📎📌notes : all these fics are preferably for ages 16+ (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) just click the links beloww ^0^ this was also requested by someone on my submissions!!
📎📌 all abt nerd satoru (⎚_⎚) :
°𓏲⋆🌿nerdjo (toru) and his twin bro fratjo (sato) 🧃 pt.1 pt.2
°𓏲⋆🌿 upperclassman!nerdjo x influencer!reader
°𓏲⋆🌿 ink stains and heartstrings (sweet!nerdjo x kinda mean!popular! reader)
⭑°𓏲⋆🌿restricted areas (corny!nerdjo x popular!sweet!reader) 📎having a huge problem by a robot that has technical issues is the worst for satoru! especially when his crush is coming by at his house...
⭑°𓏲⋆🌿 Something about you (CEO!gojo (used to be a nerd) x Trophy Wife!reader) New!
⭑°𓏲⋆🌿Tether (nerdjo x fem!reader (exes) new
📎For a guy who's a nerd and a loser, you never expected Gojo to have a 5 body count... he was so lowkey about it, about everything.
You started dating him after confessing to each other while studying, everything was so unexpected— and something unexpected happened too...
📎📌 gojoverse !!!
°𓏲⋆🌿Witchbound (Witch hunter!gojo x witch!reader) (recent)
📎 A witch falling in love with the most known and feared witch hunter? it is the most dangerous thing that ever happened to you... So, why not keep it to him? as long as he doesn't know anything, everything will be fine... right?
°𓏲⋆🌿 Everyone adores you (at least i do) (ex highschool crush!gojo x fem!reader)
📎After being hopelessly in love with the campus crush, Satoru Gojo, you weren't able to tell him how you feel— nor even talk to him... Ten years later, you meet him again at your mutual friend's birthday party.
°𓏲⋆🌿What happens to gojo after he won against sukuna? what's his life with you after the incident?
📎 aftermath shinjuku!gojo who...
°𓏲⋆🌿Does dating the strongest sorcerer feel tiring and exhausting? To you, maybe. Do you feel lonely sometimes whenever he gets so busy? Yes. But what's best here is that this guy, the so-called strongest would always make it up to you.
°𓏲⋆🌿 Hopelessly devoted to you (best friend gojo x reader)
📎📌movie related au :3
°𓏲⋆🌿of cloaks and courage (viscount tewksbury!GOJO x enola holmes!reader) 13+ !!
⭑｡𖦹°‧ for smut check my other acc @msgojoo and more fics in my ao3 (≧▽≦)
°𓏲⋆🌿 notes: thankyou so much for reading my fanfics, i truly appreciate it (灬º‿º灬)♡ more questions ask, just submit through my submissions 🫶🏻
✦For a guy who's a nerd and a loser, you never expected Gojo to have a 5 body count... he was so lowkey about it, about everything.
You started dating him after confessing to each other while studying, everything was so unexpected— and something unexpected happened too...
★ ˙🧷#: heavy angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, closure, college sweethearts (?), gojo is messy as hell... up to ya'll huhu
art cr to: @deltapopo on twt and @rezijellyfish
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
It’s the posture, mostly. The way he hunches over his desk like a seven-foot-tall gargoyle trying to protect a fragile Excel spreadsheet from the rest of the world. He wears hoodies that have seen better decades, his white hair is usually an uncombed bird’s nest, and he possesses the unique ability to trip over flat surfaces.
Satoru Gojo is, by all standard university metrics, the campus loser. The guy people either ignore or subtly laugh at when he drops his entire binder in the middle of a crowded lecture hall.
Which is exactly why the number five feels like a physical slap to your face.
"Five?" you repeat, staring at him.
You’re sitting on the floor of his cramped dorm room, the smell of cheap instant noodles still lingering in the air. Satoru is sitting cross-legged opposite you, folding a tiny piece of a silver gum wrapper into a perfect, neat triangle. He looks up, blinking his ridiculously bright blue eyes behind a pair of smudged, thick-rimmed glasses that slide down the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah," he says, his tone entirely casual, devoid of any bragging or ego. He pushes his glasses back up with one finger. "Five. Is that bad? I thought it was pretty average for our age."
"For normal people, Satoru. Not for someone who unironically uses a rolling backpack on rainy days," you mutter, rubbing your temples.
A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He doesn't get defensive; he just shifts closer, his long legs tangling slightly with yours. "Hey, the rolling backpack protects the structural integrity of my textbooks. You know how expensive the advanced physics ones are."
It’s funny. It’s genuinely hilarious because you spent the first three months of knowing him thinking he was entirely untouched by the concept of romance. You two had ended up together by some weird stroke of cosmic luck. It happened during midterms, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and highlighted pages of notes. You’d been staring at a diagram, completely exhausted, and murmured, "I think I like you."
You’d expected him to choke, or stammer, or do something appropriately pathetic. Instead, he had just looked at you, his face softening into something so quiet and gentle it made your chest ache. "Oh," he’d whispered, a small, breathless sound. "Good. Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you I like you for three weeks."
You were average. Just a regular student navigating the chaotic, exhausting rhythm of university life. He was the guy at the absolute bottom of the social ladder. It made sense. You fit together in a quiet, low-stakes kind of way.
But now, this. Five people.
The drama of it settles into your stomach, a sudden, sharp prick of standard relationship insecurity. If Satoru, with his terrible posture, his dorky laugh, and his complete lack of social grace— had five people in his past, what did that mean? Had they seen the same soft, fiercely intelligent guy you had? Were they cooler than you? Smarter?
"Who were they?" you ask, trying to keep your voice light, like it’s just a piece of casual trivia and not something that’s suddenly making the air in the room feel a little heavier.
Satoru stops folding the wrapper. He sets it down on the low coffee table, his expression shifting from amusement to that focused, entirely grounded seriousness he only gets when he’s looking directly at you.
"Just people from high school and first year," he says softly. He reaches out, his large, warm hand hovering for a second before gently resting over yours. His thumb brushes against your knuckles. "They weren't... it wasn't like this. Most of them liked the idea of me because... i don't know, maybe smart? or because they thought the white hair was quirky. But they got tired of the actual me pretty fast. They wanted someone who knew how to play the game, I guess."
He looks down at your joined hands, a faint, self-deprecating shadow crossing his face. "I'm a lot to deal with. I know I'm weird."
The pain in your chest deflates as quickly as it arrived, replaced by a wave of ridiculous fondness. He really is just a sweetheart. A massive, brilliant, socially inept sweetheart who has no idea that his honesty is the most attractive thing about him.
"You are weird," you agree, squeezing his hand back. "You're incredibly pathetic, Satoru."
He lets out a loud, dramatic groan, burying his face against your shoulder. The weight of him is heavy, but it's a grounding sort of heavy. "You're supposed to reassure me, not agree with me," his muffled voice complains against your shirt.
"I'm just stating facts. But," you shift slightly, resting your chin on top of his messy white hair, "I like the actual you. Rolling backpack and all."
He huffs a laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly like you're the only stable thing in his chaotic, overthinking mind. "Good. Because number six is definitely my favorite."
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
Your relationship was the sheer unpredictability of it all. It really had been a rollercoaster. A non-stop cycle of soaring highs and devastating drops that left you permanently out of breath. You two argued a lot. It wasn't just quiet disagreements; it was the kind of friction that tore through the peace of your tiny spaces. You remember the burning behind your eyes, the nights you spent crying and begging him to just talk to you, to stop retreating behind that cold, distant wall he built whenever things got heavy. He had cried too, and he had begged— not as much as you, his avoidant brain usually freezing him in place... but when he did break, it was loud, messy, and desperate.
But god, when the rollercoaster went up, the view was beautiful.
There were blocks of weeks where you two were just ridiculously, blindingly happy. Love was completely in the air, so thick and sweet it felt like a physical presence in the room. You couldn't even walk past each other without stalling. There were kisses everywhere, lazy ones against your temple while you were both trying to cram for midterms, soft ones pressed to the palm of your hand while walking to the convenience store at midnight, and deep, quiet ones in the middle of the kitchen while the rain poured outside. Everything felt so effortlessly good.
During those quiet, golden moments after a fight had cleared, Satoru would wrap his long arms around you, pulling you so close against his chest that you could hear the steady, rapid thumping of his heart. He would bury his face in your hair, exhaling a long, shaky breath, holding onto you like a lifeline.
He never said it in big, dramatic speeches, but you could feel it in the way his grip tightened whenever you squeezed his hand back. He was so incredibly grateful. He was so happy that you stayed with him, that you kept choosing to hold on, even in his absolute hardest, most chaotic days when he didn't know how to handle himself.
You were the one person who looked at all his rough edges, all his mess, and just chose to love him anyway.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
7 yrs later...
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
The rain hitting the glass of the coffee shop is the only thing filling the silence, a rhythmic, monotonous hum that matches the dull ache Satoru has carried in his chest for seven years.
He’s twenty-nine now. The messy white hair is tamed into something cleaner, the oversized hoodies replaced by structured coats that fit his frame, and the thick, smudged glasses replaced by expensive, thin-rimmed ones. He finally learned how to stop slouching. He looks like a proper adult, the kind of man people actually look at twice on the street. He’s successful, stable, and completely empty.
For three years, he had you. And for three years, whenever the pressure of his own mind got too heavy, he did the only thing he knew how to do... he pushed.
Whenever you tried to get close during an argument, whenever his own deep-seated insecurities flared up, the defensive walls went up like iron shutters. “Let’s just break up.” “You deserve better anyway.” “Can’t you fix that attitude of yours?” It was a toxic, exhausting script he ran on loop, a lowkey avoidant reflex born out of a terrifying fear that you’d realize how pathetic he actually was and leave him first.
Until one day, you didn't fight back. You just looked at him with tired, heartbroken eyes, said “Okay,” and walked out.
He spent the next seven years trying to scrub the memory of you out of his skin. He went out, he met different people, he took long, aimless drives alone to unwind, trying to force his brain to reset, convincing himself to be the guy that NO ONE will forget. He had finally reached a point where he convinced himself he was 'starting to move on.' The ache had gone numb.
Until the bell above the coffee shop door chimes, and the universe decides seven years of penance isn't enough.
You walk in, shaking a wet umbrella, laughing at something on your phone.
Satoru freezes, his coffee cup halting halfway to his mouth.
You’ve changed. If he thought you were beautiful when you were nineteen, huddled over textbooks in his cramped dorm, you are breathtaking now. There’s a radiant, effortless glow to you— the kind that only comes from peace, from growing into your own skin without someone constantly pulling you down into their own chaos. You look ten times more beautiful as an actual adult. Secure. Grounded.
As you turn, your eyes scan the room and lock onto his. The laugh dies on your lips, replaced by a sudden, quiet shock.
Don't do it, Satoru commands himself, his knuckles turning white around his mug. Don't stare. Don't fall for her again... she's over you. Look at her… she survived you.
"Satoru?" Your voice is different... richer, steadier— but it’s still your voice. The sound of it sends a violent, physical jolt straight through his ribs.
"Hey," he says, his voice raspy. He forces a polite, neutral smile that feels entirely heavy on his face. "Long time no see."
You hesitate for a fraction of a second before walking over to his table. Every step you take closer is a masterclass in agony for him. You don't look angry... you just look surprised, maybe a little nostalgic. "Wow. Look at you," you say softly, gesturing to his neat coat, his sharp posture. "You grew into your height."
"Yeah. Finally learned how to walk without tripping over my own feet," he tries to joke, but the humor is thin.
"Can I...?" You point to the empty chair across from him.
"Sure."
As you sit down, the faint scent of your perfume drifts over, and Satoru has to actively remind himself to breathe. He forces his hands into his lap so you won't see them shaking. He tells himself to be strong, to keep the distance he so desperately insisted on seven years ago. He tells himself you’re officially over him.
But as you start talking, asking how he’s been, telling him a quick, animated story about how you got caught in the sudden downpour... the carefully built walls of the last seven years crumble into dust.
You’re yapping. It’s that same, beautiful habit of yours, running your mouth about three different topics at once, waving your hands slightly to emphasize a point. You smile, a genuine, bright thing, and it hits him like a freight train.
Deep inside, a desperate, pathetic part of him is screaming. He misses everything. He misses the way you used to tease him until his ears turned red. He misses your laugh ringing out in a quiet room. He misses the way you used to annoy him by stealing his fries, the casual warmth of your touch when you’d hook your arm through his, the soft cadence of your voice when the world got too loud. He wants to reach across the table, grab your hand, and beg for a second chance he knows he doesn't deserve.
"So, yeah, total nightmare of a morning," you finish, offering a small, slightly self-conscious laugh, tilting your head. "Sorry, I'm still a handful when I get started."
Satoru swallows the lump in his throat, staring at you behind his lenses. He looks for any sign of the old hurt in your eyes, any lingering resentment, or worse— complete indifference. But there’s a flicker there, a quiet, intense stillness as you look back at him, your gaze lingering on his lips for a split second before meeting his blue eyes again.
He can't tell. He genuinely can't tell if you've moved on, or if the ghost of what you had is haunting you right now, too.
"Don't apologize," Satoru says, his voice dropping, losing its polite edge and becoming dangerously soft, dangerously close to the sweetheart you used to love. "I've missed the noise."
He may finally be the guy he always wanted to be years ago—stable, put-together, successful, 'mentally stable' but as he stares at the empty chair across from him, the truth settles heavily in his gut. The only thing that actually mattered, the only thing missing from the picture-perfect life he built, was you.
The crumbs on the plate blur slightly behind his glasses as his mind violently drags him back to that night seven years ago...
It was freezing. A bitter, cold night at the park near campus, the streetlamps casting long, harsh shadows on the concrete. Things had gotten bad again. He’d felt himself suffocating under his own insecurities, and like a coward, he resorted to the same old script. He’d thrown those ugly words at you, practically begging you to leave before he could ruin things completely.
And then you had just nodded. You agreed to break up with him.
He still remembers the exact sound of your footsteps retreating down the pavement. Standing under that dim park light, his chest tight and suffocating, he had desperately hoped you’ll look back. Just once. Just a single glance to give him an excuse to break.
But you didn't. You kept walking, disappearing into the dark.
God, he had wanted to chase you. Every muscle in his seven-foot frame had screamed at him to run after you, to throw his arms around you, to pull you close so you could comfort each other through the mess he made. But he didn't. He was scared. He was hurt, overwhelmed by his own avoidant brain, completely paralyzed by the fear of his own toxicity.
He let you walk away. And he had regretted pushing you away every single second of that night, and every single day for the seven years that followed.
Satoru abruptly stands up, the chair scraping sharply against the coffee shop floor. He doesn't care if people are looking. He pays the bill with a trembling hand and steps out onto the damp sidewalk, his blue eyes frantically scanning the crowded street.
You’re already gone, swallowed by the afternoon rush, but the lingering scent of your sweet perfume and the memory of your radiant, grown-up smile still hang in the cool air.
