heyyy here to drop a req lmao (SORRY IN ADVANCE it's kinda long because I like it get it all out of my head Obv it's upto you to write however you like I'm 💯 sure I'll love it)
Gojo x reader fic where they are going to get married in a few months but it's arranged and gojo was not interested in marriage, he agrees because he thinks reader is the type of person to not cling or bother him. Because when they first met reader didn't look him in the eye (he had his bandaid on but still), she didn't speak much either. So gojo is always on missions and rarely comes home so reader is always alone at home, eats alone in her room too. One day when he comes to her room at night to just check on how she's doing he heard her crying. He later asks the maids and they describe an entirely new side of her to him. Reader is actually very friendly and laughs a ton, loves animals, and is super kind, the maid also tell gojo that reader mentions that gojo probably doesn't like her. Gojo is devasted because he agreed to this because he found her attractive and though he didn't know much about her he'd thought he'd ask her after his mission. So that night he calls her to his room to have dinner with him and is hesitant to bring up the issue but ends up apologizing to her. She smiles but tears up and says she's glad he doesn't dislike her. OK SO maybe all that ⬆️ but from the readers point of view not gojos or maybe third person THANK YOU LONG LIVE YOUR FICS ♥️♥️
Hiiiii. I absolutely love your request. Sorry it took me so much time to respond, I'm really stupid and didn’t know how to use Tumblr since I'm a beginner in this so I didn't see it till now. So I wrote it, I really did my best I hope you like it. I really didn't do much and based it on your lovely request. THANK YOUUUU SO MUCH 🥰🥰🥰
Gojo x fem!reader
You really loved your family and never disobeyed them. So where did that get you? Sitting in a room where they were forcing you to marry a man you barely knew.
Barely knew, because everyone in the jujutsu world knew Satoru Gojo — the strongest sorcerer alive. A man people feared, admired, worshipped even.
You agreed to it to please them, so there was no going back now. Only, you wished you had never said yes in the first place. Then maybe you wouldn’t be sitting so stiffly in your seat, hands neatly folded on your lap as they introduced you to him like some kind of offering.
To them, it was just another ordinary arrangement. Another small sorcerer clan offering up a gift — you — to one of the biggest clans in the jujutsu world.
You couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him, far too intimidated by his presence alone. You had heard the stories, just like everyone else. The strongest. Untouchable. Almost godlike.
With a little luck, he would reject the offer, and you’d never have to see him again.
“It’s a deal then,” he said lazily. “I don’t wanna waste time with wedding crap, though. My time’s precious.”
You heart stopped.
That was it?
No hesitation. No refusal.
Slowly, you finally looked up at him, only to freeze when the black blindfold covering his eyes turned in your direction. Even without seeing them, you could feel his gaze on you. Heavy. Unavoidable.
Satoru Gojo leaned back carelessly in his chair, one arm resting against the armrest as if this entire discussion bored him to death. Yet despite the relaxed posture, his presence filled the whole room with suffocating ease.
And somehow, from today onward, you were supposed to become his wife.
Ever since that day, everything had moved terrifyingly fast. One minute, you were meeting him for the first time — staying silent through the entire conversation because your shyness was truly something else — and the next, the two of you were being dragged through a rushed ceremony just to make the marriage official.
Then, in the blink of an eye, you were sent away to live with a complete stranger.
No — not just a stranger.
Satoru Gojo.
The strongest sorcerer alive. Your husband.
Even thinking about it made your stomach twist nervously. You still barely knew anything about him besides the rumors whispered throughout the jujutsu world. That he was arrogant. Overpowered. Impossible to control.
And now you were expected to share a home with him as if this was all completely normal.
You and your suitcases were welcomed by maids the moment you arrived. They quickly began helping you move in, carefully unpacking your belongings as if you already belonged there.
Feeling guilty just standing around, you insisted on helping them since they were your things to begin with. The maids only exchanged amused glances before one of them softly informed you that Gojo was waiting for you in the living room.
You gulped immediately.
Your eyes widened slightly in panic, and suddenly your hands felt clammy against the fabric of your clothes.
Slowly, you made your way down the hallway, your heartbeat growing louder with every step.
You walked into the living room and immediately spotted him sitting comfortably on the sofa, one arm stretched along the backrest.
