding it is more of a problem than sealing it." He said.

After the meal, Gojo Satoru headed out with another sorcerer to discuss how they can locate the curse. (y/n) was left alone as there were only two other students in Kyoto Jujutsu Tech; Utahime and Mei Mei, both of who had been out on a mission for more than a week. There really was nobody to talk to and nothing else to do.

Before leaving, Gojo Satoru had placed both his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "The barrier in the Kyoto Jujutsu Tech campus will prevent any curse from getting in. I want you to stay here and not leave until I get back, okay?" He had said. (y/n) only nodded in response, left with no alternative choice.

She didn't realise when she had fallen asleep that afternoon. (y/n) woke up to her phone ringing repeatedly late in the evening. There were 15 missed calls from her best friend's mom. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she called her back.

"(y/n)," Her best friend's mom sobbed when she picked up the phone. "(bff/n) went out to meet you, but she never got home. When I tried calling her, a nurse picked up her phone. She got into an accident and is currently in the hospital." She sounded really distressed and had probably been crying for a really long time.

"W-What hospital? I'll leave immediately." (y/n) said, her voice shaky. It was too sudden. She had only talked to her friend over the phone this afternoon. How did this happen in such a short span of time?

At that time, the thought of contacting Gojo Satoru didn't even cross her mind. (y/n) just grabbed her jacket and her wallet before dashing outside to the train station. She had to get to the hospital as fast as possible to see her best friend's current condition.

It was around 8:30 pm. (y/n) walked as quickly as possible in the cold to reach the train station. It hadn't even been a few minutes since she had left and halfway through, a black smoke emerged from a gap in the walls. It looked really suspicious, so she stopped and took a few steps back. Before she could decide what to do next, the smoke wrapped around her ankle and exerted force to pull her towards the building. As she fell to the ground, it dragged her against the asphalt, scraping her legs in the process. (y/n) screamed and held on to a car parked nearby to prevent being dragged along any further. After a few seconds of resilience, the car started getting dragged along with (y/n). The curse was powerful enough to move a car along with it.

(y/n) shut her eyes tightly, holding on for dear life. "Gojo!" She screamed. There was no trace of anyone that could help her in that situation. "Let go!" She shouted at the curse, tears forming in her eyes. If the smoke was so powerful, it could just slam her against the wall and her skull would split open. She would have to do something to save herself.

(y/n)'s parents had forced her to go through Jujutsu training as a kid, but she had rebelled and quit sorcery four years ago. However, she hadn't completely let go of her cursed technique yet. Before (y/n) could do anything the smoke disappeared leaving her injured on the ground, still holding on to the car.

"Fucking coward." She heard Gojo Satoru's voice behind her. So that's why the curse fled immediately. "Can you stand up?" He asked and extended his hand. Her fingers were shaky as she reached for his hand. In that sense, Gojo Satoru was very perceptive. He didn't waste another minute and slipped an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulder to lift her off the ground. (y/n) was still disoriented due to the sudden attack, so without protesting, she just closed her eyes tightly as the surroundings started warping into different colours. He hadn't even walked one step, yet (y/n) was now in her room at the Kyoto Jujutsu School. Was that teleportation?

Gojo Satoru gently put her down on the bed and went outside the room. When he came back, there was a first-aid kit in his hands. She looked at her legs that were scraped like she had just gotten into a road accident. Gojo Satoru poured rubbing alcohol on cotton and used it to clean the wound that was covered in a mix of dirt and blood. He didn't look at her face even once, his eyes were only focused on cleaning up the wounds.

"Is he angry...?" She wondered. "Gojo, I was-"

"Why did you leave the barrier?" He asked without looking up. "I specifically asked you not to. Why were you so reckless?" Gojo Satoru's voice was so calm, it actually scared her a little bit.

"I got a phone call. My best friend got into an accident and her mom called me around 15 times. I wanted to go to the hospital and see her." (y/n) explained, reaching for her phone and fiddling with the screen to show him the missed calls. However, they weren't there. She didn't have any missed calls from anyone. "Eh? It was right here, I swear." She checked it repeatedly, but the call log was empty.

Gojo Satoru patted her head. " I know you're not lying." He said kindly. "The curse must've pulled a stunt, they're notorious for doing things like this. So, I believe you (y/n)-chan." When he said that, she looked at him, worry still etched on her face.

"Y-You're not mad I left?" She asked.