He closes his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. The old, pathetic Satoru would have gone back to his apartment to rot in his own regret. But he isn't that kid anymore. He had learned his lesson the hardest way possible.
He knows you might be over him. He knows he has a mountain of hurt to make up for, and that you owe him absolutely nothing. But seeing you today, seeing how beautiful, how grounded, how completely irreplaceable you are... changed everything. He couldn't just let the universe throw you back into his path only to watch you walk away a second time.
He hopes this time, there might be a chance. He’ll wait. He will do whatever it takes to earn a place in your life again, to prove that he can be the secure, loving sweetheart you always deserved. He will chase after you until you accept him again, no matter how many years it will take.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
notes: ts got me crine... ty for reading ya'll !! i appreciate it :3
✦For a guy who's a nerd and a loser, you never expected Gojo to have a 5 body count... he was so lowkey about it, about everything.
You started dating him after confessing to each other while studying, everything was so unexpected— and something unexpected happened too...
★ ˙🧷#: heavy angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, closure, college sweethearts (?), gojo is messy as hell... up to ya'll huhu
art cr to: @deltapopo on twt and @rezijellyfish
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
It’s the posture, mostly. The way he hunches over his desk like a seven-foot-tall gargoyle trying to protect a fragile Excel spreadsheet from the rest of the world. He wears hoodies that have seen better decades, his white hair is usually an uncombed bird’s nest, and he possesses the unique ability to trip over flat surfaces.
Satoru Gojo is, by all standard university metrics, the campus loser. The guy people either ignore or subtly laugh at when he drops his entire binder in the middle of a crowded lecture hall.
Which is exactly why the number five feels like a physical slap to your face.
"Five?" you repeat, staring at him.
You’re sitting on the floor of his cramped dorm room, the smell of cheap instant noodles still lingering in the air. Satoru is sitting cross-legged opposite you, folding a tiny piece of a silver gum wrapper into a perfect, neat triangle. He looks up, blinking his ridiculously bright blue eyes behind a pair of smudged, thick-rimmed glasses that slide down the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah," he says, his tone entirely casual, devoid of any bragging or ego. He pushes his glasses back up with one finger. "Five. Is that bad? I thought it was pretty average for our age."
"For normal people, Satoru. Not for someone who unironically uses a rolling backpack on rainy days," you mutter, rubbing your temples.
A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He doesn't get defensive; he just shifts closer, his long legs tangling slightly with yours. "Hey, the rolling backpack protects the structural integrity of my textbooks. You know how expensive the advanced physics ones are."
It’s funny. It’s genuinely hilarious because you spent the first three months of knowing him thinking he was entirely untouched by the concept of romance. You two had ended up together by some weird stroke of cosmic luck. It happened during midterms, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and highlighted pages of notes. You’d been staring at a diagram, completely exhausted, and murmured, "I think I like you."
You’d expected him to choke, or stammer, or do something appropriately pathetic. Instead, he had just looked at you, his face softening into something so quiet and gentle it made your chest ache. "Oh," he’d whispered, a small, breathless sound. "Good. Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you I like you for three weeks."
You were average. Just a regular student navigating the chaotic, exhausting rhythm of university life. He was the guy at the absolute bottom of the social ladder. It made sense. You fit together in a quiet, low-stakes kind of way.
But now, this. Five people.
The drama of it settles into your stomach, a sudden, sharp prick of standard relationship insecurity. If Satoru, with his terrible posture, his dorky laugh, and his complete lack of social grace— had five people in his past, what did that mean? Had they seen the same soft, fiercely intelligent guy you had? Were they cooler than you? Smarter?
"Who were they?" you ask, trying to keep your voice light, like it’s just a piece of casual trivia and not something that’s suddenly making the air in the room feel a little heavier.
Satoru stops folding the wrapper. He sets it down on the low coffee table, his expression shifting from amusement to that focused, entirely grounded seriousness he only gets when he’s looking directly at you.
"Just people from high school and first year," he says softly. He reaches out, his large, warm hand hovering for a second before gently resting over yours. His thumb brushes against your knuckles. "They weren't... it wasn't like this. Most of them liked the idea of me because... i don't know, maybe smart? or because they thought the white hair was quirky. But they got tired of the actual me pretty fast. They wanted someone who knew how to play the game, I guess."
He looks down at your joined hands, a faint, self-deprecating shadow crossing his face. "I'm a lot to deal with. I know I'm weird."
The pain in your chest deflates as quickly as it arrived, replaced by a wave of ridiculous fondness. He really is just a sweetheart. A massive, brilliant, socially inept sweetheart who has no idea that his honesty is the most attractive thing about him.
"You are weird," you agree, squeezing his hand back. "You're incredibly pathetic, Satoru."
He lets out a loud, dramatic groan, burying his face against your shoulder. The weight of him is heavy, but it's a grounding sort of heavy. "You're supposed to reassure me, not agree with me," his muffled voice complains against your shirt.
"I'm just stating facts. But," you shift slightly, resting your chin on top of his messy white hair, "I like the actual you. Rolling backpack and all."
He huffs a laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly like you're the only stable thing in his chaotic, overthinking mind. "Good. Because number six is definitely my favorite."
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
Your relationship was the sheer unpredictability of it all. It really had been a rollercoaster. A non-stop cycle of soaring highs and devastating drops that left you permanently out of breath. You two argued a lot. It wasn't just quiet disagreements; it was the kind of friction that tore through the peace of your tiny spaces. You remember the burning behind your eyes, the nights you spent crying and begging him to just talk to you, to stop retreating behind that cold, distant wall he built whenever things got heavy. He had cried too, and he had begged— not as much as you, his avoidant brain usually freezing him in place... but when he did break, it was loud, messy, and desperate.
But god, when the rollercoaster went up, the view was beautiful.
There were blocks of weeks where you two were just ridiculously, blindingly happy. Love was completely in the air, so thick and sweet it felt like a physical presence in the room. You couldn't even walk past each other without stalling. There were kisses everywhere, lazy ones against your temple while you were both trying to cram for midterms, soft ones pressed to the palm of your hand while walking to the convenience store at midnight, and deep, quiet ones in the middle of the kitchen while the rain poured outside. Everything felt so effortlessly good.
During those quiet, golden moments after a fight had cleared, Satoru would wrap his long arms around you, pulling you so close against his chest that you could hear the steady, rapid thumping of his heart. He would bury his face in your hair, exhaling a long, shaky breath, holding onto you like a lifeline.
He never said it in big, dramatic speeches, but you could feel it in the way his grip tightened whenever you squeezed his hand back. He was so incredibly grateful. He was so happy that you stayed with him, that you kept choosing to hold on, even in his absolute hardest, most chaotic days when he didn't know how to handle himself.
You were the one person who looked at all his rough edges, all his mess, and just chose to love him anyway.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
7 yrs later...
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
The rain hitting the glass of the coffee shop is the only thing filling the silence, a rhythmic, monotonous hum that matches the dull ache Satoru has carried in his chest for seven years.
He’s twenty-nine now. The messy white hair is tamed into something cleaner, the oversized hoodies replaced by structured coats that fit his frame, and the thick, smudged glasses replaced by expensive, thin-rimmed ones. He finally learned how to stop slouching. He looks like a proper adult, the kind of man people actually look at twice on the street. He’s successful, stable, and completely empty.
For three years, he had you. And for three years, whenever the pressure of his own mind got too heavy, he did the only thing he knew how to do... he pushed.
Whenever you tried to get close during an argument, whenever his own deep-seated insecurities flared up, the defensive walls went up like iron shutters. “Let’s just break up.” “You deserve better anyway.” “Can’t you fix that attitude of yours?” It was a toxic, exhausting script he ran on loop, a lowkey avoidant reflex born out of a terrifying fear that you’d realize how pathetic he actually was and leave him first.
Until one day, you didn't fight back. You just looked at him with tired, heartbroken eyes, said “Okay,” and walked out.
He spent the next seven years trying to scrub the memory of you out of his skin. He went out, he met different people, he took long, aimless drives alone to unwind, trying to force his brain to reset, convincing himself to be the guy that NO ONE will forget. He had finally reached a point where he convinced himself he was 'starting to move on.' The ache had gone numb.
Until the bell above the coffee shop door chimes, and the universe decides seven years of penance isn't enough.
You walk in, shaking a wet umbrella, laughing at something on your phone.
Satoru freezes, his coffee cup halting halfway to his mouth.
You’ve changed. If he thought you were beautiful when you were nineteen, huddled over textbooks in his cramped dorm, you are breathtaking now. There’s a radiant, effortless glow to you— the kind that only comes from peace, from growing into your own skin without someone constantly pulling you down into their own chaos. You look ten times more beautiful as an actual adult. Secure. Grounded.
As you turn, your eyes scan the room and lock onto his. The laugh dies on your lips, replaced by a sudden, quiet shock.
Don't do it, Satoru commands himself, his knuckles turning white around his mug. Don't stare. Don't fall for her again... she's over you. Look at her… she survived you.
"Satoru?" Your voice is different... richer, steadier— but it’s still your voice. The sound of it sends a violent, physical jolt straight through his ribs.
"Hey," he says, his voice raspy. He forces a polite, neutral smile that feels entirely heavy on his face. "Long time no see."
You hesitate for a fraction of a second before walking over to his table. Every step you take closer is a masterclass in agony for him. You don't look angry... you just look surprised, maybe a little nostalgic. "Wow. Look at you," you say softly, gesturing to his neat coat, his sharp posture. "You grew into your height."
"Yeah. Finally learned how to walk without tripping over my own feet," he tries to joke, but the humor is thin.
"Can I...?" You point to the empty chair across from him.
"Sure."
As you sit down, the faint scent of your perfume drifts over, and Satoru has to actively remind himself to breathe. He forces his hands into his lap so you won't see them shaking. He tells himself to be strong, to keep the distance he so desperately insisted on seven years ago. He tells himself you’re officially over him.
But as you start talking, asking how he’s been, telling him a quick, animated story about how you got caught in the sudden downpour... the carefully built walls of the last seven years crumble into dust.
You’re yapping. It’s that same, beautiful habit of yours, running your mouth about three different topics at once, waving your hands slightly to emphasize a point. You smile, a genuine, bright thing, and it hits him like a freight train.
Deep inside, a desperate, pathetic part of him is screaming. He misses everything. He misses the way you used to tease him until his ears turned red. He misses your laugh ringing out in a quiet room. He misses the way you used to annoy him by stealing his fries, the casual warmth of your touch when you’d hook your arm through his, the soft cadence of your voice when the world got too loud. He wants to reach across the table, grab your hand, and beg for a second chance he knows he doesn't deserve.
"So, yeah, total nightmare of a morning," you finish, offering a small, slightly self-conscious laugh, tilting your head. "Sorry, I'm still a handful when I get started."
Satoru swallows the lump in his throat, staring at you behind his lenses. He looks for any sign of the old hurt in your eyes, any lingering resentment, or worse— complete indifference. But there’s a flicker there, a quiet, intense stillness as you look back at him, your gaze lingering on his lips for a split second before meeting his blue eyes again.
He can't tell. He genuinely can't tell if you've moved on, or if the ghost of what you had is haunting you right now, too.
"Don't apologize," Satoru says, his voice dropping, losing its polite edge and becoming dangerously soft, dangerously close to the sweetheart you used to love. "I've missed the noise."
He may finally be the guy he always wanted to be years ago—stable, put-together, successful, 'mentally stable' but as he stares at the empty chair across from him, the truth settles heavily in his gut. The only thing that actually mattered, the only thing missing from the picture-perfect life he built, was you.
The crumbs on the plate blur slightly behind his glasses as his mind violently drags him back to that night seven years ago...
It was freezing. A bitter, cold night at the park near campus, the streetlamps casting long, harsh shadows on the concrete. Things had gotten bad again. He’d felt himself suffocating under his own insecurities, and like a coward, he resorted to the same old script. He’d thrown those ugly words at you, practically begging you to leave before he could ruin things completely.
And then you had just nodded. You agreed to break up with him.
He still remembers the exact sound of your footsteps retreating down the pavement. Standing under that dim park light, his chest tight and suffocating, he had desperately hoped you’ll look back. Just once. Just a single glance to give him an excuse to break.
But you didn't. You kept walking, disappearing into the dark.
God, he had wanted to chase you. Every muscle in his seven-foot frame had screamed at him to run after you, to throw his arms around you, to pull you close so you could comfort each other through the mess he made. But he didn't. He was scared. He was hurt, overwhelmed by his own avoidant brain, completely paralyzed by the fear of his own toxicity.
He let you walk away. And he had regretted pushing you away every single second of that night, and every single day for the seven years that followed.
Satoru abruptly stands up, the chair scraping sharply against the coffee shop floor. He doesn't care if people are looking. He pays the bill with a trembling hand and steps out onto the damp sidewalk, his blue eyes frantically scanning the crowded street.
You’re already gone, swallowed by the afternoon rush, but the lingering scent of your sweet perfume and the memory of your radiant, grown-up smile still hang in the cool air.
He closes his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. The old, pathetic Satoru would have gone back to his apartment to rot in his own regret. But he isn't that kid anymore. He had learned his lesson the hardest way possible.
He knows you might be over him. He knows he has a mountain of hurt to make up for, and that you owe him absolutely nothing. But seeing you today, seeing how beautiful, how grounded, how completely irreplaceable you are... changed everything. He couldn't just let the universe throw you back into his path only to watch you walk away a second time.
He hopes this time, there might be a chance. He’ll wait. He will do whatever it takes to earn a place in your life again, to prove that he can be the secure, loving sweetheart you always deserved. He will chase after you until you accept him again, no matter how many years it will take.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶
notes: ts got me crine... ty for reading ya'll !! i appreciate it :3
CEO!gojo (used to be a nerd and a 'creep') x Trophy Wife!reader
✦ You live in a perfectly pink, pampered bubble as the wife of billionaire Executive, the Satoru Gojo. But while organizing his stuffs, you stumble upon a dusty box from your husband's university days and uncover a heartbreaking secret... your brilliant, untouchable husband used to be the somewhat the opposite of the man you've been seeing today.
★ ˙🧷#: fluff, comfort, heavy angst, gojo was depressed during his college days, reader is a bimbo but she's really sweet and kind, she's popular, gojo used to be the weird, creep in the university
art cr: @linobii_ and @blackvoidstar
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The closet smelled of jasmine, vanilla, and the heavy, grounding cedarwood of his cologne.
You stood before the glass, smoothing the hem of a designer tweed skirt, turning left and right. "Babe," you called out, shifting your weight from one plush slipper to the other. "Is the matching headband too much, or is it just the right amount of extra?"
A pair of long, black-suited arms wrapped around your midsection from behind. Satoru dropped his chin onto your shoulder, his striking blue eyes crinkling at the corners as a soft smile tugged at his lips. Without his usual dark sunglasses, he looked entirely soft, relaxed, and utterly yours.