Satoru Gojo was there in a loose blue shirt, the fabric slightly unbuttoned at the collar like he didn’t care about anything in the world, and his sunglasses hiding those infamous eyes everyone talked about.
Even like this, relaxed and half-lounging, he somehow filled the entire room.
The moment you stepped inside, his head turned toward you.
For a few seconds, he didn’t speak. Just… looked.
Then, finally—
“You’re even quieter than I remembered.”
Your fingers tightened slightly at your sides.
“S-Sorry…” you muttered, almost automatically.
A low chuckle slipped from him, like he found something about you mildly entertaining.
“Don’t apologize for existing,” he said, waving a hand lazily. “That’d be annoying.”
The bluntness made your heart jump.
You stood there frozen for a moment longer than you should’ve, unsure if you were supposed to sit, speak, or simply disappear into the floor.
Gojo tilted his head slightly, still not moving from his spot on the sofa.
“I’m very busy, so I won’t be home that often,” he said casually. “Do whatever you want as long as you don’t get in my way. Is that okay with you?”
You blinked at him for a moment before quickly nodding.
“Y-Yes.”
Honestly, part of you felt relieved hearing that.
Someone like Satoru Gojo was intimidating enough after only a few minutes in the same room. Living with him every single day sounded absolutely terrifying.
He hummed softly at your answer before leaning further back into the sofa, long legs spreading comfortably as if this entire situation barely affected him.
“Good,” he said simply. “Glad we understand each other.”
Silence fell over the room again.
Awkward. Thick. Suffocating.
Meanwhile, Gojo looked completely unbothered by it.
Then suddenly—
“You can sit down, you know.”
Your shoulders stiffened.
“You’ve been standing there like I’m about to execute you.”
You sat stiffly at the very edge of the sofa, hands resting awkwardly on your lap.
Why were you this awkward?
Maybe because you had interacted with very few men in your life, and most of them had been family members.
The silence stretched again before you finally gathered enough courage to speak.
“Can I have a pet?” you asked softly, your voice trembling slightly.
Gojo seemed mildly surprised by the question.
If he wasn’t planning on being home very often — not that you wished he would be — then maybe you could at least have something you had always dreamed of. Something you were never allowed to have growing up.
“A pet?” he repeated, tilting his head.
You nodded quickly, suddenly embarrassed.
“I-If it’s okay…”
For a second, he simply stared at you from behind his sunglasses before a grin slowly pulled at his lips.
“That’s the first thing you ask me?”
Heat rushed to your face immediately.
“S-Sorry—”
“There you go again,” he interrupted with an amused sigh. “You apologize too much.”
He rested his cheek against his hand, studying you curiously now.
“What kind of pet?”
“A cat… or a dog… maybe both…” you trailed off quietly, already imagining how well you would take care of them.
Feeding them, playing with them, letting them sleep beside you—
Just thinking about it made you forget your nervousness for a moment.
Gojo noticed immediately.
It was subtle, but your entire expression softened when you talked about it.
“Huh,” he muttered, sounding strangely entertained. “You actually talk more when it’s about animals.”
The realization made you tense again almost instantly.
“S-Sorry…”
A laugh escaped him this time, quieter than before.
“You’re kinda cute.”
Your brain stopped working.
Completely.
Meanwhile, Gojo acted like he hadn’t just casually destroyed your ability to think. He leaned back against the sofa comfortably, crossing one leg over the other.
“Get both if you want,” he said easily. “This place is big enough.”
Your eyes widened slightly.
“Really?”
“Mm.” He waved a hand lazily. “As long as they don’t destroy my stuff.”
You nodded quickly, a tiny spark of excitement slipping through your usual shyness.
“They won’t.”
And for the first time since arriving there, your voice sounded just a little less afraid.
Now that you were really looking at him, you finally understood why every girl seemed completely obsessed with Satoru Gojo.
He was handsome.
No — ethereal, almost unfairly so.
The soft white strands of his hair framed his face perfectly, while those dark sunglasses somehow only made him more attractive instead of hiding him. Even the way he sat there so carelessly, completely relaxed in his loose blue shirt, looked effortlessly good.
It was simply a fact.
You weren’t shamelessly admiring him or anything… just admitting the truth to yourself.
Unfortunately, maybe you stared a second too long.
Because suddenly, the corner of Gojo’s lips lifted into a knowing smirk.
“See something you like?”
Your soul nearly left your body.
You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to put your shyness aside for the first time.