"I definitely am. If I didn't arrive in time, the curse would've killed you instantly. I don't want to go back to a future without (y/n), so I need you to be more careful. If you received a call like that, you should've called me instead of leaving the barrier." He said, making her look down at the ground. Everything he said made her heart flutter a bit. Was such a sweet and loving person really her boyfriend in the future? It sounded so unreal.

Gojo Satoru ran his fingers through her hair to fix it a bit. She looked down, refusing to look at him. "I'm sorry." She said quietly. He chuckled in response. The (y/n) he knew would rather die than timidly apologize to him for something that wasn't really her fault. Gojo Satoru ran his thumb against (y/n)'s cheek and smiled warmly.

"You're so sweet, I almost don't want to forgive you."

~• Chapter 3•~

(y/n)

When 29 year old (y/n) time travelled to go back from 2017 to 2007, she had made sure to prepare herself ahead of time. Refusing her boyfriend Gojo Satoru's offer to make out in his bed was sad enough, but hopefully, it would pay off when (y/n) would defeat the curse and go back to him relieved of all worries.

Yaga Masamichi had instructed both of them to report to the Principal at Kyoto Jujutsu School as he was the one coordinating this mission along with the sorcerer skilled in time travel. So, (y/n) decided to start with reaching out to them first.

(y/n) hadn't slept a wink since the previous night. When she heard of how the curse may be able to outsmart a younger Gojo Satoru and adapt to his Limitless Cursed Technique, (y/n) couldn't sit still. She spent all night buried in books, trying to understand the best way to outsmart a Special Grade curse. Being a Grade 1 sorcerer herself, (y/n) was not really qualified to fight a Special Grade curse. Yaga Masamichi and Gojo Satoru had only agreed to send her so she could warn the younger Gojo Satoru ahead of time and help him and the other sorcerers exorcise the curse.

(y/n)'s cursed technique was really average in comparison to that of her colleagues. Even getting as far as a Grade 1 rank was difficult enough for her and had only been possible because of her intelligence and hardworking nature. While Gojo Satoru figured out his opponent during the fight, (y/n)'s battle against the curse began well in advance. She always gathered as much information as possible and developed a strategy before entering a battle. This method worked well for her during missions, but surprise attacks by a curse was always a nightmare for (y/n).

She explained the situation to the principal of Kyoto Jujutsu High who surprisingly, seemed to be aware of it already. His acquaintance, the sorcerer who had the ability to time travel, already received information about her arrival in advance.

"I already told Yaga to send his students, so you can discuss this with them." He told, causing her to sigh in relief.

Unlike Gojo, (y/n) was not particularly excited about this mission. She sat on a bench in the garden of the school and opened the notebook she brought along. Special Grade curses already made her anxious enough and this one was an ancient deity with a cursed technique that far outranked her own. (y/n) flipped through her notes.

"Locating the curse is going to be such a dreary task..." She said to herself and leaned back in the bench. "We can start by detecting trace particles of cursed energy..." The bench was so uncomfortable and (y/n)'s head wanted a place to rest. Her room in the Kyoto Jujutsu High felt too far away, so (y/n) just placed the notebook on her face and fell asleep on the bench outside.

"Is that her? Should we wake her up?"

"No, let's come back later."

"Just wake her up, we'll ask her about the mission."

"You do it."

(y/n)'s eyes fluttered open as she heard two familiar voices. One of them definitely belonged to Gojo and the other was strangely familiar too. She slowly sat up, causing the two boys to exchange glances.

"Gojo Satoru and..." (y/n) was surprised at what she saw. "Geto Suguru?" She hadn't been warned about this. Only last year she had fought alongside the other sorcerers against an ex-Jujutsu High student. That was Geto Suguru. The fight was inconclusive and they made a truce of mutual non-aggression with him. She couldn't believe she had to work with him to defeat this curse.

"Are you sure she's not just dumb?" That was Gojo Satoru. (y/n) had just realised that her boyfriend at the age of 28 was twenty-five times less meaner than his 18 year old self.

"Satoru!" Geto smacked his head and gave an apologetic smile to (y/n). "I'm sorry, we were flown in to Kyoto at such short notice for a mission they didn't really explain to us. He's just really annoyed." He politely explained and (y/n) nodded in understanding.

"I specifically called in for Gojo Satoru and a skilled Special Grade sorcerer to accompany him." (y/n) started as she sat up.

"Suguru isn't here to accompany me." Satoru said, irritation colouring his voice.