"There is no such thing as too much pink, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a warm kiss to the side of your neck. "You look perfect. They’re going to adore you. Just smile, let them buy your charity auction tickets, and look beautiful."
You giggled, turning in his embrace to loop your arms around his neck. "I can do that. Being married to you is a full-time job, you know. Very exhausting."
"I compensate you well, don't I?" he teased, nipping gently at your lower lip before pulling you into a slow, deep kiss that tasted like the sweet morning coffee he always shared with you.
You loved your life. Satoru was the brilliant, wealth-laden chief executive of a massive corporate empire, a man feared in boardrooms and fawned over by the media. But to you, he was just your doting, slightly codependent husband who left love notes on the bathroom mirror and let you decorate his sleek, minimalist apartment with pastel throw pillows.
You didn't know much about his past, other than the fact that he went to the same massive university you did. You had graduated with a degree in fashion merchandising— which mostly consisted of looking cute in the front row and passing with a solid C-plus— while he had apparently been some sort of tech and business prodigy. You hadn't known him back then. Your university days had been a blur of bright tracksuits, sorority mixers, and gossiping with your girls. You lived in your own bubbly, glittery bubble. You didn't pay attention to the boys who didn't open doors for you.
You certainly hadn't noticed him.
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The lunch was a massive success. You had charmed the older executives' spouses, secured a large donation for the animal shelter you patronized, and by the time you got home, your feet were aching from your heels.
Satoru wasn't home yet, so you decided to do a little tidying of his private study— a room you usually left alone because it was filled with boring financial binders. But today, you wanted to surprise him by organizing a chaotic stack of old boxes he’d brought from his family’s storage unit last week.
You pulled down a dusty, heavy cardboard box labeled 'Uni - Tokyo'
"Let's see what corporate secrets my tech-genius hubby was hiding," you hummed to yourself, sitting cross-legged on the rug and popping the tape.
Expecting old textbooks or business models, you were surprised when the first thing you pulled out was a thick, black sketchbook. Curious, you opened it.
The pages weren't filled with art. They were filled with dense, manic scribbles. Ink scratches so heavy they almost tore through the paper.
Why are they looking at me?
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Don't look at them. Just look down.
I hate it here.
Your breath caught. You flipped the pages further, your heart dropping into your stomach. There were no names, just dark paragraphs detailing a crushing, suffocating loneliness. The handwriting was jagged, completely unlike Satoru’s current elegant script.
Beneath the journal was a stack of old student IDs and photographs. You picked up an old identification card.
The name read Gojo Satoru. But the picture... the picture broke your heart.
It was Satoru, but entirely unrecognizable. His beautiful white hair was long, unkempt, and shaggily chopped, hanging over his face like a curtain to hide behind. He was wearing thick, outdated, prescription glasses that completely obscured his eyes. He looked painfully thin, slouching deep into an oversized, stained gray hoodie. He looked like... a ghost. An outcast. The kind of guy people avoided in the hallways because he looked entirely detached from reality.
Suddenly, memories you had buried deep in your brain came rushing back.
"Eurghh, did you see the guy in the back of the library? He was staring again."
"Don't look at him, he’s strange. He literally doesn't speak to anyone."
"I heard he sits in the dark computer lab for twelve hours straight."
You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth. That was him... The campus pariah. The one everyone whispered about, the one who looked so miserable and isolated that people actively crossed the street to avoid him. You had never participated in the cruel rumors—your brain was usually too occupied with matching your lip gloss to your outfits— but you had never stopped to help him, either. You had just walked right past him, laughing with your friends.
At the very bottom of the box, a small, laminated photo fell out.
You picked it up. It was a candid photo of you.
You were standing by the campus fountain, wearing a bright sundress, laughing hysterically at something a friend had said, holding an iced latte. The photo was taken from a distance, slightly blurry, through what looked like a long-distance lens. On the back, written in that same jagged, shaky handwriting, were the words:
She looks like spring. I wish I was alive enough to talk to her.
A tear slipped from your eye, splashing onto the plastic lamination. Your chest ached with a sudden, violent wave of sorrow. While you were living in a pastel dream, the love of your life had been drowning in a pitch-black ocean, staring at you from the shore, believing he was completely unworthy of affection.
The front door of the penthouse clicked open.
"Sweetheart? I'm home early!" Satoru's cheerful voice echoed through the hallway.
You couldn't answer. Your throat was tight.
Hearing no response, his heavy footsteps approached the study. "Babe? Are you–"
Satoru stopped dead in his tracks. He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. The open box. The journal. The old ID card. And the photo of you in his hands.
The color drained from Satoru’s face. The confident, untouchable executive vanished in a split second, replaced by a terrified boy. His shoulders tensed, dropping into that familiar, defensive slouch from the old photo.
"You... you found that," he whispered, his voice cracking. He looked exposed, stripped raw. He didn't move, terrified that if he came closer, you would look at him with the same disdain the rest of the world had shown him back then. "I'm sorry. I forgot that box was in there. I... i was different back then, you know, i was unwell, messed up. I know it's strange that I had that picture of you. If you want to leave, I–"
You didn't let him finish.
You scrambled to your feet, dropping the photo, and threw yourself across the room. You slammed into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into his expensive suit jacket.
Satoru froze, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't know what to do with his hands until he felt your body shaking against his. You were crying.
"Hey... hey, princess, don't cry," he panicked, his hands immediately finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. "It's okay. It's in the past. I'm normal now, I swear. I clean up nice for you, don't I?" He tried to joke, but his voice was trembling with a profound, aching vulnerability.
"I'm so sorry," you sobbed into his chest, clutching the fabric of his jacket. "I'm so sorry I didn't see you. I'm sorry you were so alone."
Satoru’s heart skipped a beat. Of all the reactions he had feared— disgust, mockery, fear— he hadn't expected your overwhelming warmth. He hadn't expected your gentle heart to reach backward through time to heal a wound he thought would bleed forever.
"Oh, sweetheart..." Satoru sighed, the tension melting out of his frame. He lifted you easily, carrying you over to the study's plush leather sofa. He sat down, keeping you securely on his lap, cradling you like something fragile. He buried his face in your jasmine-scented hair, breathing you in.
"You don't have to be sorry," he murmured softly, stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. "You were the only bright thing in that entire place. You have no idea."
"You were so sad," you whimpered, wiping your nose on his shoulder, not caring that you were ruining his designer suit. "Those journals... Satoru, nobody should have to feel like that."
"I was really down," he admitted quietly, the honesty heavy in the quiet room. "My family put so much pressure on me to take over the company, and I hated myself. I hated everything. I didn't take care of myself. I thought I was a ghost. But then I'd see you walking across the quad, practically glowing in pink, smiling at everyone, being so sweet to the stray cats on campus... and it reminded me that the world wasn't completely gray."
You looked up at him, your eyes red and watery. "Why didn't you just come talk to me? I was so superficial back then, Satoru, I would have talked to literally anyone who complimented my shoes."
Satoru let out a genuine, wet laugh, his blue eyes shining with a mixture of leftover tears and adoration. "Babe, look at what I looked like. I was a disaster. I didn't want to bring my darkness into your pretty little world. I just wanted to admire you from afar. You were my anchor, even if you didn't know it."
You cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. "Well, I know it now. And you are never, ever going back to that dark place. Do you hear me? You're my husband. You're brilliant, and handsome, and you deserve all the love in the world."
Satoru’s eyes softened, a profound sense of relief washing over him, completely erasing the ghosts of his university days. The scared, lonely boy inside him finally felt safe.
"I know," Satoru whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "I have you now. My beautiful, sweet girl. You're my whole world."
"And don't you forget it," you sniffled, finally offering him a small, watery smile. "Now, carry me to the bedroom. My feet hurt from lunch, and you need to take this suit off so I can hold you properly."
Satoru grinned, the brilliant, blinding smile that you loved so much. He stood up, scooping you into his arms effortlessly. "Your wish is my command, princess."
As he carried you out of the dark study and into the warm, sunlit bedroom filled with the scent of vanilla and pink pillows, Satoru knew that the past didn't matter anymore. The gray days were over.
The rest of his life was entirely yours— bright, sweet, and filled with love.
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hi y'all!!! i really missed writing and posting 😢 i got alot of msg in my submissions and it just gave me more motivation to writeee! i love you all smm!! 🥹🥹🫶🏻 I also got so busy in my life lately, sorry for not being active for awhile 😓
omgg 😭😭😭 im so sorry for not being active here rn, i got so busy from my uni🥲🥲 i do have new ideas and some nerdjo drafts here !! hehe ill post it as soon as i can 🤍 i miss all of u too😓
tags: heavy angst, unrequited love, oblivious reader, slow-burn, hopeless gojo, best friend! gojo, murder, character death
Best friend! Gojo who remembers exactly how your head felt on his shoulder during those 3 a.m. study sessions at the campus library, the way you’d whisper about failing your midterms while he’d just rub your back and tell you that as long as he was around, you’d never have to worry about falling. He was your constant. He was the one who handed you tissues through every breakup and sat with you in the parking lot during every family crisis, all while swallowing the words he wanted to say... the ones that sat heavy in his throat like lead— because he was too terrified to break the only "us" he was allowed to have.
Best Friend! Gojo who forced himself to look at the altar instead of you during your wedding, focusing on the cheap floral arrangements instead of the way Naoya’s hand looked way too possessive on the small of your back. He told himself over and over that your happiness was a win, even if it wasn't his, trying to convince himself that being a "best friend" meant standing back and letting you choose someone else. He thought he was being noble. He was just being scared.
Best friend! Gojo who finally broke when the phone call came in. They called it a "tragic gas leak," a freak accident that took both you and your 7 years old son in the middle of the night. His world didn't just stop... it went completely hollow. He didn't believe the police reports or Naoya’s shaky, rehearsed sob story for a single second. While everyone else was dropping off sympathy cards and casseroles, Satoru turned into a ghost.
Best friend! Gojo who spent months digging through bank statements, deleted emails, and private security footage that no one else cared to look for, his heart turning into a cold, hard stone as he uncovered the mistress, the motive, and the absolute horror of what Naoya had done to protect his own life.
Now, Satoru sits on a bench in the park where you used to go for coffee, the silence of the city feeling like a weight on his chest. He knows now that his "respect" for your marriage was just cowardice wrapped in a nice package. He handed you over to a monster because he was too afraid to speak up, and now the price of his silence is a headstone that’s way too small and a seat at his table that will stay empty forever. He’d give up every single thing he owns, every bit of his future, just to go back to that one night in the library and tell you the truth before the world had the chance to ruin you.
n: part 2 where gojo and reader got together in another life ? 👀
tags: heavy angst, unrequited love, oblivious reader, slow-burn, hopeless gojo, best friend! gojo, murder, character death
Best friend! Gojo who remembers exactly how your head felt on his shoulder during those 3 a.m. study sessions at the campus library, the way you’d whisper about failing your midterms while he’d just rub your back and tell you that as long as he was around, you’d never have to worry about falling. He was your constant. He was the one who handed you tissues through every breakup and sat with you in the parking lot during every family crisis, all while swallowing the words he wanted to say... the ones that sat heavy in his throat like lead— because he was too terrified to break the only "us" he was allowed to have.
Best Friend! Gojo who forced himself to look at the altar instead of you during your wedding, focusing on the cheap floral arrangements instead of the way Naoya’s hand looked way too possessive on the small of your back. He told himself over and over that your happiness was a win, even if it wasn't his, trying to convince himself that being a "best friend" meant standing back and letting you choose someone else. He thought he was being noble. He was just being scared.
Best friend! Gojo who finally broke when the phone call came in. They called it a "tragic gas leak," a freak accident that took both you and your 7 years old son in the middle of the night. His world didn't just stop... it went completely hollow. He didn't believe the police reports or Naoya’s shaky, rehearsed sob story for a single second. While everyone else was dropping off sympathy cards and casseroles, Satoru turned into a ghost.
Best friend! Gojo who spent months digging through bank statements, deleted emails, and private security footage that no one else cared to look for, his heart turning into a cold, hard stone as he uncovered the mistress, the motive, and the absolute horror of what Naoya had done to protect his own life.
Now, Satoru sits on a bench in the park where you used to go for coffee, the silence of the city feeling like a weight on his chest. He knows now that his "respect" for your marriage was just cowardice wrapped in a nice package. He handed you over to a monster because he was too afraid to speak up, and now the price of his silence is a headstone that’s way too small and a seat at his table that will stay empty forever. He’d give up every single thing he owns, every bit of his future, just to go back to that one night in the library and tell you the truth before the world had the chance to ruin you.
n: part 2 where gojo and reader got together in another life ? 👀
✧ A witch falling in love with the most known and feared witch hunter? it is the most dangerous thing that ever happened to you... So, why not keep it to him? as long as he doesn't know anything, everything will be fine... right?
The forest breathed around you, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls. Sunlight, fractured by the ancient canopy, dappled the moss-covered stones lining the small, secluded lake. The water, cool and clear, kissed your skin as you submerged yourself, the day’s dust and the weight of your hidden life washing away. You hummed a soft, wordless tune, a melody born of the earth, as you scrubbed your arms, the scent of wild mint and damp soil clinging to the air. Your fingers traced the curve of your collarbone, then moved lower, feeling the gentle swell of your chest, the flat plane of your stomach. Peace, fleeting and precious, enveloped you.
A sudden stillness descended, not just in the forest, but within you. The rustling paused, the birdsong hushed. A prickle, like static electricity, danced on your skin. You were not alone. Your eyes, sharp despite their soft appearance, darted to the treeline. There, bathed in a shaft of light, stood a man.
He was a vision, a stark contrast to the wildness around him. His hair was stark white, seemed spun from moonlight. Eyes, a startling cerulean, held the depth of an endless sky, intense and unwavering as they fixed on you. His frame, tall and lean, exuded an almost predatory grace, yet his posture was relaxed, a hand resting lightly on the h hilt of a sheathed blade at his hip. A long, dark coat, heavy with intricate silver embroidery, covered his broad shoulders, and the faint glint of chainmail peeked from beneath.
He watched you, not with the leering hunger you’d grown accustomed to from men in villages or anywhere you go, but with something else entirely— a profound admiration, a quiet awe that made your own heart skip. It was as if he saw not just your naked form, but the very essence of you, laid bare.
A slow smile blossomed on your lips, unbidden. You felt no shame, no fear, only a strange pull, an undeniable curiosity. The water rippled as you began to move, gliding towards the shore. Your bare feet found purchase on the silty bank, pulling your body from the cool embrace of the lake. The water sluiced from your skin, glistening in the light, tracing paths down your chest, over your belly, between your thighs. You did not break eye contact with him, an unspoken understanding passing between you in the silent forest. He did not move, did not speak, only watched as you reached for the simple linen shift you'd left draped over a low-hanging branch.
