genre: fluff (i think.), idiots in love, severe mutual pining, real frustration.
pairing: gojo x shy!reader (canon-verse, gojo-centric fic)
word count: 1.9k words
warnings: satirical death threats, gun mentions, lots of swearing cause they're teenagers, bro would die for you, so death mentions.
song rec: about time - sarah kang
requested: basically, no. technically, yes, because i felt bad about not adhering to the original request from @4-morant. this one's for you 🏀
prompt: my own fic, shameless promo, its an offering at my temple wouldn't hurt, it's on my masterlist! you don't have to read it for continuity though, this is can be a standalone too :)
a/n: (considering this was simply supposed to be a filler, i'm rather shocked at my lack of self control around this man and the fact that it surpasses the word count of the original fic speaks volumes.)
It feels like when he first saw you, eyes wide, mouth gawking in awe and a nudge to his ribs from Shoko. He’d sworn to her at the time, it was love at first sight, and Gojo Satoru was rarely wrong. Not ever when it comes to you. He knew that you would keep his stupid gifts (he didn’t, and the world’s strongest shook like a baby deer on weak legs as he pressed a keychain of red and white carnations into your palm, his first gift, and smiled in pure, unadulterated joy when he saw it hanging from your wallet every day since then).
x an offering at my temple wouldn't hurt
i.
Gojo Satoru is a freak. That was what you thought when you first met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech (well, technically, the second year of sorcery training, but you had spent your first at Kyoto).
He had shamelessly stood there, staring, no gawking at you. You felt embarrassed - after all, you’d heard of the famous strongest more than you’d ever seen him, and to have him look at you like you were covered in filth would do considerable damage to anyone’s pride.*
You smile halfheartedly in response to his incoherent mumbling of what you presume is his name.
“Ieiri Shoko,” the stunning girl nods at you from beside him, nudging him quite harshly in the ribs. You both wince, and he finally closes his mouth. Getou Suguru was the first to introduce himself, and he shared a look with Ieiri. You don’t know what it means (and you don’t think you want to find out). Ieiri Shoko is a master at controlling her emotions, every fleeting expression carefully pulled and tugged to her liking by the marionette threads of her own mind.
And yet she finds herself struggling to mask her thorough amusement at the fool beside her. “The strongest,” she says quietly, smirking,”down on his knees for the pretty new girl. How cute.” She’d never really had a filter either.
Suguru counts mentally, before you turn an adorable (he thinks) scarlet, and Satoru pathetically begins to choke on nothing, shoving Shoko’s head away from him. Spluttering and scrambling for a response, his friend wipes the spit off his arm and shoots you a sympathetic, crooked smile. “Sorry, he’s a little shy around hot people.”
An indignant protest and a deck to the shoulder.
Oh, Shoko and himself were going to have so much fun with this.
In all their time being friends, they’d only witnessed the smooth, suave Gojo Satoru who effortlessly flirted with girls like he was reading from the daily paper.
That might be a disrespectful analogy, Suguru proposes, but it is true nonetheless.
It’s the reason why they’re kind of shocked and very entertained at how meek he’s being. First time for everything, they suppose.
“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he eventually said clearly, a hand held out before you, and a clearing of his throat after a slightly pitchy introduction.
You go to take his hand and are vaguely startled to find it warm, soft and faintly sweaty. He rubs his hands on his uniform for the second time. Tilting your head and introducing yourself, you frown slightly. “I felt your touch, did you deactivate your Infinity?”
Shoko and Suguru are left reeling at the unexpected once again, watching the interaction silently with keen eyes and ears. Now he’s the one being gawked at.
“Ah,” he smiles, hand rubbing at his neck, apples of his cheeks blooming vermillion, stark against his pale complexion. He’s quite…milky, you observed. It’s almost translucent - his skin; you can see the green veins traversing through his wrists clearly.
“I’m quite surprised you could tell!” He’s smiling so sweetly at you, pointedly ignoring the smirks and any and all responses from his friends.
“Of course!” How could you not? You’d spent more time studying about him and his technique and his god-forsaken clan than your own. Well, perhaps that might be an exaggeration. The point still stands, nonetheless. Come to think of it, this is basically a meeting with your greatest idol and role model.
It’s not going very well so far.
“Er- I actually have to get going to class, it was lovely meeting you all,” you stumbled through your words with an awkward, tiny wave and a small shaky grin.
They all chorus a response at once, none of which you coherently catch, except for a “We’re rooting for you!” from Suguru. You're rather sure you misheard that one.
You all begin to go your separate ways, and you almost physically have to hold back a cringe when you realise, oh fuck, we’re all in the same class, what the fuck am I doing.
You choke out more nervous laughter.
You think you just might dig a hole in the ground beneath you and rot there, but the principal doesn’t appreciate the destruction of school property.
[the courtyard, or you?]
ii.
The next time you meet up with them, it’s not as bad. They’d called you over the weekend and had invited you to eat ramen with them at the convenience store just outside the school.