"Yes, he's here to make sure you don't die fighting with your current methods." (y/n) retorted, causing Gojo Satoru's eyebrows to knit in confusion. "I'm a Grade 1 sorcerer from 2023 and I've been sent to help you guys defeat a curse that time-travelled all the way here to kill Gojo Satoru." (y/n) explained. Without giving them a chance to continue, she went on. "...and before you tell me about how strong you are and how amazing your cursed technique is, let me tell you, the curse already fought you once and has probably now adopted itself to your Limitless cursed technique. That means it can get through your Limitless barrier and it's attacks can actually reach you. Do you understand, Satoru? You need to stop being so reckless. We're in this situation because you acted cocky in a fight against this curse." (y/n) said in frustration while the two boys just looked at her stunned.

"Satoru, looks like you created a mess in the future." Geto Suguru whispered.

"Eh? How is this my fault?" Gojo Satoru whined before his eyebrows perked up. "One second, did you just call me Satoru?" He asked (y/n) suspiciously.

"Uh, what, no, we're not that close. I said Gojo Satoru." (y/n) said, in an attempt to cover up what she had done. Before arriving in 2014, (y/n) had promised herself to not reveal the nature of their relationship to Gojo Satoru. She didn't want to complicate things and also just found it a bit inappropriate considering their age gap.

"Satoru, let it go." Geto managed to control his friend and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "There's a meeting room inside. Would you like to go in and discuss this mission?" He kindly offered and (y/n) accepted before heading inside with them.

As (y/n) sat down across Gojo Satoru, she couldn't help but notice how the school uniform looked so different on him. He looked younger and his glasses made him look stupider than the blindfold he usually wore. His words and actions were also way more annoying and childish than what she was normally used to.

"So, our first goal should be locating this curse. I was told that finding it is going to be more difficult than anything else." She started as she opened her notes for reference. "Also, the curse is notorious for surprise attacks. We need to be really careful-"

Gojo Satoru grinned. "Are those notes? She's like a middle school girl, it's so funny." He earned another smack from Geto Suguru as he said that. (y/n) recalled how Gojo had made fun of her for exactly the same thing when they were first assigned to a mission together two years ago. She was supposed to assist him and learn from his methods, but the truth was that Gojo Satoru wasn't accustomed to prior planning. He didn't have the need to do that. He just entered the battle on a whim and defeated the curse effortlessly. She remembered bickering with him about the same thing and how he had made jokes about her use of notes and reference books to navigate a fight.

"Do you have a problem with me?" She asked the 18 year old Gojo Satoru sitting in front of her.

"No, Gojo is a bitch to every cute girl he meets." A laidback voice emerged from the doorway, causing (y/n) to smile and turn around.

"Shoko!" She said and only smiled wider upon seeing her. "...and you have short hair. It looks so cute on you." (y/n) said, causing Shoko to exchange confused glances with her classmates.

"You know me?" Shoko asked as she took a seat beside (y/n).

"She's from 2023 and apparently she knows all of us." Geto explained causing Shoko's surprise to turn into amusement.

"Then can you tell us about the future? Do I get a hot boyfriend by then? " Shoko asked and (y/n) only replied with a strained smile.

"I've been asked to not share any information about the future with you all. Plus, you'll anyway forget everything once I leave." (y/n) started. "Once the curse is defeated, it'll almost be like none of this ever happened. You'll forget me and that I ever came here. We'll only meet in 2020 then, how we originally met." She smiled.

"So are you our friend in the future?" Geto Suguru asked. Now, (y/n) didn't want to lie to him, but she also didn't have the heart to tell him that he defected from Jujutsu High at some point and had become their opponent by 2020. So, she only smiled and smiled in response.

After charting out a plan to locate the curse, they decided to look for it by detecting trace particles of it's cursed energy. They divided themselves into pairs, with one Special Grade sorcerer in each pair. (y/n) was paired with Gojo, both of who groaned upon hearing that.

"I'm the older one. I must act mature." (y/n) told herself as she walked alongside Gojo Satoru, stealing glances of him occassionally. He was the exact same person 10 years into the past as well. It hadn't even been a day, but looking at the 18 year old Gojo made her miss her boyfriend so much. "I hope he's safe." (y/n) thought to herself.

"The curse didn't come here, there are no trace particles of cursed energy at any of the places we visited." Gojo Satoru said as he leaned against the wall. "Does this curse even exist?" He took a sip of the orange juice he had just bought from a vending machine nearby.