"morning," your voice, soft as a forest whisper, carried easily across the space separating you. You pulled the shift over your head, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. His gaze remained, a silent intensity that both thrilled and unsettled you.
"wellll, it is now," his voice, deep and resonant, finally broke the quiet. It was a sound that vibrated through the air, stirring something primal within you. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between you. He moved with an effortless grace, each step deliberate, yet fluid.
You noticed the intricate, almost ceremonial, quality of his armor and weapons, the symbols etched into the leather of his gauntlets. A witch hunter. The realization hit you like a sudden chill, despite the warmth of the sun. Your carefully guarded secret, your very identity, screamed silently within you. Your smile faltered, a flicker of hesitation crossing your features, but he seemed not to notice, his beautiful eyes still fixed on you with that same unreadable intensity.
"I didn't expect to find anyone... out here,"he said, his voice closer now, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "this part of the woods… it's not safe for delicate things."
You raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Delicate hm? I assure you, I am quite capable of handling myself." You met his gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes. You could feel the hum of your own magic, a dormant fire beneath your skin, ready to ignite. But you kept it contained, a tightly coiled spring. He was a witch hunter. He wouldn't look at you like this if he knew.
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that softened the sharp edges of his formidable presence. "I can see that. Still, these woods hold dangers you know, witches, mostly." The word, witches, hung in the air like a curse. Your breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He couldn't know. He couldn't.
"Witches?" you repeated, feigning a lightness you didn’t feel. "Are they truly so fearsome?"
He tilted his head, his white hair catching the light like a halo."Some are... they steal, they curse, they bring ruin. Others… they hide in plain sight, weaving their insidious spells into the fabric of daily life." His cerulean eyes swept over you again, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made your heart pound. You held your breath, bracing yourself, but his expression remained unchanged, still that profound, almost tender admiration.
"And you,?" you asked, your voice a little huskier than you intended, "are you the one who hunts these witches?" You gestured vaguely towards his formidable attire, the glint of steel.
A slow, confident smile spread across his face, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, i am Satoru, and uh yes, i hunt them.” He extended a hand, large and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle. "And you are?"
You hesitated for only a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within you. To lie, to keep your secret, to risk everything for this strange, intoxicating connection. Or to flee, to disappear back into the shadows, to preserve your life. Your fingers, cool from the lake, brushed against his. His skin was warm, firm. A jolt, like lightning, shot through you.
You breathed and told him your name, feeling foreign on your tongue, a lie wrapped in truth.
His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a light, teasing touch that sent warmth spreading through your veins. He repeated your name, his gaze never leaving yours. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
You spent the rest of the afternoon with him, the hours dissolving into a timeless space. He spoke of his travels, of villages he’d saved, of the darkness he purged. You listened, your heart a tangled knot of fascination and fear. He was a force of nature, a living legend, and you, a witch, sat beside him, sharing stories, sharing laughter. You spoke of the forest, of the healing herbs you knew, of the quiet beauty you found in the world. You carefully omitted any mention of the magic that made these things possible, of the spells that brought life back to wilting plants, of the whispers you heard from the ancient trees.
He watched you, always watched you, with an intensity that both captivated and unnerved. When your hands brushed as you reached for a wild berry, a spark ignited. When your eyes met across the small fire you’d built, a silent conversation unfolded, a promise of something more. He was a hunter, a killer of your kind, yet he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever encountered. And you, a witch, found yourself drawn to him with an undeniable, dangerous pull.
Days bled into weeks. You found yourselves meeting in that same secluded spot by the lake, your secret rendezvous becoming the anchor of your lives. He would arrive, a shadow gliding through the trees, and you would be there, waiting, your heart leaping at the sight of him. You learned about his past, a childhood marked by prodigal talent and immense expectations. He spoke of the burden of his power, the loneliness of being unmatched. You, in turn, shared snippets of your life, carefully curated to obscure your true nature. You told him of your solitude, of your love for the natural world, of your desire to heal, to mend.
One evening, as the stars began to prickle the inky sky, he reached out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent tremors through your entire being. he murmured your name, his voice a low caress. "You are unlike anyone I have ever known."
You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. "And you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "you are unlike anyone I ever imagined."
His lips found yours then, soft at first, a gentle exploration. His mouth was warm, tasting of wild berries and the clean scent of the forest. You responded instantly, your body arching into his, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. The kiss deepened, a hungry, urgent thing. His tongue swept into your mouth, a bold invasion that you met with equal fervor. You tangled your fingers in his impossibly soft, white hair, pulling him closer, closer until there was no space left between you.
His hands, surprisingly deft, found the hem of your simple dress, pushing it up, up, until his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your thighs. A gasp escaped you, and he devoured it, his tongue dancing with yours, a sensual rhythm. He lifted you, effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirts riding high. The rough fabric of his trousers abraded your inner thighs, a delicious friction. He carried you to the soft moss by the lake, lowering you gently until you lay beneath him, his weight a comforting pressure.
His eyes, those startling blue orbs, peered down at you, dark with desire. "Are you sure that it's okay?" he breathed, his voice hoarse.
You reached up, cupping his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "More than sure, Satoru."
He kissed you again, a bruising, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid beneath your dress, finding the wet heat between your legs. He stroked you, slowly, deliberately, his fingers teasing your clitoris through the thin fabric of your undergarment. A moan escaped your lips, raw and untamed. You bucked against his hand, silently begging for more.
"So wet for me," he rumbled, his voice dark with pleasure. He stripped away his own clothes with surprising speed, his body, lean and powerfully muscled, revealed in the dim light. His cock, thick and heavy, sprang free, already hard and pulsing. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the impressive sight.
He shed your remaining garments with equal haste, scattering them around you like fallen petals. Your naked bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a searing heat that consumed you. His cock brushed against your slick pussy, a tantalizing promise. You squirmed, desperate for the release he offered.
"Please, S'toru" you whispered, your voice ragged.
He chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent. He looked into your eyes, a fierce tenderness there. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pushed inside, filling you completely. The stretch was immense, almost painful, but quickly transformed into an exquisite pleasure. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. He began to move, a slow, rhythmic thrusting that rocked your world.
Each push and pull sent waves of sensation through you. Your hips rose to meet his, your hands clawing at his back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. The sound of your bodies slapping together, the wet, squelching sounds of him burying himself inside you, filled the quiet night. You cried out, a primal sound, as your climax began to build, a tightening knot in your core.
He quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His balls slapped against your ass with each powerful stroke, a rhythmic thudding that intensified the pleasure. He leaned down, sucking on your neck, then your shoulder, leaving a trail of love bites. You felt his body tense, heard his groan, deep and guttural, as he emptied himself inside you, a hot, pulsing release that sent you spiraling over the edge into a shattering orgasm. Your body convulsed around his cock, milking him dry, as you cried out his name, a broken, joyful sound.
He collapsed onto you, his body heavy and sated, his breath hot against your ear. You clung to him, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. For a long moment, you simply lay there, intertwined, the world outside your embrace fading into insignificance.
The weeks turned into months. Your love for Gojo deepened, becoming an inextricable part of your being. You reveled in his touch, in his fierce protectiveness, in the quiet moments of understanding you shared. But beneath the joy, the fear festered. Your secret, a venomous seed, continued to grow, threatening to poison everything you held dear. You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that if he ever discovered the truth, it would shatter him, and likely, destroy you.
One crisp autumn morning, as the leaves painted the forest in hues of gold and crimson, you were gathering herbs, your mind lost in the comforting rhythm of the woods. A cold whisper, not of the wind, brushed against your ear.
"He's a killer, a killer of our kind. You defile yourself, sister."
You froze, your fingers clenching around a sprig of mugwort. You knew that voice. It belonged to Lyra, a witch from a distant coven, known for her rigid adherence to ancient ways and her fierce hatred of humans, especially witch hunters. You’d crossed paths with her once, years ago, and she had always viewed your gentle, healing magic as a weakness, a betrayal of your true power.
You tried to ignore her, to dismiss it as a trick of the wind, but the whisper came again, closer this time, laced with venom.
"And you hold the Serpent’s Eye, do you not? The gem of ages, hidden away with a human lover. A fool’s errand. A blasphemy!!!"
Oh yeah, you remember...The Serpent’s Eye. A legendary artifact, a gem imbued with ancient magic, said to grant its wielder unparalleled insight and protection. You had inherited it from your mother, a quiet, unassuming stone that you wore as a simple pendant, hidden beneath your clothes. It was indeed precious, a relic coveted by many, but its true power lay in its ability to enhance one’s own magical connection, not to kill.
You spun around, your heart pounding, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. "Show yourself, Lyra!!" you demanded, your voice sharp, devoid of its usual softness.
A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in robes the color of dried blood. Lyra. Her eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on you, burning with a cold fury. Her face, usually serene, was contorted into a mask of disdain.
"You shame us," she hissed, her voice a low snarl. "To lie with a hunter, to betray your blood for a human’s fleeting affections. And to hide the Serpent’s Eye from its rightful place, keeping it from those who would use its power for the good of our kind."
"My choices are my own," you retorted, your hand instinctively going to the small pouch hidden beneath your tunic, where the gem rested. "And the Serpent’s Eye is mine. My mother entrusted it to me, not to your coven’s endless pursuit of power."
"Foolish bwitch," Lyra sneered, her hand rising, her fingers twisting in the air. A faint, sickly green light began to emanate from her palm. "You will regret this. I will cleanse you of your sins, and retrieve what is ours."
Just as the green light began to coalesce into a shimmering projectile, a blur of white flashed through the trees. Satoru. He moved with impossible speed, his eyes like twin bolts of lightning. He had been tracking a faint magical signature, a whisper on the wind he’d learned to recognize as a precursor to trouble, and it had led him straight to you.
He tackled Lyra with brutal efficiency, knocking her off balance before she could unleash her spell. His sword, drawn in a single fluid motion, glinted ominously in the dappled light.
"What the hell is going on here?" Gojo's voice was a low growl, laced with a dangerous edge you had never heard directed at you. His cerulean eyes, usually so full of warmth when they looked at you, were now hard as ice, narrowed in suspicion. He held Lyra pinned to the ground, his blade poised at her throat.
Lyra, despite her predicament, laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Her eyes, still blazing with malice, flickered from you to Gojo, then back again. "Your beloved, hunter," she spat, her gaze fixed on Gojo. "She is one of us. A witch. And she carries the Serpent’s Eye, a treasure you seek to destroy. How does it feel, Gojo Satoru, to lie with the very thing you swore to eradicate?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Gojo’s head snapped towards you, his eyes wide, then narrowing into slits of utter disbelief, then cold fury. The truth, ugly and undeniable, had been laid bare.
You stood frozen, your heart plummeting to your stomach. His gaze, once filled with adoration, was now a chilling void, a betrayal so profound it physically hurt. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension, the silence louder than any scream.
He murmured your name, his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a pain so deep it made your own chest ache. It was not a question, but a plea, a desperate hope that Lyra’s words were a lie.
You couldn’t speak. Your throat was tight, choked with unspoken apologies, with years of carefully constructed deceit. Your eyes, filled with unshed tears, met his. The lie was written all over your face, in the sudden pallor of your skin, in the tremor of your hands.
Lyra, seeing her chance, twisted violently, attempting to break free. Gojo, his focus momentarily shattered by your confession, faltered. She lashed out with a surge of green energy, catching him on the arm. He cried out, stumbling back, his grip on his sword momentarily loosening.
"Run!" Lyra shrieked, scrambling to her feet, her gaze still fixed on you with that terrifying possessiveness. "Run before he kills you!"
But you didn’t run. You couldn’t. Your eyes were locked with Gojo’s, watching the love drain from them, replaced by a cold, devastating emptiness. He looked at you as if he had never seen you before, as if you were a stranger, an enemy, a monster.
"You are.... a witch?" he finally managed, his voice devoid of emotion, flat and hollow. "All this time… you lied to me?"
The pain in his voice was a physical blow. "I never meant to hurt you, Gojo," you whispered, tears finally streaming down your face. "I love you."
"Love?" he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "What does a witch know abt love? You weave spells, you deceive. This was all a game to you, wasn’t it? To toy with me, to make a fool of me?"
"No!" you cried out, stepping forward, your hand outstretched. "It was never a game! I fell in love with you, truly. I kept my secret because I knew… I knew you would hate me. You would hunt me."
His eyes, those beautiful, endless blue eyes, narrowed. "And you were right, weren’t you?" He raised his sword, the polished steel glinting menacingly. "I hunt witches. It’s what I do."
Lyra, seeing the opportunity, launched another attack, a barrage of glowing green orbs aimed at Gojo. He deflected them with a swift, powerful swing of his sword, his movements sharp and precise, driven by a cold, furious energy. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of white hair and gleaming steel.
"The Serpent’s Eye!!" Lyra shrieked, her voice echoing through the trees. "Give it to me! It is our only hope!"
Gojo’s gaze snapped to your hand, to the subtle bulge beneath your tunic. His eyes widened, a new layer of understanding, and betrayal, etching itself onto his face. "The Serpent’s Eye?" he murmured, his voice laced with venom. "You possess an artifact, and you hide it while pretending to be a simple healer?"
"I-it’s not what you think!" you pleaded, tears blurring your vision. "Satoru, please hear me out!"
But he wasn’t listening. His jaw was set, his expression grim. He was no longer the man who had looked at you with adoration. He was the witch hunter, cold and unwavering.
Lyra, meanwhile, pressed her attack, forcing Gojo to focus on her. She moved with a surprising agility, but you were faster. You didn't hesitate, pulling Gojo out of her trajectory and shielding him with your own body.
He froze, a rare flicker of genuine shock crossing his features as he looked at you. "Huh..." Lyra spat, her voice jagged with malice. "You really think you can protect him? He’ll kill you the second he’s done with me!!!"
The threat was white noise. You didn't even turn to look at her. Instead, you reached up, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. Your vision blurred with tears that finally broke, spilling over as you searched his eyes. "Satoru... please... look at me," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. "I’m sorry... I'm so sorry."
He stared down at you, the usual cold brilliance of his gaze softening into something heavy— pity, perhaps, or a realization he wasn't ready to face. He opened his mouth to speak, his expression wavering, but the moment was shattered as Lyra swung for his blind side.
Satoru didn't even look at her. With a fluid, terrifying burst of speed, he moved. In one heartbeat, he was dodging the strike; in the next, his blade was already singing through the air. The steel slid through her neck with such precision and force that Lyra’s head fell before she could even register the killing blow. Silence followed, absolute and heavy, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the sudden quiet.
His fingers, still cupping your face, trembled almost imperceptibly. He stared at you, his beautiful blue eyes, once so certain, now swirling with a tempest of emotions, anger, confusion, regret, and a raw, undeniable love that refused to be extinguished. The air around you, thick with the scent of pine and freshly spilled blood, seemed to hum with the weight of his internal battle.