You were going to live in the same house as him for a long time, so maybe it was better to at least try making things less awkward.
“I-I didn’t want to seem rude earlier if I was too quiet…” you started softly, fidgeting with your fingers. “I was homeschooled my whole life and barely interacted with people… let alone men.”
Your voice grew smaller near the end, embarrassment creeping up your neck.
“So staying silent became easier than actually learning how to talk to people at my big age…”
The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to disappear.
Why would you say that?
Gojo stayed quiet for a second, his chin resting against his hand as he looked at you from behind his sunglasses.
Then unexpectedly—
“That sounds kinda lonely.”
Your breath caught slightly.
There was no teasing in his voice this time. No amusement either.
Just a simple observation.
You looked down at your hands almost immediately.
“…Maybe.”
A soft hum left him before he leaned back further into the sofa.
“Well, you’re talking now.”
Your eyes lifted toward him in surprise.
Gojo shrugged casually.
“So you’re doing fine.”
You smiled softly at his words, though you still couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or genuinely encouraging. Satoru Gojo was incredibly hard to read. One second he sounded like he was teasing you, and the next he spoke so casually sincere that it completely threw you off.
Before you could think about it any further, he suddenly got up from the sofa, stretching his arms above his head lazily. The movement made the fabric of his blue shirt shift slightly, and for a brief second you had to force yourself not to stare again.
“Well,” he sighed, sounding almost bored, “I should get going.”
Your eyes blinked up at him in surprise.
That fast?
He grabbed his phone from the table before sliding it into his pocket, already halfway out of the conversation like he had somewhere more important to be. Which… he probably did.
“Make yourself comfortable or whatever,” he added casually before walking toward the entrance. “This place is yours too now.”
The words lingered in your mind longer than they should have.
This place is yours too.
Somehow, hearing that felt strange. Almost unreal.
Still, you weren’t exactly sad to see him leave. As intimidating as he was handsome, being around him for too long made your poor heart feel seconds away from giving out.
The moment the front door closed behind him, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
Finally able to relax a little, you wandered back toward the hallway where the maids were still organizing a few things.
They immediately brightened when they saw you approaching.
And honestly?
You already thought they seemed really nice.
Maybe… you wouldn’t be so lonely here after all.
A year passed, and by now you were very familiar with this… home.
The once intimidating estate had slowly become comforting in its own way. You had grown especially close to the maids, who practically treated you like family now, and your days were constantly filled with your three cats and two dogs running around the house causing chaos. To make your schedule even fuller, you had also started gardening, something that quickly became one of your favorite ways to pass the time whenever the house felt too quiet.
And it was quiet most of the time.
Just like he warned you from the very beginning, Gojo was always busy and barely home. Some weeks you only caught small glimpses of him before he disappeared again for missions nobody else could handle.
But what truly confused you — what had your poor little heart suffering for months now — was the fact that somewhere along the way, you had developed feelings for him.
Which was incredibly frustrating.
Satoru Gojo was fucking frustrating.
One moment he would casually flirt with you, talk to you with that lazy smile on his face, and look at you like you were something precious… like you were a fallen angel he accidentally stumbled upon.
Then the next moment, he would disappear for weeks as if none of it meant anything at all.
Not to mention the fact that the two of you still had separate rooms, and most nights you ate alone in yours while he was gone doing whatever the strongest sorcerer alive did.
Of course, you weren’t exactly lonely. You had the maids, your pets, your garden…
But none of that changed the fact that falling for him had never been part of the plan.
And yet, every single time he looked at you a certain way, your feelings only got worse.
You constantly promised yourself not to fall for his flirty behavior anymore.
And constantly failed.
Yesterday had been no different.
He had come home for a little while, casually lounging near the kitchen counter while you prepared tea, his sunglasses resting lazily on top of his head for once.
“Did I ever tell you your eyes are really charming?” he had asked out of nowhere.
Your entire body froze for a second.
“T-They’re really nothing compared to yours,” you replied, already blushing.
A grin immediately spread across his face, smug and impossibly handsome.
“Oh?” he hummed, slowly stepping closer. “So you have been thinking about my eyes.”
And just like that, all the progress you thought you made completely disappeared.
At first, you thought that maybe… maybe you actually meant something to him.
But those thoughts completely shattered today.