"Yes, it does." (y/n) looked at her notes. "I read in the archives and battle records that deity-turned-curses love to prey on anxiety. They create stressful and frightening situations before devouring their victims." She explained.

"It doesn't matter. Suguru and I are the strongest. Bring any curse and we'll devour it instead." Gojo Satoru said with a smug expression, followed by (y/n) yawning in response.

"I've heard that line a thousand times, please shut up and focus on the mission at hand. Everyone knows you're strong. I wouldn't be sent here if you could handle this on your own." (y/n) tried to hammer some practical thinking into Gojo Satoru's head. "You needed a heads-up for this."

"Hm, I'm just wondering what kind of an attack-" As Gojo Satoru took another sip of his orange juice, (y/n) suddenly pounced on him, making both of them fall to the ground as a beam of hot lava slammed against the wall. The paint and concrete on the wall melted and disappeared, giving a clear view of the half-destroyed bricks inside the wall.

"That was close." (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and turned to look at the curse. Some of the lava had splashed on to Gojo Satoru's shirt, leaving burn marks on it. "Look, Satoru, the cursed energy got through Infinity." She said, still on top of Gojo Satoru, trapping him with both her arms on the ground.

"You worry too much." Gojo Satoru said as he sat up and effortlessly lifted (y/n) off him by her waist. It reminded her of Satoru, her boyfriend, and how his rough hands had gripped her waist last night. It was the same person, yet the Gojo Satoru in front of her had eyes that held no recognition of her. The hands that knew exactly how (y/n) liked to be held felt so different, yet strangely familiar.

When Geto's Rainbow Dragon arrived to assist them in battle, the curse decided to flee and wait for the next opportunity to strike. "Ah, running away is the only thing it's good for." (y/n) commented as she collapsed on the ground. When she looked up, Gojo was looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"Are we late?" Geto asked as he arrived with Shoko tagging along. As soon as he saw Gojo standing and shooting looks of suspicion towards (y/n) on the ground, he scratched his head a bit. "Is everything okay...?" He asked.

(y/n)'s wounds were given first aid and all the four sorcerers had assembled at the cafeteria. Gojo Satoru still didn't stop his suspicious glances towards her.

"What?" (y/n) asked, frustrated.

"You did it again." Gojo accused, causing Geto to look up from his strawberry milk carton. "You called me Satoru during the battle." He said.

"Bro seriously, let it go now." Geto commented as Shoko also looked at them curiously.

"I will let it go when she tells me everything." Gojo Satoru said, causing (y/n) to avoid meeting his gaze. "There's more to this curse isn't it? You didn't just come here to give us a heads up, did you?" He asked.

I came here to protect you because you're my boyfriend, just wasn't an easy thing for (y/n) to say to him. It was embarrassing and just felt too uncomfortable to say. So she just remained quiet and took a bite of her snack bar. Geto and Shoko had also lost interest in the matter while Gojo was just restless with nothing else to say.

"(y/n) try this chocolate cookie, it's delicious." Shoko offered extending the cookie towards (y/n)'s mouth.

"Thank you, Shoko!" (y/n) beamed and leaned forward. As she took a bite of the treat, a little silver pendant with the letter 'S' on a small heart slipped out of her shirt.

"Cute pendant." Shoko commented.

It was an expensive Platinum pendant that (y/n) received as a gift from Gojo on her 28th birthday. She was quite fond of it. Unconsciously, (y/n) held on to it and grinned. She was so used to showing it off to everyone that on instinct, the words slipped out. "Thanks, my boyfriend gave it to me." She said.

The trio became very curious as they exchanged hesitant glances. "I hate to say anything, but..." Shoko started.

"The lesser you tell us, the wilder our conclusions will get.. you know.." Geto said, causing (y/n) to freeze. Funnily enough, Satoru, Suguru and Shoko all names started with an 'S', yet the word boyfriend had narrowed things down a bit.

"H-His name is Sebastian!" (y/n) blurted out the first name that came to her mind and that happened to be her favourite anime character.

"Eh? You have a foreigner boyfriend?" Shoko asked, causing (y/n) to nod desperately.

"Yeah, I met him when I went to America two years ago." (y/n) lied. The truth was that she had never even travelled to a foreign country before.

"You both got excited for no reason." Shoko chuckled, causing Geto to turn away in embarassment.

"I call bullshit. She probably doesn't even speak English. (we're just going to pretend they're speaking in Japanese yay)" Gojo Satoru said, causing (y/n) to glare at him.

