Satoru Gojo ( Husband) x Reader ( Wife )
- Angst ; Fluff and Angst….
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To many, the logic behind your marriage to Satoru Gojo seemed completely absurd.
Stupid, senseless, pointless.
That’s what they thought, but it was so far from the truth. You and Gojo knew that.
Yes, it was irrational, but it was also necessary.
Sometimes, you didn’t need to understand everything perfectly; you just had to hold on to what worked, to what kept you both afloat. Maybe deep down, you were even more aware of it than he was, because despite his arrogance and detached demeanor, he didn’t always realize the depth of his own needs.
This marriage wasn’t about romance or passion, and neither you nor Gojo were searching for that. It wasn’t a fairy tale with love declarations under the stars or impulsive outbursts of passion. No, it was far simpler than that, and yet so much more complicated.
A win-win, as you both liked to say.
For Gojo, it was a form of stability, an anchor in a world where everything, including himself, could spiral into the infinite.
For you, it was the assurance of never being alone again. Each of you found what you needed, without pretense, without lies.
Gojo needed affection. It was almost laughable when you thought about it. Him, the man who seemed to have it all, the sorcerer no one could touch, the strongest of his generation. The strongest.
But you knew better than anyone. He needed to feel a connection, to have someone by his side who didn’t just see the legendary figure of the Gojo clan, but the man behind the blindfold. The man who hid so much, concealed behind his mocking smiles and nonchalant gestures.
Of course, he would never admit it. His pride was too immense, his ego too deeply ingrained for him to confess that he needed you.
But the facts were there.
And they would always be there.
As for you, it was simpler. You didn’t want to be alone anymore.
In a world as brutal and unpredictable as that of sorcerers, loneliness was an enemy as deadly as the curses themselves. The nights could be long and cold, and even surrounded by other sorcerers, colleagues, or friends, you could still feel an unfillable void.
Gojo filled that void, even if he wasn’t the most tender or attentive husband.
Your relationship was… different. But it worked.
You understood each other, each instinctively knowing how far the other could go. You were compatible, not in the romantic sense that so many people desperately sought, but in a much more fundamental way.
Both of you knew death, horror, and the brutality of the world you lived in. You had seen comrades fall, innocent people devoured by curses invisible to the eyes of civilians. You knew that happiness, or at least the fantasy version of it, wasn’t necessarily for you. But what you had built together—this stability, this mutual respect—was enough.
However, love had no place in it. Love was a curse, not the kind you would fight, but a curse just as vicious.
Then there was something else. Gojo didn’t exhaust you, at least not in the way others did. He had this unique ability to walk that fine line between irritating and amusing. His presence was never overwhelming, even with his oversized ego. Unlike many, he didn’t smother you with unreasonable expectations or excessive emotional needs.
He gave you the space you needed, while still being there when necessary. And you did the same for him.
Behind his “strongest in the world” façade, he sometimes needed to be brought back to reality, and you were there for that.
You had your routines, almost mundane. He teased you constantly, always trying to get a reaction from you, whether with a sarcastic comment or an exaggeratedly affectionate gesture. He called you “Diva” when he wanted to annoy you, but within that nickname, there was a form of tenderness he didn’t know how to express any other way. And you played along, responding to his provocations with your own humor, always aware of the fragile balance you maintained.
Sometimes, you were more like old friends than a couple. In fact, you were friends, but now that you were married, you resembled an old couple more than a young one.
You understood each other without the need for words.
There were moments when you could spend hours together in silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence.
And then there were times when the teasing became more direct, more physical. Gojo wasn’t a shy man. He knew what he wanted, and he never had a problem letting you know, one way or another.
The moments when he touched you, when he held you, were rare, but those were the times when you often cried. Every time. Mostly because you were unhappy. Or tired. Or because you were in pain.
He grew cold every time you cried.
Some said you were made for each other, while others claimed you were completely mismatched. But deep down, you had never needed the approval of others.
You lived in your own bubble, isolated from external judgments, and that suited you perfectly.
Satoru Gojo wasn’t an easy man to love, but you had never sought ease. You had chosen this man because you knew he would understand you, that he would be there, even if he never said so.
In the end, your marriage made sense. It might have been incomprehensible to others, but it was logical to you.
Gojo had never needed a woman to idolize him, and you had never needed a man to shower you with grand declarations of love.