It started like any other quiet afternoon inside the estate. One of your cats was sleeping near the entrance while you were helping arrange flowers in the living room, soft music playing somewhere in the background.
Then the doorbell rang.
Since none of the maids were nearby, you walked to the door yourself and opened it without much thought.
Standing there was a tall blond man dressed in a perfectly fitted three-piece suit, a cheetah-patterned tie neatly resting against his chest. His sharp eyes landed on you immediately, and for the first time since arriving, Kento Nanami looked genuinely caught off guard.
“Ah,” he said after a small pause. “I wasn’t aware Gojo had company.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the door handle.
“I-I’m his wife,” you explained softly.
For the first time, Nanami looked completely speechless.
“…His what?”
Heat immediately rose to your cheeks.
Before you could awkwardly explain further, Gojo’s voice suddenly echoed from deeper inside the house.
“Nanamiii, stop standing at the door and come in already.”
Nanami slowly stepped inside, though the look on his face remained unreadable. You quietly excused yourself afterward, leaving the two men alone while you headed toward the kitchen with your heart still beating nervously.
You weren’t trying to eavesdrop.
Really.
But their voices carried too easily through the hallway.
“You got married and didn’t tell me?” Nanami asked flatly.
Gojo laughed lazily. “I tried to call you but you never responded. That job was taking all your time.”
“How is married life, then?”
There was a brief silence before Gojo answered casually—too casually.
“Yeah,” Gojo continued lazily. “She blushes every time I flirt with her. It’s kinda entertaining.”
Something twisted painfully inside your chest.
Then he laughed again.
“But I’m not that interested. The marriage is just convenient for both our clans.”
Convenient.
Your fingers slowly tightened around the tray in your hands until your knuckles turned white.
Suddenly, all those sweet moments replayed differently inside your head.
The compliments.
The teasing.
The lingering stares that made your heart race for months.
To him, it was nothing serious.
Just harmless entertainment.
Meanwhile, you had been stupid enough to fall in love with him.
You were stupid. Very stupid. He didn’t even consider you a friend, just something convenient to please other people. And worse, he didn’t tell his friends about you. He never really saw you, now that you really thought about it. He would flirt briefly, then leave as if nothing ever truly mattered.
Something in your chest tightened painfully, the air inside the house suddenly feeling too heavy to breathe properly.
You slowly set the tray down on the kitchen counter, your fingers trembling despite your efforts to steady them, the porcelain clinking softly in the silence. The sound felt too loud, too sharp, like it didn’t belong in a place that was supposed to feel like home.
Convenient.
That word kept repeating itself in your mind, sinking deeper every time it came back, until it stopped feeling like a thought and started feeling like a truth you had been avoiding for far too long.
Was that all you were to him?
A quiet presence he could tease when it amused him, someone soft to return to for a moment before disappearing again into a life that never included you?
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe even as your throat tightened. From somewhere deeper in the estate, his voice still carried faintly—lazy, careless, completely unaffected. Like nothing in your world was currently collapsing.
And that was what hurt the most.
Because to him, everything had always been simple.
And to you, it had slowly become everything.
Even worse, now that you really thought about it, he had never once asked anything about you. Not your thoughts, not your past, not even the smallest details of your life. As if it simply didn’t interest him at all.
As if you didn’t, either.
The realization settled heavily in your chest, colder than anything else you had felt so far.
Your fingers curled slightly against the counter as your gaze dropped.
“…I was so stupid,” you whispered, almost soundlessly.
And for the first time since you had stepped into this house, it didn’t feel like you belonged to it anymore.
You made your way back to your room, your steps quieter than usual, as if even the house itself felt too loud to bear. The moment the door closed behind you, whatever fragile composure you had been holding onto finally broke.
You couldn’t stop crying.
It was almost ironic, in a cruel, bitter way. Your first heartbreak… and it was your husband.
The man you had slowly learned to love without realizing it. The man who had become the center of your thoughts, your routines, your quiet hopes.
And yet, to him, you had been nothing more than something convenient.
Now that you thought about it, he had probably never truly liked you at all. Not the way you had liked him. Not the way you had foolishly, helplessly fallen for him. If he hadn’t been forced into this marriage, he would have never even looked your way.
Pathetic, wasn’t it?
The thought made your chest ache even more as you sank onto the edge of the bed, your hands covering your face as the tears kept coming, unstoppable now that there was no one left to see you.