"Of course I do." (y/n) was building a tower of lies that would bury her deeply in the rubble if it collapsed anytime soon.

~• Chapter 4 •~

Gojo Satoru

"You're so sweet, I almost don't want to forgive you." Gojo smiled, causing (y/n) to look at him in confusion. She was making expressions he rarely got to see in his girlfriend.

Back in 2015, when Gojo met (y/n) for the first time, he was just disappointed in the new sorcerer that was going to join his team. He didn't share his opinion with anyone, but he thought that at least a Special Grade sorcerer could help him train those students who had potential to become Special Grades in the future. However, he had to make do with a Grade 1 for now.

(y/n) was assigned to several missions with him and her methods were so tiring. (y/n)'s cursed technique was not very special either, it was on the same level as Mai and she was poor at close combat. A few weeks before their first mission together, he saw (y/n) head to the archives library of their school. It was an old building and the last he had stepped inside was almost 10 years ago with Suguru. He would see her go there everyday with a notebook in her hand and to Gojo Satoru, that was honestly just pitiful. It was like donkey work to somehow make up for her lack of competence. However, Gojo Satoru was not mean to others, openly atleast, so he remained quiet.

On their first joint mission, Gojo Satoru did most of the work while (y/n)'s attacks felt were more unique and less effective. With a snap of his finger, the battle was over.

"Hey I'm sorry to say this, but we're gonna have to replace you. The students need a Special Grade teacher more than anything. The Grade of battles keep going higher and you just don't cut it." Gojo Satoru said, yet (y/n) didn't even have a hint of shame or guilt on her face. He couldn't believe someone so incompetent and weak carried that much pride in themself.

"And I'm sorry to say this, but I can't be assigned to missions with you. There's no way I'm getting any promotions if you're gonna shadow all my work like that." (y/n) said, causing Gojo Satoru to raise an eyebrow.

"Oh really? You couldn't use your impressive skills because I defeated the curse too early? Well, there's another curse just 15 km away. Would you like to-" Gojo Satoru was interrupted by (y/n) who shook her head.

"No, I need time. Give me three more days and I'll defeat the next curse by myself." She said, causing Gojo to roll his eyes.

"It's a Special Grade."

"I've defeated them before. It won't be an issue. See you later." (y/n) said and started heading towards the train station.

"Ijichi will be here to pick us up, where are you going?"

"I need to get some work done, you go ahead."

After (y/n) left Gojo Satoru felt a little guilty, but that only lasted like 10 seconds. "We can't have a incapable sorcerer teaching students to fight curses in a city. It won't help them improve at all." Then he wondered how Yaga-sensei even employed someone like that without testing their abilities first.

In the three days that (y/n) had asked of Gojo, he saw her spend most of her day in that dusty archives library. Mei Mei had visited the Tokyo Jujutsu school on official business and he even noticed how (y/n) had a meeting with her and preferred her advice over his own. Clearly, Mei Mei wasn't a Special Grade either so it made sense for them to discuss battle strategies.

When the day of the battle arrived, (y/n) was full of confidence in her eyes. The battle that Gojo Satoru could've ended in ten minutes, (y/n) took around half an hour. (y/n)'s key strength was her knowledge of the curse, it's weaknesses, what type of attacks were likely to cause the most damage, she knew the curse inside out. All that knowledge made up for her lack of a fancy cursed technique.

Bloodied and battered (y/n) dealt a finishing blow to the Special Grade and collapsed on her knees. She didn't look back at Gojo Satoru once, (y/n) stood up with shaky legs and reached for her phone in her pocket. "Ah, it's broken, should've left it in the car."

"Uh.." Gojo Satoru started, causing (y/n) to turn around. "I.. take back what I said that day. You.. You're approved to teach at Tokyo Jujutsu school." He said, but (y/n) just blinked, then went back to looking at her broken phone.

"Isn't that obvious? I was approved the day I was employed here. I just don't understand why they would assign us a mission together. You're so disgustingly strong, you should clearly be given solo missions." She said and Gojo took a few seconds to process whether she was insulting him or complimenting him. "Are you hungry?" She asked him and Gojo could only follow her like a puppy.

(y/n) was so confident in herself and never yielded to anything. The whole reason why she was transferred from the Kyoto Jujutsu school was because she constantly raised her voice against the underhanded methods used by principal Gakuganji and the corrupt school administration. At this point, even the students had started to ignore her, but Gojo Satoru was satisfied to know that there were others who felt the same way as him about the higher authorities controlling Jujutsu society.