A long, shuddering breath escaped him, a sound that was more moan than sigh. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, then back up again, as if searching for an answer in their depths. He whispered your name, his voice rough, raspy, as if wrenched from the very core of his being. "I… I am sorry." The words were halting, each one a struggle, loaded with the weight of his previous accusations. "I’m so sorry for what I said. For what I thought, for… for looking at you as if you were an enemy. For doubting you, for accusing you of deception, when you were only trying to protect yourself, and… and me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight against his powerful frame. His head dropped, resting on the crown of your head, his white hair brushing against your cheek. "The words… they were poison. And I regret every single fucking one." His voice was muffled, thick with emotion, a low groan escaping him. "Urgh… I can’t believe I almost… I almost lost you because of my own blindness."
You felt the tremor in his body, the fierce grip of his arms, and a wave of profound relief washed over you. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him– leather, steel, and his unique, intoxicating musk. You tightened your arms around his waist, holding him just as fiercely.
"No, Satoru.." you whispered, your voice still a little shaky, but filled with an overwhelming sense of peace. "Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. All of it… it was mine." You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his face, your eyes meeting his. "I kept it from you. I lied by omission, every single day. I was so afraid of losing you, of seeing that look of hatred in your eyes, that I built a wall of secrets between us." A fresh tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.
"I understand why you reacted the way you did. You had every right to be angry, to feel betrayed. I put you in an impossible position."
He shook his head slowly, his jaw tight. "No, no, there is no excuse for my words. For my immediate judgment. For the way I let my preconceived notions… my training… blind me to the truth of you." He pulled you back into a tight embrace, pressing his face into your hair. "I saw you protect me. I saw your magic, and it was actually... beautiful. Radiant. And I still turned on you." A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of self-loathing. "How could I? how could I have ever thought… that you were evil? That you were anything but pure?"
You felt the warmth of his breath against your scalp, the strong beat of his heart against your cheek. "You were raised to believe witches are evil, Satoru. It’s ingrained in you. To expect you to shed that in an instant, especially when faced with such a stark revelation… that’s unfair." You gently stroked his back, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his tunic. "I forgive you. Truly. My love for you never wavered, not even when your eyes were full of fire."
He pulled away again, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs gently caressing your skin. His eyes, though still intense, held a newfound vulnerability. "But I cannot forgive myself," His voice was barely a whisper, filled with a raw, aching pain. "to have hurt you like that… to have questioned your very essence… I am the one who needs forgiveness, and I don’t know if I can ever grant it to myself." A tear, cold and crystalline, traced a path down his own cheek, a stark contrast to his fierce demeanor. "Hnngh… The thought of what I nearly did, what I nearly became in that moment… it sickens me."
You reached up, your fingers wiping away his tear, then cupping his jaw. "Then let me help you," you murmured, your gaze unwavering. "Let me show you that your heart is not stained. Let me show you that love can heal even the deepest wounds." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a gentle promise. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of understanding, of a love that had weathered a storm and emerged, battered but unbroken, into a fragile, uncertain dawn.
He groaned softly into the kiss, a sound of profound relief mixed with lingering self-reproach. His arms tightened around you once more, pulling you flush against him, as if he could absorb your forgiveness through sheer proximity. "My world," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, "it’s… it’s been turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew. Everything I believed in." He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing still a little ragged. "But you… you are still here. And that is all that matters." His grip on you was almost desperate, a silent testament to the fear he had felt, the terror of truly losing you. The greatest witch hunter, the prodigy, blessed by gods, was utterly, heartbreakingly human in this moment, grappling with a truth that shattered his very foundation. And in his vulnerability, in his struggle to reconcile his past with his present, you saw not weakness, but a profound strength, a love deep enough to challenge a lifetime of ingrained belief.
n: thankyou for reading!! this one might be one of the fics i enjoyed writing the most 🪷
✧ A witch falling in love with the most known and feared witch hunter? it is the most dangerous thing that ever happened to you... So, why not keep it to him? as long as he doesn't know anything, everything will be fine... right?
The forest breathed around you, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls. Sunlight, fractured by the ancient canopy, dappled the moss-covered stones lining the small, secluded lake. The water, cool and clear, kissed your skin as you submerged yourself, the day’s dust and the weight of your hidden life washing away. You hummed a soft, wordless tune, a melody born of the earth, as you scrubbed your arms, the scent of wild mint and damp soil clinging to the air. Your fingers traced the curve of your collarbone, then moved lower, feeling the gentle swell of your chest, the flat plane of your stomach. Peace, fleeting and precious, enveloped you.
A sudden stillness descended, not just in the forest, but within you. The rustling paused, the birdsong hushed. A prickle, like static electricity, danced on your skin. You were not alone. Your eyes, sharp despite their soft appearance, darted to the treeline. There, bathed in a shaft of light, stood a man.
He was a vision, a stark contrast to the wildness around him. His hair was stark white, seemed spun from moonlight. Eyes, a startling cerulean, held the depth of an endless sky, intense and unwavering as they fixed on you. His frame, tall and lean, exuded an almost predatory grace, yet his posture was relaxed, a hand resting lightly on the h hilt of a sheathed blade at his hip. A long, dark coat, heavy with intricate silver embroidery, covered his broad shoulders, and the faint glint of chainmail peeked from beneath.
He watched you, not with the leering hunger you’d grown accustomed to from men in villages or anywhere you go, but with something else entirely— a profound admiration, a quiet awe that made your own heart skip. It was as if he saw not just your naked form, but the very essence of you, laid bare.
A slow smile blossomed on your lips, unbidden. You felt no shame, no fear, only a strange pull, an undeniable curiosity. The water rippled as you began to move, gliding towards the shore. Your bare feet found purchase on the silty bank, pulling your body from the cool embrace of the lake. The water sluiced from your skin, glistening in the light, tracing paths down your chest, over your belly, between your thighs. You did not break eye contact with him, an unspoken understanding passing between you in the silent forest. He did not move, did not speak, only watched as you reached for the simple linen shift you'd left draped over a low-hanging branch.
"morning," your voice, soft as a forest whisper, carried easily across the space separating you. You pulled the shift over your head, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. His gaze remained, a silent intensity that both thrilled and unsettled you.
"wellll, it is now," his voice, deep and resonant, finally broke the quiet. It was a sound that vibrated through the air, stirring something primal within you. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between you. He moved with an effortless grace, each step deliberate, yet fluid.
You noticed the intricate, almost ceremonial, quality of his armor and weapons, the symbols etched into the leather of his gauntlets. A witch hunter. The realization hit you like a sudden chill, despite the warmth of the sun. Your carefully guarded secret, your very identity, screamed silently within you. Your smile faltered, a flicker of hesitation crossing your features, but he seemed not to notice, his beautiful eyes still fixed on you with that same unreadable intensity.
"I didn't expect to find anyone... out here,"he said, his voice closer now, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "this part of the woods… it's not safe for delicate things."
You raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Delicate hm? I assure you, I am quite capable of handling myself." You met his gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes. You could feel the hum of your own magic, a dormant fire beneath your skin, ready to ignite. But you kept it contained, a tightly coiled spring. He was a witch hunter. He wouldn't look at you like this if he knew.
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that softened the sharp edges of his formidable presence. "I can see that. Still, these woods hold dangers you know, witches, mostly." The word, witches, hung in the air like a curse. Your breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He couldn't know. He couldn't.
"Witches?" you repeated, feigning a lightness you didn’t feel. "Are they truly so fearsome?"
He tilted his head, his white hair catching the light like a halo."Some are... they steal, they curse, they bring ruin. Others… they hide in plain sight, weaving their insidious spells into the fabric of daily life." His cerulean eyes swept over you again, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made your heart pound. You held your breath, bracing yourself, but his expression remained unchanged, still that profound, almost tender admiration.
"And you,?" you asked, your voice a little huskier than you intended, "are you the one who hunts these witches?" You gestured vaguely towards his formidable attire, the glint of steel.
A slow, confident smile spread across his face, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, i am Satoru, and uh yes, i hunt them.” He extended a hand, large and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle. "And you are?"
You hesitated for only a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within you. To lie, to keep your secret, to risk everything for this strange, intoxicating connection. Or to flee, to disappear back into the shadows, to preserve your life. Your fingers, cool from the lake, brushed against his. His skin was warm, firm. A jolt, like lightning, shot through you.
You breathed and told him your name, feeling foreign on your tongue, a lie wrapped in truth.
His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a light, teasing touch that sent warmth spreading through your veins. He repeated your name, his gaze never leaving yours. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
You spent the rest of the afternoon with him, the hours dissolving into a timeless space. He spoke of his travels, of villages he’d saved, of the darkness he purged. You listened, your heart a tangled knot of fascination and fear. He was a force of nature, a living legend, and you, a witch, sat beside him, sharing stories, sharing laughter. You spoke of the forest, of the healing herbs you knew, of the quiet beauty you found in the world. You carefully omitted any mention of the magic that made these things possible, of the spells that brought life back to wilting plants, of the whispers you heard from the ancient trees.
He watched you, always watched you, with an intensity that both captivated and unnerved. When your hands brushed as you reached for a wild berry, a spark ignited. When your eyes met across the small fire you’d built, a silent conversation unfolded, a promise of something more. He was a hunter, a killer of your kind, yet he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever encountered. And you, a witch, found yourself drawn to him with an undeniable, dangerous pull.
Days bled into weeks. You found yourselves meeting in that same secluded spot by the lake, your secret rendezvous becoming the anchor of your lives. He would arrive, a shadow gliding through the trees, and you would be there, waiting, your heart leaping at the sight of him. You learned about his past, a childhood marked by prodigal talent and immense expectations. He spoke of the burden of his power, the loneliness of being unmatched. You, in turn, shared snippets of your life, carefully curated to obscure your true nature. You told him of your solitude, of your love for the natural world, of your desire to heal, to mend.
One evening, as the stars began to prickle the inky sky, he reached out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent tremors through your entire being. he murmured your name, his voice a low caress. "You are unlike anyone I have ever known."
You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. "And you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "you are unlike anyone I ever imagined."
His lips found yours then, soft at first, a gentle exploration. His mouth was warm, tasting of wild berries and the clean scent of the forest. You responded instantly, your body arching into his, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. The kiss deepened, a hungry, urgent thing. His tongue swept into your mouth, a bold invasion that you met with equal fervor. You tangled your fingers in his impossibly soft, white hair, pulling him closer, closer until there was no space left between you.
His hands, surprisingly deft, found the hem of your simple dress, pushing it up, up, until his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your thighs. A gasp escaped you, and he devoured it, his tongue dancing with yours, a sensual rhythm. He lifted you, effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirts riding high. The rough fabric of his trousers abraded your inner thighs, a delicious friction. He carried you to the soft moss by the lake, lowering you gently until you lay beneath him, his weight a comforting pressure.
His eyes, those startling blue orbs, peered down at you, dark with desire. "Are you sure that it's okay?" he breathed, his voice hoarse.
You reached up, cupping his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "More than sure, Satoru."
He kissed you again, a bruising, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid beneath your dress, finding the wet heat between your legs. He stroked you, slowly, deliberately, his fingers teasing your clitoris through the thin fabric of your undergarment. A moan escaped your lips, raw and untamed. You bucked against his hand, silently begging for more.
"So wet for me," he rumbled, his voice dark with pleasure. He stripped away his own clothes with surprising speed, his body, lean and powerfully muscled, revealed in the dim light. His cock, thick and heavy, sprang free, already hard and pulsing. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the impressive sight.
He shed your remaining garments with equal haste, scattering them around you like fallen petals. Your naked bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a searing heat that consumed you. His cock brushed against your slick pussy, a tantalizing promise. You squirmed, desperate for the release he offered.
"Please, S'toru" you whispered, your voice ragged.
He chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent. He looked into your eyes, a fierce tenderness there. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pushed inside, filling you completely. The stretch was immense, almost painful, but quickly transformed into an exquisite pleasure. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. He began to move, a slow, rhythmic thrusting that rocked your world.
Each push and pull sent waves of sensation through you. Your hips rose to meet his, your hands clawing at his back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. The sound of your bodies slapping together, the wet, squelching sounds of him burying himself inside you, filled the quiet night. You cried out, a primal sound, as your climax began to build, a tightening knot in your core.
He quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His balls slapped against your ass with each powerful stroke, a rhythmic thudding that intensified the pleasure. He leaned down, sucking on your neck, then your shoulder, leaving a trail of love bites. You felt his body tense, heard his groan, deep and guttural, as he emptied himself inside you, a hot, pulsing release that sent you spiraling over the edge into a shattering orgasm. Your body convulsed around his cock, milking him dry, as you cried out his name, a broken, joyful sound.
He collapsed onto you, his body heavy and sated, his breath hot against your ear. You clung to him, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. For a long moment, you simply lay there, intertwined, the world outside your embrace fading into insignificance.
The weeks turned into months. Your love for Gojo deepened, becoming an inextricable part of your being. You reveled in his touch, in his fierce protectiveness, in the quiet moments of understanding you shared. But beneath the joy, the fear festered. Your secret, a venomous seed, continued to grow, threatening to poison everything you held dear. You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that if he ever discovered the truth, it would shatter him, and likely, destroy you.
One crisp autumn morning, as the leaves painted the forest in hues of gold and crimson, you were gathering herbs, your mind lost in the comforting rhythm of the woods. A cold whisper, not of the wind, brushed against your ear.
"He's a killer, a killer of our kind. You defile yourself, sister."
You froze, your fingers clenching around a sprig of mugwort. You knew that voice. It belonged to Lyra, a witch from a distant coven, known for her rigid adherence to ancient ways and her fierce hatred of humans, especially witch hunters. You’d crossed paths with her once, years ago, and she had always viewed your gentle, healing magic as a weakness, a betrayal of your true power.
You tried to ignore her, to dismiss it as a trick of the wind, but the whisper came again, closer this time, laced with venom.
"And you hold the Serpent’s Eye, do you not? The gem of ages, hidden away with a human lover. A fool’s errand. A blasphemy!!!"
Oh yeah, you remember...The Serpent’s Eye. A legendary artifact, a gem imbued with ancient magic, said to grant its wielder unparalleled insight and protection. You had inherited it from your mother, a quiet, unassuming stone that you wore as a simple pendant, hidden beneath your clothes. It was indeed precious, a relic coveted by many, but its true power lay in its ability to enhance one’s own magical connection, not to kill.
You spun around, your heart pounding, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. "Show yourself, Lyra!!" you demanded, your voice sharp, devoid of its usual softness.
A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in robes the color of dried blood. Lyra. Her eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on you, burning with a cold fury. Her face, usually serene, was contorted into a mask of disdain.
"You shame us," she hissed, her voice a low snarl. "To lie with a hunter, to betray your blood for a human’s fleeting affections. And to hide the Serpent’s Eye from its rightful place, keeping it from those who would use its power for the good of our kind."