Momo, one of the maids you were closest to, eventually came into your room.
The moment she saw you, she didn’t ask questions. She simply crossed the space between you and pulled you into her arms, and that was all it took for everything you had been holding in to finally spill out.
You cried against her shoulder, your voice breaking as you told her, again and again, that Gojo disliked you, that you had been stupid for ever thinking otherwise, that none of it had ever been real.
Momo held you as best as she could, gently rubbing your back, whispering soft reassurances you barely managed to hear through your tears. When your breathing finally started to calm, she told you he had left again for a mission and that you could come out of your room when you felt ready.
You tried.
You really did.
In the following days, you forced yourself to function again. You played with your pets, even when your chest felt heavy. You watered your flowers, trimmed them carefully, tried to lose yourself in the rhythm of gardening like you used to. But nothing stayed. Nothing filled the emptiness he had left behind. Every small action only reminded you of how much it still hurt.
And so you stayed sad. For days.
Then he came back.
Satoru Gojo always returned the same way—casual, effortless, like nothing in the world had the right to slow him down. And every single time before, it had been the same pattern. You would be there waiting for him without even thinking about it, and he would notice you instantly, teasing you, talking to you, slipping back into your presence like it was the most natural thing in the world before disappearing into conversation about his missions.
But this time…
You weren’t there.
And for some reason he couldn’t immediately name, it felt strange.
Gojo frowned slightly as he stepped inside the estate. The house felt the same, but something was missing in a way he couldn’t quite place. It was subtle, almost ridiculous, but noticeable enough to linger in the back of his mind.
You.
Still, he didn’t think too much of it at first. He assumed you were simply busy somewhere in the house.
Until he heard it.
A sound—quiet, broken—coming from your room.
He slowed his steps without realizing it, his expression shifting slightly as he approached the door. And just as he reached it, he paused.
Voices.
Yours.
And Momo’s.
He stopped just outside, silent, as if something instinctively told him not to interrupt. But before he could decide whether to step back or enter, the door opened.
Momo walked out first.
The moment she saw him, her expression tightened, like she immediately understood what this was going to turn into.
“Sir Gojo…” she began carefully.
He tilted his head slightly. “What’s going on?”
Momo hesitated. She looked back at your door for a brief second, as if debating how much she was allowed to say. Then something in her broke.
“No,” she said suddenly, her voice sharper now, frustration slipping through. “No, I can’t stay quiet about this.”
Gojo blinked once, caught slightly off guard.
Momo stepped closer, her tone firm, almost shaking with restrained emotion.
“Do you know how much you are missing?” she asked. “Your wife is very pretty, but that’s not even the point. She loves animals, she takes care of them like they’re family, she is thruly the most empathetic person i have ever met. She gardens, she spends hours with those flowers you never even notice. She paints. She is talented—genuinely talented.”
Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn’t stop.
“But you don’t see any of that. You never have. You are so blind for someone who has the Six Eyes.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and sharp.
Momo’s hands tightened slightly at her sides.
“And she loves you,” she added, quieter this time. “Even after everything… she still does. But now she thinks you hate her.”
The sentence landed harder than anything else she had said so far.
For a brief moment, there was silence in the hallway.
Gojo didn’t respond immediately.
His expression didn’t change at first—still calm, still unreadable—but something in his gaze shifted ever so slightly, like a crack forming in something far too controlled.
“Hate her?” he repeated, almost absentmindedly.
Momo let out a shaky breath, clearly holding back everything she had been swallowing for days.
“She cried,” she said more quietly now. “She cried so much she could barely breathe. She kept saying she was stupid for thinking you actually cared about her. That you only ever saw her as something convenient.”
That word again.
Convenient.
It should have sounded meaningless. A simple misunderstanding. Something easily brushed off.
But for the first time, it didn’t.
Gojo’s eyes moved slowly toward your door.
The sound of your crying was still faint behind it, broken and uneven, like you had no idea you were being heard at all.
Something in his chest shifted—subtle, unfamiliar, almost irritatingly inconvenient in itself.
He had seen many things.
He had fought curses, watched people break, watched cities fall apart and rebuild.
But this…
This wasn’t something he knew how to categorize.
Momo’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge.
“She stopped waiting for you,” she added. “That’s what changed. Not her feelings. Not her habits. Just… her hope.”
That sentence lingered longer than the rest.