On the days when he returned from particularly grueling missions, his shoulders heavy, his piercing blue eyes hidden behind his black blindfold, he didn’t need to speak for you to understand. You knew when silence was necessary, when you just needed to be there. On those nights, you didn’t say anything. He would drop beside you in bed, muscles tense, his mind probably consumed by everything. By everything but you.
In quieter moments, when you found yourselves sharing a meal in silence, or sitting side by side after a long day, you didn’t necessarily talk about important things. The mundane conversations often took over, and that was just fine. “You should’ve seen Yuji and Nobara’s faces; both of them totally wanted to kill me,” Gojo would sometimes say with a mischievous smile. And you would chuckle softly, savoring those moments.
You complemented each other, not in a romanticized, idealistic sense. Gojo provided a form of protection, not because you needed it as a sorcerer, but because he gave you a sense of comfort and security you couldn’t find elsewhere. And you offered him stability.
A long-lasting, durable stability.
The nights when he would wake up in a cold sweat, his body tense from nightmares he never shared, you would be there to place a reassuring hand on his back, cuddle him without a word, or tell him to go back to sleep as you let him snuggle against your chest.
He didn’t need to explain.
And you didn’t need to ask.
To some, it might have seemed emotionless.
But for you, it was the perfect balance.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets as you turned, sinking deeper into the mattress. The atmosphere of the bedroom, bathed in the gentle glow of dimmed lamps, breathed a tranquility that only fatigue could bring after a long day of exorcism. Gojo had just emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp, a few droplets of water hitting the wooden floor as he dressed as casually as possible, wearing only sweatpants and a loose top.
“Hey, did you wash before diving into bed?” The question slipped naturally from your lips as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts lazily drifting. You knew he had, but it had become a kind of ritual between you two, and besides, you were particular about cleanliness, hating the idea of anyone entering the bed with the dirt of the day or wearing outside clothes.
Gojo stopped at the foot of the bed, a mischievous pout on his face. “No, Diva, I just spent half an hour under hot water without washing, just to annoy you.” He rolled his eyes before collapsing onto the bed beside you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
With a satisfied sigh, his muscles finally relaxed. He turned his head toward you.
“We haven’t done it in a while, have we?” he said, his voice slightly husky from the warmth of the shower. He turned to you, his face buried in the pillow, strands of damp hair sticking to his skin.
His tone was detached, almost indifferent, but you knew this man better than anyone. Satoru Gojo had this strange way of addressing the most intimate subjects with a disarming nonchalance.
You sighed, turning your gaze toward the window. “I’m on my period,” you lied, your tone flat, almost apologetic. You knew it wasn’t true, but the thought of giving in tonight seemed exhausting, and besides, you had a lot to do tomorrow morning. The idea of stumbling around or being sore all morning wasn’t appealing. You loved Gojo, even if it wasn’t passionate love, but not tonight.
He mumbled something, buried under the sheets, a barely audible complaint. “You’re a terrible liar, you know,” he muttered, but without pushing further. Gojo knew when to push and when to let go, one of his rare relational skills, considering his overblown ego. “We can still cuddle, can’t we?” he finally asked, a hint of poutiness in his voice.
Cuddle. The word seemed so out of place coming from him. This man, who could manipulate the very space between objects, who could annihilate enemies with a single look, and yet, here, in this bedroom, he was asking… for cuddles. He puffed his cheeks, almost childlike, waiting for your answer.
Your heart tightened for a moment, a mix of tenderness and resignation. It was always like this with Gojo. He never directly asked for what he really needed. He wasn’t just this giant of power and arrogance, but sometimes, like tonight, he was just a man…
“Alright, come here, idiot.” You reached out an arm to pull him toward you, and he let you, like a big kid, nestling his head against your chest, his massive body pressing against yours. Silence resumed its reign, interrupted only by Gojo’s breathing, which gradually calmed.
“You know,” he murmured after a long while, his voice soft and almost asleep, “I hate it when you fake having your period. You’re a bad liar.” He couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, even though his eyes were already half-closed.
A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. “I’m sorry for not being as good as you at hiding things.”
His laugh slowly faded, and you felt his arms tighten around you a bit more. There was something comforting in that simple gesture.
You felt the warmth of his body, the heaviness of his breaths deepening as he slowly began to drift into sleep. “Hmm… Thanks,” he whispered faintly, barely audible, but you knew it was sincere, and only then did you feel Gojo’s arms also wrap around your waist.
You closed your eyes, letting yourself slowly drift into sleep.
Why was it so hard to breathe? Why did your heart ache so much?
Love. It’s a vicious curse.