"My choices are my own," you retorted, your hand instinctively going to the small pouch hidden beneath your tunic, where the gem rested. "And the Serpent’s Eye is mine. My mother entrusted it to me, not to your coven’s endless pursuit of power."
"Foolish bwitch," Lyra sneered, her hand rising, her fingers twisting in the air. A faint, sickly green light began to emanate from her palm. "You will regret this. I will cleanse you of your sins, and retrieve what is ours."
Just as the green light began to coalesce into a shimmering projectile, a blur of white flashed through the trees. Satoru. He moved with impossible speed, his eyes like twin bolts of lightning. He had been tracking a faint magical signature, a whisper on the wind he’d learned to recognize as a precursor to trouble, and it had led him straight to you.
He tackled Lyra with brutal efficiency, knocking her off balance before she could unleash her spell. His sword, drawn in a single fluid motion, glinted ominously in the dappled light.
"What the hell is going on here?" Gojo's voice was a low growl, laced with a dangerous edge you had never heard directed at you. His cerulean eyes, usually so full of warmth when they looked at you, were now hard as ice, narrowed in suspicion. He held Lyra pinned to the ground, his blade poised at her throat.
Lyra, despite her predicament, laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Her eyes, still blazing with malice, flickered from you to Gojo, then back again. "Your beloved, hunter," she spat, her gaze fixed on Gojo. "She is one of us. A witch. And she carries the Serpent’s Eye, a treasure you seek to destroy. How does it feel, Gojo Satoru, to lie with the very thing you swore to eradicate?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Gojo’s head snapped towards you, his eyes wide, then narrowing into slits of utter disbelief, then cold fury. The truth, ugly and undeniable, had been laid bare.
You stood frozen, your heart plummeting to your stomach. His gaze, once filled with adoration, was now a chilling void, a betrayal so profound it physically hurt. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension, the silence louder than any scream.
He murmured your name, his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a pain so deep it made your own chest ache. It was not a question, but a plea, a desperate hope that Lyra’s words were a lie.
You couldn’t speak. Your throat was tight, choked with unspoken apologies, with years of carefully constructed deceit. Your eyes, filled with unshed tears, met his. The lie was written all over your face, in the sudden pallor of your skin, in the tremor of your hands.
Lyra, seeing her chance, twisted violently, attempting to break free. Gojo, his focus momentarily shattered by your confession, faltered. She lashed out with a surge of green energy, catching him on the arm. He cried out, stumbling back, his grip on his sword momentarily loosening.
"Run!" Lyra shrieked, scrambling to her feet, her gaze still fixed on you with that terrifying possessiveness. "Run before he kills you!"
But you didn’t run. You couldn’t. Your eyes were locked with Gojo’s, watching the love drain from them, replaced by a cold, devastating emptiness. He looked at you as if he had never seen you before, as if you were a stranger, an enemy, a monster.
"You are.... a witch?" he finally managed, his voice devoid of emotion, flat and hollow. "All this time… you lied to me?"
The pain in his voice was a physical blow. "I never meant to hurt you, Gojo," you whispered, tears finally streaming down your face. "I love you."
"Love?" he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "What does a witch know abt love? You weave spells, you deceive. This was all a game to you, wasn’t it? To toy with me, to make a fool of me?"
"No!" you cried out, stepping forward, your hand outstretched. "It was never a game! I fell in love with you, truly. I kept my secret because I knew… I knew you would hate me. You would hunt me."
His eyes, those beautiful, endless blue eyes, narrowed. "And you were right, weren’t you?" He raised his sword, the polished steel glinting menacingly. "I hunt witches. It’s what I do."
Lyra, seeing the opportunity, launched another attack, a barrage of glowing green orbs aimed at Gojo. He deflected them with a swift, powerful swing of his sword, his movements sharp and precise, driven by a cold, furious energy. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of white hair and gleaming steel.
"The Serpent’s Eye!!" Lyra shrieked, her voice echoing through the trees. "Give it to me! It is our only hope!"
Gojo’s gaze snapped to your hand, to the subtle bulge beneath your tunic. His eyes widened, a new layer of understanding, and betrayal, etching itself onto his face. "The Serpent’s Eye?" he murmured, his voice laced with venom. "You possess an artifact, and you hide it while pretending to be a simple healer?"
"I-it’s not what you think!" you pleaded, tears blurring your vision. "Satoru, please hear me out!"
But he wasn’t listening. His jaw was set, his expression grim. He was no longer the man who had looked at you with adoration. He was the witch hunter, cold and unwavering.
Lyra, meanwhile, pressed her attack, forcing Gojo to focus on her. She moved with a surprising agility, but you were faster. You didn't hesitate, pulling Gojo out of her trajectory and shielding him with your own body.
He froze, a rare flicker of genuine shock crossing his features as he looked at you. "Huh..." Lyra spat, her voice jagged with malice. "You really think you can protect him? He’ll kill you the second he’s done with me!!!"
The threat was white noise. You didn't even turn to look at her. Instead, you reached up, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. Your vision blurred with tears that finally broke, spilling over as you searched his eyes. "Satoru... please... look at me," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. "I’m sorry... I'm so sorry."
He stared down at you, the usual cold brilliance of his gaze softening into something heavy— pity, perhaps, or a realization he wasn't ready to face. He opened his mouth to speak, his expression wavering, but the moment was shattered as Lyra swung for his blind side.
Satoru didn't even look at her. With a fluid, terrifying burst of speed, he moved. In one heartbeat, he was dodging the strike; in the next, his blade was already singing through the air. The steel slid through her neck with such precision and force that Lyra’s head fell before she could even register the killing blow. Silence followed, absolute and heavy, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the sudden quiet.
His fingers, still cupping your face, trembled almost imperceptibly. He stared at you, his beautiful blue eyes, once so certain, now swirling with a tempest of emotions, anger, confusion, regret, and a raw, undeniable love that refused to be extinguished. The air around you, thick with the scent of pine and freshly spilled blood, seemed to hum with the weight of his internal battle.
A long, shuddering breath escaped him, a sound that was more moan than sigh. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, then back up again, as if searching for an answer in their depths. He whispered your name, his voice rough, raspy, as if wrenched from the very core of his being. "I… I am sorry." The words were halting, each one a struggle, loaded with the weight of his previous accusations. "I’m so sorry for what I said. For what I thought, for… for looking at you as if you were an enemy. For doubting you, for accusing you of deception, when you were only trying to protect yourself, and… and me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight against his powerful frame. His head dropped, resting on the crown of your head, his white hair brushing against your cheek. "The words… they were poison. And I regret every single fucking one." His voice was muffled, thick with emotion, a low groan escaping him. "Urgh… I can’t believe I almost… I almost lost you because of my own blindness."
You felt the tremor in his body, the fierce grip of his arms, and a wave of profound relief washed over you. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him– leather, steel, and his unique, intoxicating musk. You tightened your arms around his waist, holding him just as fiercely.
"No, Satoru.." you whispered, your voice still a little shaky, but filled with an overwhelming sense of peace. "Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. All of it… it was mine." You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his face, your eyes meeting his. "I kept it from you. I lied by omission, every single day. I was so afraid of losing you, of seeing that look of hatred in your eyes, that I built a wall of secrets between us." A fresh tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.
"I understand why you reacted the way you did. You had every right to be angry, to feel betrayed. I put you in an impossible position."
He shook his head slowly, his jaw tight. "No, no, there is no excuse for my words. For my immediate judgment. For the way I let my preconceived notions… my training… blind me to the truth of you." He pulled you back into a tight embrace, pressing his face into your hair. "I saw you protect me. I saw your magic, and it was actually... beautiful. Radiant. And I still turned on you." A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of self-loathing. "How could I? how could I have ever thought… that you were evil? That you were anything but pure?"
You felt the warmth of his breath against your scalp, the strong beat of his heart against your cheek. "You were raised to believe witches are evil, Satoru. It’s ingrained in you. To expect you to shed that in an instant, especially when faced with such a stark revelation… that’s unfair." You gently stroked his back, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his tunic. "I forgive you. Truly. My love for you never wavered, not even when your eyes were full of fire."
He pulled away again, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs gently caressing your skin. His eyes, though still intense, held a newfound vulnerability. "But I cannot forgive myself," His voice was barely a whisper, filled with a raw, aching pain. "to have hurt you like that… to have questioned your very essence… I am the one who needs forgiveness, and I don’t know if I can ever grant it to myself." A tear, cold and crystalline, traced a path down his own cheek, a stark contrast to his fierce demeanor. "Hnngh… The thought of what I nearly did, what I nearly became in that moment… it sickens me."
You reached up, your fingers wiping away his tear, then cupping his jaw. "Then let me help you," you murmured, your gaze unwavering. "Let me show you that your heart is not stained. Let me show you that love can heal even the deepest wounds." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a gentle promise. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of understanding, of a love that had weathered a storm and emerged, battered but unbroken, into a fragile, uncertain dawn.
He groaned softly into the kiss, a sound of profound relief mixed with lingering self-reproach. His arms tightened around you once more, pulling you flush against him, as if he could absorb your forgiveness through sheer proximity. "My world," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, "it’s… it’s been turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew. Everything I believed in." He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing still a little ragged. "But you… you are still here. And that is all that matters." His grip on you was almost desperate, a silent testament to the fear he had felt, the terror of truly losing you. The greatest witch hunter, the prodigy, blessed by gods, was utterly, heartbreakingly human in this moment, grappling with a truth that shattered his very foundation. And in his vulnerability, in his struggle to reconcile his past with his present, you saw not weakness, but a profound strength, a love deep enough to challenge a lifetime of ingrained belief.
n: thankyou for reading!! this one might be one of the fics i enjoyed writing the most 🪷
✧ A witch falling in love with the most known and feared witch hunter? it is the most dangerous thing that ever happened to you... So, why not keep it to him? as long as he doesn't know anything, everything will be fine... right?
The forest breathed around you, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls. Sunlight, fractured by the ancient canopy, dappled the moss-covered stones lining the small, secluded lake. The water, cool and clear, kissed your skin as you submerged yourself, the day’s dust and the weight of your hidden life washing away. You hummed a soft, wordless tune, a melody born of the earth, as you scrubbed your arms, the scent of wild mint and damp soil clinging to the air. Your fingers traced the curve of your collarbone, then moved lower, feeling the gentle swell of your chest, the flat plane of your stomach. Peace, fleeting and precious, enveloped you.
A sudden stillness descended, not just in the forest, but within you. The rustling paused, the birdsong hushed. A prickle, like static electricity, danced on your skin. You were not alone. Your eyes, sharp despite their soft appearance, darted to the treeline. There, bathed in a shaft of light, stood a man.
He was a vision, a stark contrast to the wildness around him. His hair was stark white, seemed spun from moonlight. Eyes, a startling cerulean, held the depth of an endless sky, intense and unwavering as they fixed on you. His frame, tall and lean, exuded an almost predatory grace, yet his posture was relaxed, a hand resting lightly on the h hilt of a sheathed blade at his hip. A long, dark coat, heavy with intricate silver embroidery, covered his broad shoulders, and the faint glint of chainmail peeked from beneath.
He watched you, not with the leering hunger you’d grown accustomed to from men in villages or anywhere you go, but with something else entirely— a profound admiration, a quiet awe that made your own heart skip. It was as if he saw not just your naked form, but the very essence of you, laid bare.
A slow smile blossomed on your lips, unbidden. You felt no shame, no fear, only a strange pull, an undeniable curiosity. The water rippled as you began to move, gliding towards the shore. Your bare feet found purchase on the silty bank, pulling your body from the cool embrace of the lake. The water sluiced from your skin, glistening in the light, tracing paths down your chest, over your belly, between your thighs. You did not break eye contact with him, an unspoken understanding passing between you in the silent forest. He did not move, did not speak, only watched as you reached for the simple linen shift you'd left draped over a low-hanging branch.
"morning," your voice, soft as a forest whisper, carried easily across the space separating you. You pulled the shift over your head, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. His gaze remained, a silent intensity that both thrilled and unsettled you.
"wellll, it is now," his voice, deep and resonant, finally broke the quiet. It was a sound that vibrated through the air, stirring something primal within you. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between you. He moved with an effortless grace, each step deliberate, yet fluid.
You noticed the intricate, almost ceremonial, quality of his armor and weapons, the symbols etched into the leather of his gauntlets. A witch hunter. The realization hit you like a sudden chill, despite the warmth of the sun. Your carefully guarded secret, your very identity, screamed silently within you. Your smile faltered, a flicker of hesitation crossing your features, but he seemed not to notice, his beautiful eyes still fixed on you with that same unreadable intensity.
"I didn't expect to find anyone... out here,"he said, his voice closer now, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "this part of the woods… it's not safe for delicate things."
You raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Delicate hm? I assure you, I am quite capable of handling myself." You met his gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes. You could feel the hum of your own magic, a dormant fire beneath your skin, ready to ignite. But you kept it contained, a tightly coiled spring. He was a witch hunter. He wouldn't look at you like this if he knew.
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that softened the sharp edges of his formidable presence. "I can see that. Still, these woods hold dangers you know, witches, mostly." The word, witches, hung in the air like a curse. Your breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He couldn't know. He couldn't.
"Witches?" you repeated, feigning a lightness you didn’t feel. "Are they truly so fearsome?"
He tilted his head, his white hair catching the light like a halo."Some are... they steal, they curse, they bring ruin. Others… they hide in plain sight, weaving their insidious spells into the fabric of daily life." His cerulean eyes swept over you again, a slow, deliberate appraisal that made your heart pound. You held your breath, bracing yourself, but his expression remained unchanged, still that profound, almost tender admiration.
"And you,?" you asked, your voice a little huskier than you intended, "are you the one who hunts these witches?" You gestured vaguely towards his formidable attire, the glint of steel.
A slow, confident smile spread across his face, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, i am Satoru, and uh yes, i hunt them.” He extended a hand, large and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle. "And you are?"
You hesitated for only a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within you. To lie, to keep your secret, to risk everything for this strange, intoxicating connection. Or to flee, to disappear back into the shadows, to preserve your life. Your fingers, cool from the lake, brushed against his. His skin was warm, firm. A jolt, like lightning, shot through you.
You breathed and told him your name, feeling foreign on your tongue, a lie wrapped in truth.
His thumb stroked the back of your hand, a light, teasing touch that sent warmth spreading through your veins. He repeated your name, his gaze never leaving yours. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
You spent the rest of the afternoon with him, the hours dissolving into a timeless space. He spoke of his travels, of villages he’d saved, of the darkness he purged. You listened, your heart a tangled knot of fascination and fear. He was a force of nature, a living legend, and you, a witch, sat beside him, sharing stories, sharing laughter. You spoke of the forest, of the healing herbs you knew, of the quiet beauty you found in the world. You carefully omitted any mention of the magic that made these things possible, of the spells that brought life back to wilting plants, of the whispers you heard from the ancient trees.