Gojo stood still for a moment longer than usual, hands in his pockets, expression hidden behind that familiar calm that suddenly felt a little too practiced.
Then, finally, he took a step toward your door.
Gojo eventually walked through the estate alone.
At first, it wasn’t intentional. He had simply been thinking—too much for his own liking—about what Momo had said, about the way your voice had apparently broken behind closed doors, about the word that kept repeating itself in his head.
Convenient.
So he walked.
And without really noticing, he found himself standing in places he had never paid attention to before.
The garden.
Your garden.
He stared at it in silence.
It was… alive. Carefully maintained, clearly loved. Flowers arranged with patience, not decoration. There was intention in every corner of it, as if someone had poured something personal into every leaf and petal.
And yet, he realized with a strange discomfort, he had never once stopped here before.
Not really.
Not to look.
Not to ask.
Not to notice.
His gaze shifted slightly.
Inside the house, near a sunlit corner, he saw them—your paintings.
Canvases he had never seen before. Colors he had never associated with you. Soft strokes, expressive lines, quiet emotions captured in ways words probably never could.
His expression didn’t change, but something in him did.
How had he missed all of this?
All this time, he had thought of you in the simplest way possible. Pretty. Soft-spoken. Someone who existed around him rather than beside him. Something easy to come back to, something he didn’t need to think too deeply about.
Something convenient.
The word hit differently now.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, for once not looking amused, not looking bored, not looking like he had everything under control.
Because for the first time, he didn’t.
He turned away from the garden, the paintings still lingering in his mind, heavier than they should have been.
And without overthinking it this time, he walked straight into the kitchen.
Momo was there.
She looked up the moment she saw him, immediately tense, as if bracing for whatever he was about to say.
Gojo stopped in front of her.
His usual laziness was still there, buried deep in his posture—but his voice wasn’t quite the same when he spoke.
“Tonight,” he said simply, “I want to have dinner with my wife.”
A pause.
Then, slightly more grounded, almost quieter than usual:
“Can you tell her to join me?”
Momo blinked, surprised—not by the request itself, but by the tone behind it.
After a brief moment, she nodded.
“Yes, sir Gojo.”
The universe must have been messing with you.
Sitting there, at the dinner table, across from your so-called husband, felt almost unreal. The same man who had unknowingly broken your heart was now casually sitting in front of you, as if nothing had changed, as if you weren’t currently holding yourself together by pure force of will.
You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him properly.
Your gaze stayed lowered, fixed on your plate, though the food had long stopped feeling like something you could taste. The silence between you two wasn’t exactly uncomfortable on his side—Gojo had always been fine with silence—but for you, it was suffocating.
To you, this didn’t feel like dinner.
It felt like an ending waiting to happen.
Maybe this was it. Maybe he had finally realized how unnecessary you were. Maybe tonight he would say it clearly, finally put words to what he had apparently always thought.
That you were just… convenient.
And maybe, with a bit of luck, he would send you back to your parents like something easily returned, like a responsibility he no longer needed to keep.
The thought made your chest tighten painfully, but you forced yourself to stay still, to keep breathing normally, even as your hands subtly curled in your lap under the table.
Across from you, Gojo didn’t speak for a while.
But unlike before, his silence felt different.
He was watching you.
Not in his usual teasing way. Not with that lazy amusement you had grown painfully familiar with.
This time, it was quieter. Heavier. Like he was noticing something he had somehow missed for a very long time.
And for the first time that night, the silence between you wasn’t entirely yours to carry alone.
Gojo was hesitant.
It wasn’t something anyone saw often—if ever—but for once, he didn’t seem to know how to approach a conversation. His usual ease, his careless confidence, the effortless way he filled silence… none of it came to him naturally this time.
He looked at you for a moment, then away, as if trying to find the right place to start and failing each time.
Finally, he exhaled softly.
“I… should probably start with an apology,” he said, quieter than usual.
That alone was enough to make your chest tighten.
Gojo wasn’t someone who apologized easily. Not because he was arrogant—but because he rarely thought he needed to.
But now, he did.
His gaze returned to you, steadier this time, though still uncertain in a way you had never seen before.
“I really think you’re attractive,” he admitted, voice low but sincere. “But I was too blind to see what a talented and beautiful soul you are.”
Each word landed carefully, like he was choosing them as he spoke them, afraid of getting them wrong.