That is why when 19 year old (y/n) just apologised straight away, Gojo Satoru couldn't help but laugh. "Eh? Why are you laughing?" She asked innocently, causing him to gently brush her hair away from her face.

"I'm kind of thankful to this curse." Gojo Satoru said and (y/n) looked at him in confusion. She pointed at her injured legs and he laughed and shook his head. "Not for that. I just don't think I would've had a chance to know you like this if I hadn't come back." He said and (y/n) tilted her head to the side.

"I don't understand a lot of things you say. I still don't believe you're... my.. boyfriend." She looked away.

"Why? Are you disappointed? Am I not what you imagined your ideal boyfriend to be like? I'm not hot enough?" Gojo Satoru asked, just to get a reaction out of her.

"It's not like that... You're actually very h-" (y/n) said, then realised what Gojo was trying to get her to say and she immediately stopped herself. Gojo Satoru only chuckled in response.

"Do you feel better now?" Gojo asked, causing (y/n) to nod. "Were you scared earlier?" He asked and memories of being helplessly dragged away by the curse came back to (y/n).

"Yeah, I really thought I was... gonna die." She said softly and looked down. So honest. Gojo Satoru had never known (y/n) to be so open and vulnerable without him having to persist.

"Then come here." He said and pulled (y/n) on his lap. She looked back at him in surprise and embarrassment. "I'll protect you." Gojo Satoru wrapped his arms around (y/n) who didn't protest even a little. It felt so warm and safe to be held by Gojo and (y/n) just wanted to believe everything he told her, even if it all sounded like lies. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

When Gojo pulled back to look at her face, he realised how bad he wanted to kiss her. Memories of his first kiss with (y/n) came back in a flash. The night Gojo had just returned from a wedding of his distant relative. He was out all day and extremely tired as he stepped inside the campus. He took off his coat, loosened his tie and just sat on a bench in the garden. He used his arm to cover his face and rested his head against the back rest. Gojo didn't wear his blindfold to formal events like weddings, yet his eyes were still covered by his hands.

He felt her cursed energy before he heard her footsteps head towards him with a purpose. "Gojo! Why does this say you've taken back my application to become a Special Grade sorcerer?!" (y/n) asked pulling his tie to wake him up.

"Hmm?" Gojo lazily opened his eyes to find (y/n) in a yellow skirt and a white summer tank top. She looked so cute with her hair tied up into a bun and as always, she had something sharp to say to him.

She showed him the withdrawal document and placed one hand on her hip. "How dare you?" She started. "How can you withdraw my application without asking me?"

"You aren't qualified to be a Special Grade sorcerer." He said, then went back to placing his arm over his eyes.

"You don't get to decide that!" (y/n) yelled, earning no response from him. "And you have the audacity to sleep?" She shook his head. "Wake up, Gojo!" She shook him harshly, causing Gojo to open his eyes. He pulled her towards him on the bench.

"Special Grade sorcerers are always given the worst missions and I've lost countless friends to a stupid title like that. Stop chasing it, please." He said and (y/n) just had nothing to say to him. "Do you know why Mei-san is still a Grade 1 sorcerer? With her current abilities, she could easily pass for a Special Grade, yet she just stopped trying. It's because she's selfish. Can't you be like that too?"

"Gojo..." (y/n) looked at him, her anger now replaced with worry and sadness. "That's still not your decision to make..."

"Satoru."

"Huh?"

"Don't call me Gojo, you should call me Satoru."

"You act like a kid." (y/n) sighed. "Being a Special Grade sorcerer will help me become stronger in the future. The tougher battles I face, the stronger I'll get over time."

"You want a strong opponent? Fight me all you like. I won't go easy on you. I'm the strongest you'll ever encounter." He said desperately and pulled her to sit on his lap. (y/n) and Gojo were interested in each other from a long time, but it was only that day Gojo had put aside all his inhibitions and acted on his desire.

Looking at the 19 year old (y/n) he remembered how soft her lips were and how gently she kissed him, slow and sensual. "A-Are we going to kiss?" (y/n) whispered causing him to snap out of his thoughts.

He held her tighter and shook his head. "No we're not." He said and thought of how naive (y/n) was ten years ago. She was wiser and a lot more careful when he met her for the first time. He just stayed like that as (y/n) rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Further chapters will be updated soon. Comment if you want to be tagged.

#gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru

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