He watched you, always watched you, with an intensity that both captivated and unnerved. When your hands brushed as you reached for a wild berry, a spark ignited. When your eyes met across the small fire you’d built, a silent conversation unfolded, a promise of something more. He was a hunter, a killer of your kind, yet he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever encountered. And you, a witch, found yourself drawn to him with an undeniable, dangerous pull.
Days bled into weeks. You found yourselves meeting in that same secluded spot by the lake, your secret rendezvous becoming the anchor of your lives. He would arrive, a shadow gliding through the trees, and you would be there, waiting, your heart leaping at the sight of him. You learned about his past, a childhood marked by prodigal talent and immense expectations. He spoke of the burden of his power, the loneliness of being unmatched. You, in turn, shared snippets of your life, carefully curated to obscure your true nature. You told him of your solitude, of your love for the natural world, of your desire to heal, to mend.
One evening, as the stars began to prickle the inky sky, he reached out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent tremors through your entire being. he murmured your name, his voice a low caress. "You are unlike anyone I have ever known."
You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. "And you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "you are unlike anyone I ever imagined."
His lips found yours then, soft at first, a gentle exploration. His mouth was warm, tasting of wild berries and the clean scent of the forest. You responded instantly, your body arching into his, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. The kiss deepened, a hungry, urgent thing. His tongue swept into your mouth, a bold invasion that you met with equal fervor. You tangled your fingers in his impossibly soft, white hair, pulling him closer, closer until there was no space left between you.
His hands, surprisingly deft, found the hem of your simple dress, pushing it up, up, until his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your thighs. A gasp escaped you, and he devoured it, his tongue dancing with yours, a sensual rhythm. He lifted you, effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirts riding high. The rough fabric of his trousers abraded your inner thighs, a delicious friction. He carried you to the soft moss by the lake, lowering you gently until you lay beneath him, his weight a comforting pressure.
His eyes, those startling blue orbs, peered down at you, dark with desire. "Are you sure that it's okay?" he breathed, his voice hoarse.
You reached up, cupping his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "More than sure, Satoru."
He kissed you again, a bruising, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid beneath your dress, finding the wet heat between your legs. He stroked you, slowly, deliberately, his fingers teasing your clitoris through the thin fabric of your undergarment. A moan escaped your lips, raw and untamed. You bucked against his hand, silently begging for more.
"So wet for me," he rumbled, his voice dark with pleasure. He stripped away his own clothes with surprising speed, his body, lean and powerfully muscled, revealed in the dim light. His cock, thick and heavy, sprang free, already hard and pulsing. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the impressive sight.
He shed your remaining garments with equal haste, scattering them around you like fallen petals. Your naked bodies pressed together, skin against skin, a searing heat that consumed you. His cock brushed against your slick pussy, a tantalizing promise. You squirmed, desperate for the release he offered.
"Please, S'toru" you whispered, your voice ragged.
He chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against your entrance, hot and insistent. He looked into your eyes, a fierce tenderness there. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you.
A sharp gasp tore from your throat as he pushed inside, filling you completely. The stretch was immense, almost painful, but quickly transformed into an exquisite pleasure. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. He began to move, a slow, rhythmic thrusting that rocked your world.
Each push and pull sent waves of sensation through you. Your hips rose to meet his, your hands clawing at his back, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. The sound of your bodies slapping together, the wet, squelching sounds of him burying himself inside you, filled the quiet night. You cried out, a primal sound, as your climax began to build, a tightening knot in your core.
He quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His balls slapped against your ass with each powerful stroke, a rhythmic thudding that intensified the pleasure. He leaned down, sucking on your neck, then your shoulder, leaving a trail of love bites. You felt his body tense, heard his groan, deep and guttural, as he emptied himself inside you, a hot, pulsing release that sent you spiraling over the edge into a shattering orgasm. Your body convulsed around his cock, milking him dry, as you cried out his name, a broken, joyful sound.
He collapsed onto you, his body heavy and sated, his breath hot against your ear. You clung to him, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. For a long moment, you simply lay there, intertwined, the world outside your embrace fading into insignificance.
The weeks turned into months. Your love for Gojo deepened, becoming an inextricable part of your being. You reveled in his touch, in his fierce protectiveness, in the quiet moments of understanding you shared. But beneath the joy, the fear festered. Your secret, a venomous seed, continued to grow, threatening to poison everything you held dear. You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that if he ever discovered the truth, it would shatter him, and likely, destroy you.
One crisp autumn morning, as the leaves painted the forest in hues of gold and crimson, you were gathering herbs, your mind lost in the comforting rhythm of the woods. A cold whisper, not of the wind, brushed against your ear.
"He's a killer, a killer of our kind. You defile yourself, sister."
You froze, your fingers clenching around a sprig of mugwort. You knew that voice. It belonged to Lyra, a witch from a distant coven, known for her rigid adherence to ancient ways and her fierce hatred of humans, especially witch hunters. You’d crossed paths with her once, years ago, and she had always viewed your gentle, healing magic as a weakness, a betrayal of your true power.
You tried to ignore her, to dismiss it as a trick of the wind, but the whisper came again, closer this time, laced with venom.
"And you hold the Serpent’s Eye, do you not? The gem of ages, hidden away with a human lover. A fool’s errand. A blasphemy!!!"
Oh yeah, you remember...The Serpent’s Eye. A legendary artifact, a gem imbued with ancient magic, said to grant its wielder unparalleled insight and protection. You had inherited it from your mother, a quiet, unassuming stone that you wore as a simple pendant, hidden beneath your clothes. It was indeed precious, a relic coveted by many, but its true power lay in its ability to enhance one’s own magical connection, not to kill.
You spun around, your heart pounding, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth. "Show yourself, Lyra!!" you demanded, your voice sharp, devoid of its usual softness.
A figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in robes the color of dried blood. Lyra. Her eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on you, burning with a cold fury. Her face, usually serene, was contorted into a mask of disdain.
"You shame us," she hissed, her voice a low snarl. "To lie with a hunter, to betray your blood for a human’s fleeting affections. And to hide the Serpent’s Eye from its rightful place, keeping it from those who would use its power for the good of our kind."
"My choices are my own," you retorted, your hand instinctively going to the small pouch hidden beneath your tunic, where the gem rested. "And the Serpent’s Eye is mine. My mother entrusted it to me, not to your coven’s endless pursuit of power."
"Foolish bwitch," Lyra sneered, her hand rising, her fingers twisting in the air. A faint, sickly green light began to emanate from her palm. "You will regret this. I will cleanse you of your sins, and retrieve what is ours."
Just as the green light began to coalesce into a shimmering projectile, a blur of white flashed through the trees. Satoru. He moved with impossible speed, his eyes like twin bolts of lightning. He had been tracking a faint magical signature, a whisper on the wind he’d learned to recognize as a precursor to trouble, and it had led him straight to you.
He tackled Lyra with brutal efficiency, knocking her off balance before she could unleash her spell. His sword, drawn in a single fluid motion, glinted ominously in the dappled light.
"What the hell is going on here?" Gojo's voice was a low growl, laced with a dangerous edge you had never heard directed at you. His cerulean eyes, usually so full of warmth when they looked at you, were now hard as ice, narrowed in suspicion. He held Lyra pinned to the ground, his blade poised at her throat.
Lyra, despite her predicament, laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Her eyes, still blazing with malice, flickered from you to Gojo, then back again. "Your beloved, hunter," she spat, her gaze fixed on Gojo. "She is one of us. A witch. And she carries the Serpent’s Eye, a treasure you seek to destroy. How does it feel, Gojo Satoru, to lie with the very thing you swore to eradicate?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Gojo’s head snapped towards you, his eyes wide, then narrowing into slits of utter disbelief, then cold fury. The truth, ugly and undeniable, had been laid bare.
You stood frozen, your heart plummeting to your stomach. His gaze, once filled with adoration, was now a chilling void, a betrayal so profound it physically hurt. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension, the silence louder than any scream.
He murmured your name, his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a pain so deep it made your own chest ache. It was not a question, but a plea, a desperate hope that Lyra’s words were a lie.
You couldn’t speak. Your throat was tight, choked with unspoken apologies, with years of carefully constructed deceit. Your eyes, filled with unshed tears, met his. The lie was written all over your face, in the sudden pallor of your skin, in the tremor of your hands.
Lyra, seeing her chance, twisted violently, attempting to break free. Gojo, his focus momentarily shattered by your confession, faltered. She lashed out with a surge of green energy, catching him on the arm. He cried out, stumbling back, his grip on his sword momentarily loosening.
"Run!" Lyra shrieked, scrambling to her feet, her gaze still fixed on you with that terrifying possessiveness. "Run before he kills you!"
But you didn’t run. You couldn’t. Your eyes were locked with Gojo’s, watching the love drain from them, replaced by a cold, devastating emptiness. He looked at you as if he had never seen you before, as if you were a stranger, an enemy, a monster.
"You are.... a witch?" he finally managed, his voice devoid of emotion, flat and hollow. "All this time… you lied to me?"
The pain in his voice was a physical blow. "I never meant to hurt you, Gojo," you whispered, tears finally streaming down your face. "I love you."
"Love?" he scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "What does a witch know abt love? You weave spells, you deceive. This was all a game to you, wasn’t it? To toy with me, to make a fool of me?"
"No!" you cried out, stepping forward, your hand outstretched. "It was never a game! I fell in love with you, truly. I kept my secret because I knew… I knew you would hate me. You would hunt me."
His eyes, those beautiful, endless blue eyes, narrowed. "And you were right, weren’t you?" He raised his sword, the polished steel glinting menacingly. "I hunt witches. It’s what I do."
Lyra, seeing the opportunity, launched another attack, a barrage of glowing green orbs aimed at Gojo. He deflected them with a swift, powerful swing of his sword, his movements sharp and precise, driven by a cold, furious energy. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of white hair and gleaming steel.
"The Serpent’s Eye!!" Lyra shrieked, her voice echoing through the trees. "Give it to me! It is our only hope!"
Gojo’s gaze snapped to your hand, to the subtle bulge beneath your tunic. His eyes widened, a new layer of understanding, and betrayal, etching itself onto his face. "The Serpent’s Eye?" he murmured, his voice laced with venom. "You possess an artifact, and you hide it while pretending to be a simple healer?"
"I-it’s not what you think!" you pleaded, tears blurring your vision. "Satoru, please hear me out!"
But he wasn’t listening. His jaw was set, his expression grim. He was no longer the man who had looked at you with adoration. He was the witch hunter, cold and unwavering.
Lyra, meanwhile, pressed her attack, forcing Gojo to focus on her. She moved with a surprising agility, but you were faster. You didn't hesitate, pulling Gojo out of her trajectory and shielding him with your own body.
He froze, a rare flicker of genuine shock crossing his features as he looked at you. "Huh..." Lyra spat, her voice jagged with malice. "You really think you can protect him? He’ll kill you the second he’s done with me!!!"
The threat was white noise. You didn't even turn to look at her. Instead, you reached up, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. Your vision blurred with tears that finally broke, spilling over as you searched his eyes. "Satoru... please... look at me," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. "I’m sorry... I'm so sorry."
He stared down at you, the usual cold brilliance of his gaze softening into something heavy— pity, perhaps, or a realization he wasn't ready to face. He opened his mouth to speak, his expression wavering, but the moment was shattered as Lyra swung for his blind side.
Satoru didn't even look at her. With a fluid, terrifying burst of speed, he moved. In one heartbeat, he was dodging the strike; in the next, his blade was already singing through the air. The steel slid through her neck with such precision and force that Lyra’s head fell before she could even register the killing blow. Silence followed, absolute and heavy, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing in the sudden quiet.
His fingers, still cupping your face, trembled almost imperceptibly. He stared at you, his beautiful blue eyes, once so certain, now swirling with a tempest of emotions, anger, confusion, regret, and a raw, undeniable love that refused to be extinguished. The air around you, thick with the scent of pine and freshly spilled blood, seemed to hum with the weight of his internal battle.
A long, shuddering breath escaped him, a sound that was more moan than sigh. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, then back up again, as if searching for an answer in their depths. He whispered your name, his voice rough, raspy, as if wrenched from the very core of his being. "I… I am sorry." The words were halting, each one a struggle, loaded with the weight of his previous accusations. "I’m so sorry for what I said. For what I thought, for… for looking at you as if you were an enemy. For doubting you, for accusing you of deception, when you were only trying to protect yourself, and… and me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight against his powerful frame. His head dropped, resting on the crown of your head, his white hair brushing against your cheek. "The words… they were poison. And I regret every single fucking one." His voice was muffled, thick with emotion, a low groan escaping him. "Urgh… I can’t believe I almost… I almost lost you because of my own blindness."
You felt the tremor in his body, the fierce grip of his arms, and a wave of profound relief washed over you. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him– leather, steel, and his unique, intoxicating musk. You tightened your arms around his waist, holding him just as fiercely.
"No, Satoru.." you whispered, your voice still a little shaky, but filled with an overwhelming sense of peace. "Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. All of it… it was mine." You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his face, your eyes meeting his. "I kept it from you. I lied by omission, every single day. I was so afraid of losing you, of seeing that look of hatred in your eyes, that I built a wall of secrets between us." A fresh tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.
"I understand why you reacted the way you did. You had every right to be angry, to feel betrayed. I put you in an impossible position."
He shook his head slowly, his jaw tight. "No, no, there is no excuse for my words. For my immediate judgment. For the way I let my preconceived notions… my training… blind me to the truth of you." He pulled you back into a tight embrace, pressing his face into your hair. "I saw you protect me. I saw your magic, and it was actually... beautiful. Radiant. And I still turned on you." A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of self-loathing. "How could I? how could I have ever thought… that you were evil? That you were anything but pure?"
You felt the warmth of his breath against your scalp, the strong beat of his heart against your cheek. "You were raised to believe witches are evil, Satoru. It’s ingrained in you. To expect you to shed that in an instant, especially when faced with such a stark revelation… that’s unfair." You gently stroked his back, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his tunic. "I forgive you. Truly. My love for you never wavered, not even when your eyes were full of fire."
He pulled away again, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs gently caressing your skin. His eyes, though still intense, held a newfound vulnerability. "But I cannot forgive myself," His voice was barely a whisper, filled with a raw, aching pain. "to have hurt you like that… to have questioned your very essence… I am the one who needs forgiveness, and I don’t know if I can ever grant it to myself." A tear, cold and crystalline, traced a path down his own cheek, a stark contrast to his fierce demeanor. "Hnngh… The thought of what I nearly did, what I nearly became in that moment… it sickens me."
You reached up, your fingers wiping away his tear, then cupping his jaw. "Then let me help you," you murmured, your gaze unwavering. "Let me show you that your heart is not stained. Let me show you that love can heal even the deepest wounds." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, a gentle promise. It was a kiss of forgiveness, of understanding, of a love that had weathered a storm and emerged, battered but unbroken, into a fragile, uncertain dawn.