“I apologize for making you feel like this,” he continued. “However… I don’t hate you.”
A pause.
His expression softened slightly.
“I never have.”
The words settled between you both, fragile but real.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence again—but this one wasn’t suffocating like before. It felt… different. Lighter, almost uncertain, as if something had finally been placed back in the right direction after being broken for too long.
Your breath caught slightly.
You looked at him, searching his face like you weren’t sure you were allowed to believe him yet.
“Really?” you asked softly.
Just one word.
Careful. Fragile. Like you were afraid that speaking louder might shatter whatever this was.
And for the first time that evening, Gojo’s expression softened completely.
“Yeah,” he said simply.
No jokes. No deflection. No hiding behind anything.
Just him.
Gojo stayed quiet for a moment after your question, as if letting the moment settle properly between you two. For once, there was no teasing in his expression, no easy confidence to hide behind. Just something more honest, something still unfamiliar on his face.
Then he spoke again.
“I want to know you,” he said simply.
A pause followed, softer this time, almost careful.
“The real you.”
His words weren’t loud, weren’t dramatic, but they carried more weight than anything he had said before. Not a promise made lightly, not a careless remark meant to fill silence—just a decision, clear and steady.
And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like you were something passing through his life.
It felt like maybe, just maybe… he was finally choosing to stay aware of it.
before yuuta left for africa, you remember him to be scrawny, about the same height as you, all elbows and knees. he would stutter when you caught his gaze for too long and your pinkies would hook when you walked home together, headphones shared, heads tilted close. behind the school building, you’d trade snacks and he’d blush when you brushed crumbs off of his shirt. sometimes you’d sit together on the curb, knees touching, as he let you doodle little shapes on his arm.
and you remember the kisses. quick, clumsy pecks that made you giggle. sometimes his eyes stayed open, as if to memorize your face. his fingers fumbled, shifting from your shoulders to your back again, unsure where to touch, but each kiss felt like a tiny discovery. a small, shared secret, leaving a lingering warmth on both your cheeks long after.
when he returned, you barely recognized him. you were surprised at how much had changed. you had to look up at him now; his shoulders were broader, his frame taller, and he moved with purpose. the nervous, fumbling gestures of before gone.
now, yuuta’s hands find your waist naturally. he’s less shy, more present, and he initiates contact without hesitation: brushes a strand of hair from your face, nudges you gently as you walk, leans closer when he laughs, adjusts your jacket without asking and lets his hand linger briefly on your lower back when guiding you.
and the awkward, clumsy pecks changed. his kisses are bolder, and he’s the one guiding you now. he chases your lips relentlessly, presses you against walls or the edge of tables, hands linger on your waist and lower back. each kiss lingers longer, heavier, more urgent than before, perhaps to make up for lost time. his hands roam along your body, leaving you breathless.
yuuta is more confident now. in himself, in what he wants from you. he knows he never wants the same distance between you two as there was when he was away. he wants you close, always close, and certain of the bond that ties you together. he isn’t the same blushing boy anymore when he’s over you, pulling his shirt off ♡
"If you just let me. I can be him. You can call his name. Pretend he's touching you."
Six months since 𝓨𝒖𝒕𝒂 started pursuing you.
The setting sun over jujutsu tech glared you down as your back pressed into the bridge's wooden beams. Was Satoru's glare in the horizon? Was his judgement in the sky? Were his chastises whispered in the wind that kissed your cheek?
His eyes were above you.
His hair tickling your forehead.
His hands on you.
His. But not his. Not your husband. Not Satoru.
Just the man who wore his skin.
Yuta shedded his a long time ago. A miscalculation. A medical horror. Returning to his body became impossible and so, he remained in the man who was once yours. Now twenty three, and all he wanted?
You.
Before you, he stood. Looming over you the way that Satoru did. Caressing your cheek the way that Satoru did.
Whispering to you the way that Satoru did.
"I have his memories," he said, thumb tracing a familiar line on your cheekbone. "I know how he touched you. I know how he loved you. I can love you the same."
He leaned closer. Diminishing both the space between you and your shame.
"We can play pretend," he promised.
The same way Satoru had promised that he would come home.
The same way you had promised him that no one else would ever hold your heart, your body, your soul.
You broke your promise.
All it took was a kiss. From lips you remembered. From a mouth that worshipped you every day of your short marriage.
Your downfall were his hands. Familiar. Once yours. The wedding ring he still wore out of reverence for his sensei.
A kiss. A touch. A memory. That's all it took.
All it took for the sheets to welcome your back. For your thighs to welcome his head. Your hands greeting white hair that you once stroked so tenderly when the world caved in on him.
Your Satoru.
Not your Satoru.
Satoru's body.
Your Satoru's body.
Between your legs. Worshipping you. As he always did. With big, scarred hands spreading you apart. With a tongue that knew every inch of you. A voice that praised you.
The same way your husband would.
"So sweet, taste so so good, sweet girl," the groan soaked into your slick. An aphrodisiac of its own. Seeping into your veins. Dizzying your mind.
"Toru," you whimpered.
Toru.
Satoru.
Your Satoru.
He's not your Satoru.
But you moaned for him as if he was.
Tugged onto his hair. Ground into his face. Whimpered his name— as if he was.
Two orgasms on his tongue alone. Yuta proved that he had committed to his sensei's memories. He knew exactly how to fuck you on the pink muscle. Where to touch. What pressure.
His thumb stroked along your slit. Tracing the quivers as his lips occupied your clit. Sucking on its pulses and worming out another devastating orgasm out of you.
Three. You came three times.
The same number Satoru worked you up to before he kissed you. Held you. Fucked you.
Yuta committed to the routine. Kissed you. Spread your thighs.
Pressed his dick to your twitching cunt.
Shushed your cries.
Held you.
Fucked you.
Your body forgot, but your mind didn't. The stretch burned and tears pricked at your eyes— but your mind keened. Slipped. Soaked in the memory of him.
Of your husband.
Of Satoru.
As Yuta's hips engraved new memories into your thighs.
As his fingers blossomed new bruises.
As his mouth kissed you with a new hunger.
Your arms hugged around his neck. Breath stuttering. Voice breaking. Every plunge of his cock stroked the fire deeper into you. Unravelling your mind into a messy heap of tears and needy.
Rough pants fanned above you. His brows pinched at the centre. One hand gripping your thigh and the other cupped beneath your head. Yuta's thrusts were as nasty as Satoru's. Deep, fast, taking you apart from the inside out.
"That's it. There you go," he huffed, white lashes fluttering. "There's my girl."
"Sat— toru," you sobbed. Because maybe crying would make it real.
Maybe it'd wake you up from this terrible nightmare.
"You're doing so well, sweetheart." His voice slipped into your ear. Clenched your heart. Squeezed your cunt as your nails raked down his back.
"Toru," you whimpered. "T-Toru, toru please. I need— I need you. I need you."
His thumb found your clit, your back bowed into the pleasure. Another sob shook from your lungs. Reaching out for him. Not Yuta. Not his body. Him.
But it was Yuta who cupped your face. With Satoru's hand.
Yuta who bottomed out. Fucked you deeper. With Satoru's cock.
Yuta who whispered to you. With Satoru's voice.
"I'm here." He lied, so sweetly.
As his hips drove faster— and faster. Grinding into all of the sweetspots that Satoru knew. That were now at his disposal.
"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart." He lied, so gently.
As he hugged you close. Took you higher— and higher. Perfectly choreographed to the memory he committed to.
Playing with your clit, with Satoru's fingers.
Praising you, with Satoru's words.
Kissing you, with Satoru's lips.
"I'm gonna cum," you cried, and he licked your tears away. Cradled your face. Whispered tenderly.
"Cum," eyes so blue, eyes once yours, stared deep into your soul. Deceived you with promises that had already been broken. "Cum for me. Cum for 'toru, baby. C'mon."
The heat, the need, the memories— they all rushed into a knot that snapped in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes rolled back. Body arched. Tensed.
"Satoru— t-toru. Toru, miss you. I miss you."
You sobbed his name when you came.
Clung to his shoulders.
Squeezed his cock.
But you knew.
That it wasn't him that held you.
Wasn't him that smacked his hips into yours.
Wasn't him that groaned deep, even if it was his voice.
Wasn't him that stilled, that moaned your name, that filled you to the brim and kept pumping as you shook with whimpers.
Eyes so blue. Eyes once yours.
But in your heart, you knew. Satoru was dead.
Knew that the thing wearing his skin wasn't him.
And that the only one who caressed your face, kissed you, told you that he loved you— wasn't your husband.
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