He groaned softly into the kiss, a sound of profound relief mixed with lingering self-reproach. His arms tightened around you once more, pulling you flush against him, as if he could absorb your forgiveness through sheer proximity. "My world," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, "it’s… it’s been turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew. Everything I believed in." He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breathing still a little ragged. "But you… you are still here. And that is all that matters." His grip on you was almost desperate, a silent testament to the fear he had felt, the terror of truly losing you. The greatest witch hunter, the prodigy, blessed by gods, was utterly, heartbreakingly human in this moment, grappling with a truth that shattered his very foundation. And in his vulnerability, in his struggle to reconcile his past with his present, you saw not weakness, but a profound strength, a love deep enough to challenge a lifetime of ingrained belief.
n: thankyou for reading!! this one might be one of the fics i enjoyed writing the most 🪷
Does dating the strongest sorcerer feel tiring and exhausting? To you, maybe. Do you feel lonely sometimes whenever he gets so busy? Yes. But what's best here is that this guy, the so-called strongest would always make it up to you.
tags: fluff, angst, comfort, just sad, love, both of you love each other to the max obviously
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
The strongest sorcerer! Gojo Satoru who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but knows exactly when the silence in the room has become too heavy for you to bear.
He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He can see it in the way you're sitting, too still and too quiet, staring at a TV screen that’s been on for hours without you really watching it. He knows that talking about the distance only makes the ache sharper, so he doesn't bring it up. He just focuses on being there, filling the empty space until it feels like home again.
The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the high windows of your living room. You didn't hear him come in— he was far too good at being a ghost when he wanted to be. You only realized he was home when a pair of large, warm hands gently slid over your eyes from behind the couch.
"Guess who?" a familiar, melodic voice whispered right against your ear.
You didn't turn around immediately.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically low as he stepped into the living room. " The curtain took longer than expected... I didn't mean to leave you waiting this long"
You gave a small, weary nod, your voice barely above a breath. "I understand, it's okay, Satoru. It’s your job."
He winced. That "I understand " was like a physical blow. He could hear the quiet hurt tucked behind your words, and it made him want to tear the world apart just to fix it. He always hated when you keep on saying words like you understand or you keep on adjust for him, he wanted your smile, he wanted you happy with him. If only he could leave everything behind... But he's not yet done with his goal,
Train the younger ones and make them stronger than him, no one should get left behind.
He immediately pulled you into his lap, wrapping his long limbs around you like a giant, fluffy scarf. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin.
You leaned your head back against his chest. Satoru sighed softly, a sound of pure relief, and he didn't pull away.
"I found something on the way back," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your collarbone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out... a tiny, round frog plushie with a very judgmental expression. "He looked just like Nanami when I told him I was leaving early. I couldn't leave this tiny thing behind. it needs a home where people actually smile."
A small, traitorous huff of a laugh escaped you.
"There it is," Satoru beamed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His blindfold was pushed up, those crystalline eyes dancing with mischief. "I was worried I’d have to start doing my stand-up routine. And trust me, my 'Why did the cursed spirit cross the road' joke is physically painful."
He leaned in, kissing the tip of your nose, then each of your eyelids. "You're so beautiful when you're annoyed with me, you know? It’s a very high-tier look. Very very chic."
"I'm not annoyed," you lied softly, finally looking at him.
"Hmmmmm, liars get tickled," he warned, his fingers already hovering near your ribs. "It’s a rule that i made it up just now."
Before you could protest, he was lightly poking at your sides, making you squirm and giggle despite yourself. He kept it up until you were breathless and actually smiling, the heavy cloud that had been hanging over you finally starting to break.
He settled down then, pulling a soft blanket over both of you and tucking your head under his chin. He didn't talk about the missions or the world outside. He just held your hand, tracing the line of your engagement ring with his thumb.
"I'm here now," he whispered, his voice sweet and steady. "Let's just stay like this for a while, please. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ve got all the best snacks hidden in my bag. We’re going to stay up late and watch that terrible reality show you like, okay?"
Does dating the strongest sorcerer feel tiring and exhausting? To you, maybe. Do you feel lonely sometimes whenever he gets so busy? Yes. But what's best here is that this guy, the so-called strongest would always make it up to you.
tags: fluff, angst, comfort, just sad, love, both of you love each other to the max obviously
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
The strongest sorcerer! Gojo Satoru who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but knows exactly when the silence in the room has become too heavy for you to bear.
He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He can see it in the way you're sitting, too still and too quiet, staring at a TV screen that’s been on for hours without you really watching it. He knows that talking about the distance only makes the ache sharper, so he doesn't bring it up. He just focuses on being there, filling the empty space until it feels like home again.
The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the high windows of your living room. You didn't hear him come in— he was far too good at being a ghost when he wanted to be. You only realized he was home when a pair of large, warm hands gently slid over your eyes from behind the couch.
"Guess who?" a familiar, melodic voice whispered right against your ear.
You didn't turn around immediately.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically low as he stepped into the living room. " The curtain took longer than expected... I didn't mean to leave you waiting this long"
You gave a small, weary nod, your voice barely above a breath. "I understand, it's okay, Satoru. It’s your job."
He winced. That "I understand " was like a physical blow. He could hear the quiet hurt tucked behind your words, and it made him want to tear the world apart just to fix it. He always hated when you keep on saying words like you understand or you keep on adjust for him, he wanted your smile, he wanted you happy with him. If only he could leave everything behind... But he's not yet done with his goal,
Train the younger ones and make them stronger than him, no one should get left behind.
He immediately pulled you into his lap, wrapping his long limbs around you like a giant, fluffy scarf. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your skin.
You leaned your head back against his chest. Satoru sighed softly, a sound of pure relief, and he didn't pull away.
"I found something on the way back," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your collarbone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out... a tiny, round frog plushie with a very judgmental expression. "He looked just like Nanami when I told him I was leaving early. I couldn't leave this tiny thing behind. it needs a home where people actually smile."
A small, traitorous huff of a laugh escaped you.
"There it is," Satoru beamed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His blindfold was pushed up, those crystalline eyes dancing with mischief. "I was worried I’d have to start doing my stand-up routine. And trust me, my 'Why did the cursed spirit cross the road' joke is physically painful."
He leaned in, kissing the tip of your nose, then each of your eyelids. "You're so beautiful when you're annoyed with me, you know? It’s a very high-tier look. Very very chic."
"I'm not annoyed," you lied softly, finally looking at him.
"Hmmmmm, liars get tickled," he warned, his fingers already hovering near your ribs. "It’s a rule that i made it up just now."
Before you could protest, he was lightly poking at your sides, making you squirm and giggle despite yourself. He kept it up until you were breathless and actually smiling, the heavy cloud that had been hanging over you finally starting to break.
He settled down then, pulling a soft blanket over both of you and tucking your head under his chin. He didn't talk about the missions or the world outside. He just held your hand, tracing the line of your engagement ring with his thumb.
"I'm here now," he whispered, his voice sweet and steady. "Let's just stay like this for a while, please. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ve got all the best snacks hidden in my bag. We’re going to stay up late and watch that terrible reality show you like, okay?"
what happens to gojo after he won the fight against sukuna? what's his life like with you after the incident?
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָ🥀་༘࿐
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who wakes up every morning in a room with the curtains double-bolted, because even a sliver of natural sunlight feels like a hot needle pressing into his eyes, now permanently hypersensitive after he pushed his brain to the point of literal melting during those unlimited void clashes.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who has forgotten how to speak in full sentences, his voice raspy and thin because you spent three weeks sitting by his bed while he drifted in a feverish coma.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who is almost entirely bedridden not because his legs won't work, but because his cursed energy output is so fried that even maintaining Infinity for five minutes leaves him vomiting from the sheer neurological strain.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo flinches when you reach out to brush the hair from his forehead, not because he’s afraid of you, but because his sensory processing is so shattered that he can’t tell the difference between your gentle touch and the slashes of a blade.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo lets you feed him in silence, his blue eyes that was once so vibrant and terrifying— now looking clouded and dull.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who grabs your wrist with trembling fingers in the middle of the night, whispering your name like a prayer because he would suddenly get nightmares like almost loosing you or him dying and he won't be able to see you nor his students.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo finally won, but at the cost of the man he used to be, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a god who found out he was only human.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆
aftermath shinjuku!gojo finally lets out a long, shaky breath when you pull him into your lap, burying his face in the crook of your neck because your scent is the only thing that can quiet the static still buzzing in his Six Eyes.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo lets you brush his hair for an hour, leaning into the sensation with a purr-like hum, his overthinking finally silenced by the simple, repetitive rhythm of your care.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who pulls you down onto the bed with him, wrapping his long limbs around you like a giant, needy cat.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo watches you fall asleep against his chest and feels a surge of quiet, humble pride.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who tentatively reaches out to poke your cheek while you’re reading to him, his eyes finally clearing of that dull haze, realizing with a start that you aren't looking at him like a weapon, you’re just looking at him like your favorite person. (because he is your favorite person<3)
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who falls asleep with a small, genuine smile on his face, his fingers interlaced with yours, because he’s finally learned that being the strongest doesn't mean being alone, it means having a home to come back to.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who wakes up in the middle of the night just to make sure you're still there, and when he feels you stir and pull him closer, he realizes that he didn't just survive a fight, he survived so he could have a life with you and with every people who he cares for.
🌧️📚🕯️🤎☕
The rain drums a steady, rhythmic pulse against the window, blurring the world outside into a messy colors of greys and greens. Inside, the room is warm, smelling of vanilla candles and the faint, sharp scent of the medicinal tea you brewed earlier.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who is propped up against a mountain of pillows, his legs tangled with yours under a heavy knit blanket. He’s too tired to hold a book today, his eyes still sensitive, so he just leans his head back and listens to the soft track playing from your phone.
He watches the way your thumb traces circles on the back of his hand. He’s spent so many years being the one who provides the power he has between himself and the world, but here, in the quiet of a rainy Tuesday.
Gojo Let's out a soft, contented sigh when you reach up to his temple, your fingers grazing his temple with a familiarity that grounds him more than anything ever could. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't tense up. He simply tilts his chin, seeking more of your touch like a flower leaning toward the sun.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who breaks the silence with a voice that is finally starting to regain its honeyed warmth. "I think this is the first time I've ever actually liked the rain," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your knuckles. "Usually, it's just more noise for my head. But with you... it always sounds like peace."
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who pulls you closer until your head is resting on his chest, his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm beneath your ear. He isn't overthinking the future right now. He isn't wondering if he'll ever be "the strongest" again. He’s just focused on the weight of you against him, the sound of the rain, and the fact that he is alive, he is loved, and he is home.
He eventually drifts into a light, easy sleep, his hand never once letting go of yours, his face finally smoothed of the lines of worry and exhaustion that have defined him for months.
herro... im still trying to think on how to start the nightwing!gojo au😭 it will take me days or months, so to the person who requested it, pls bare with me 🤞🏻
what happens to gojo after he won the fight against sukuna? what's his life like with you after the incident?
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָ🥀་༘࿐
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who wakes up every morning in a room with the curtains double-bolted, because even a sliver of natural sunlight feels like a hot needle pressing into his eyes, now permanently hypersensitive after he pushed his brain to the point of literal melting during those unlimited void clashes.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who has forgotten how to speak in full sentences, his voice raspy and thin because you spent three weeks sitting by his bed while he drifted in a feverish coma.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who is almost entirely bedridden not because his legs won't work, but because his cursed energy output is so fried that even maintaining Infinity for five minutes leaves him vomiting from the sheer neurological strain.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo flinches when you reach out to brush the hair from his forehead, not because he’s afraid of you, but because his sensory processing is so shattered that he can’t tell the difference between your gentle touch and the slashes of a blade.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo lets you feed him in silence, his blue eyes that was once so vibrant and terrifying— now looking clouded and dull.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who grabs your wrist with trembling fingers in the middle of the night, whispering your name like a prayer because he would suddenly get nightmares like almost loosing you or him dying and he won't be able to see you nor his students.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo finally won, but at the cost of the man he used to be, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a god who found out he was only human.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆
aftermath shinjuku!gojo finally lets out a long, shaky breath when you pull him into your lap, burying his face in the crook of your neck because your scent is the only thing that can quiet the static still buzzing in his Six Eyes.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo lets you brush his hair for an hour, leaning into the sensation with a purr-like hum, his overthinking finally silenced by the simple, repetitive rhythm of your care.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who pulls you down onto the bed with him, wrapping his long limbs around you like a giant, needy cat.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo watches you fall asleep against his chest and feels a surge of quiet, humble pride.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who tentatively reaches out to poke your cheek while you’re reading to him, his eyes finally clearing of that dull haze, realizing with a start that you aren't looking at him like a weapon, you’re just looking at him like your favorite person. (because he is your favorite person<3)
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who falls asleep with a small, genuine smile on his face, his fingers interlaced with yours, because he’s finally learned that being the strongest doesn't mean being alone, it means having a home to come back to.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who wakes up in the middle of the night just to make sure you're still there, and when he feels you stir and pull him closer, he realizes that he didn't just survive a fight, he survived so he could have a life with you and with every people who he cares for.
🌧️📚🕯️🤎☕
The rain drums a steady, rhythmic pulse against the window, blurring the world outside into a messy colors of greys and greens. Inside, the room is warm, smelling of vanilla candles and the faint, sharp scent of the medicinal tea you brewed earlier.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who is propped up against a mountain of pillows, his legs tangled with yours under a heavy knit blanket. He’s too tired to hold a book today, his eyes still sensitive, so he just leans his head back and listens to the soft track playing from your phone.
He watches the way your thumb traces circles on the back of his hand. He’s spent so many years being the one who provides the power he has between himself and the world, but here, in the quiet of a rainy Tuesday.
Gojo Let's out a soft, contented sigh when you reach up to his temple, your fingers grazing his temple with a familiarity that grounds him more than anything ever could. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't tense up. He simply tilts his chin, seeking more of your touch like a flower leaning toward the sun.
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who breaks the silence with a voice that is finally starting to regain its honeyed warmth. "I think this is the first time I've ever actually liked the rain," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your knuckles. "Usually, it's just more noise for my head. But with you... it always sounds like peace."
aftermath shinjuku!gojo who pulls you closer until your head is resting on his chest, his heart beating a slow, steady rhythm beneath your ear. He isn't overthinking the future right now. He isn't wondering if he'll ever be "the strongest" again. He’s just focused on the weight of you against him, the sound of the rain, and the fact that he is alive, he is loved, and he is home.
He eventually drifts into a light, easy sleep, his hand never once letting go of yours, his face finally smoothed of the lines of worry and exhaustion that have defined him for months.
herro... im still trying to think on how to start the nightwing!gojo au😭 it will take me days or months, so to the person who requested it, pls bare with me 🤞🏻