You never gave them your number. [But Shoko is an excellent storyteller and liar, and you, personally, think Suguru could pass for an elegant criminal].
Satoru sat next to you, engaging in small conversation whilst the both of you stared out the glass from the table pressed against it. There's a white cat outside, meowing incessantly at a fluffy calico, who shyly sat beside it on the ledge.
[You remember your first official lovey-dovey gift from Satoru to be that keychain of carnations, but it really was the candy you’d been eyeing earlier that he discreetly picked out, sliding it across the table to you when you said the cats resembled the both of you greatly].
(Hey, I am a sentimental guy! I was gonna give it to you anyways, but it was kinda the perfect moment, ya know?)
iii.
You’re not good with words, Getou Suguru and Ieiri Shoko understood this much from your first meeting.
But it's been 6 fucking months of ogling and Ieiri is this close to dumping a bucket of ice from her lab over the both of you. You’re both such painfully oblivious, lovesick fools, if you both did not do something soon, Suguru would shoot himself.
He found himself proven wrong once again; Gojo Satoru is a fucking pussy; all he does is clutch the damn keychain wrapped in crepe in his pocket all day instead of just giving it to you.
But Suguru had always had faith in you and knew you would come through. He, however, had no faith in Satoru’s reactions.
You’d gotten him a small plush of a fluffy calico. [it’s me, you’d said, smiling slightly, anxious out of your damn mind]
When Satoru saw you standing there in front of him, arms outstretched, head gently bowed to hide your flushed face, he swore he fell twice as hard once again. His crystal eyes trace your figure slowly, dropping to your lips. His blood rushed in his ears, blocking out all the sounds and thoughts that weren’t you, including a slap to the back of his head from Suguru to react faster. His heart climbed in his throat, his head a mess of you’re so cute, please marry me, I think I’m having a stroke.
Honestly, any of those responses would have fared better than what he actually said when he just had to open his stupid fucking mouth and went “Thanks, you’re such a great friend!”
The one time Suguru actually wanted to be wrong. Someone get him a gun.
iv.
After constant badgering from Suguru to get his shit together and borderline death threats from Shoko, Satoru was going to do it for real this time.
He’s going to confess. They don’t know it’s a non-verbal confession, but it’s for their own good (read: sanity). Also, he thinks they might actually kill him out of frustration.
Much of your friendship was based on symbolism. You both have always spent time, more than words, together. But you’d find yourselves gravitating towards one another and empty wheat fields and wildflower meadows within the training grounds, away from the noise to his sensitive ears. You’d talk for hours, about flowers and petals, the moving clouds and their dumb shapes [“that one’s you for sure, ‘toru” “eat shit.”], your shitty childhoods and clans, and the constellations late at night. When you don’t see Time steal away your youth but the patterns in the sky that he swore matched the birthmarks scattered across his body.
(He was right about that one).
So he decided to pay homage to your getaways and petal knowledge and finally give you the worn-paper-wrapped, good-as-new charm that’s been waiting for you in his pocket ever since he bought it, in one of the meadows.
(He took it out during laundry. Don’t worry, he’s not that stupid. No, he is, I had to take it out the first time. - Getou and Ieiri)
Red and white carnations. You knew well what they meant. Really well. You were the one who taught him about them, after all.
So you accept it, taking in from his shaky palms and burrowing your face into his shoulder, his slender hands coming up to caress the back of your neck, lips pressed gently to your temple. He realised, at that moment, that he truly loves you. He doesn't know when this happened. When the utter worship of you materialised within his senses.
Was it when you sat beside him and told him that he was deserving of love, vulnerability and everything that made him human? You weren't even looking at him then, just staring into the sunset and stating it like it was the most obvious truth. A known fact.
Was it when you stood beside him in battle, ready to destroy anything in your path that dared to cross him? Was it when you wiped his tears and held him to your chest when he collapsed onto the bathroom floor in sheer suffering when he was blinded from pain? When you scolded him after he got sick from running after you in the rain when your clan leaders intercepted you to stab you with their words of lack? When you were both exhausted beyond comprehension, falling into dreamless slumber in the stupid wheat fields, nursing colds together the next day?
It doesn't really matter in the end, because he knows now.
He knows that he would stand between you and any curse, any harm or danger within the flutter of your eyelash. That he would rather endure twisted, excruciating pain than know that you were in pain from something that he could have protected you from. He'd run after you, chase you across every corner of the world, the universe, to be with you. His soul is wretchedly devoted to everything that you are. He would die, fuck no, kill for you. Should you say the word, he would burn the world if you asked.
He loves you violently, at odds with his mind, viciously, dangerously, unforgiving, crashing against the vast expanse of the sea of his consciousness, tides threatening to sink the vessel of his sanity, cracking at the masts of his resolve.
He wants to crawl into the delicate muscles of the chambers of your heart if that was all it took for you to understand all that he feels for you; how he craves your touch and a taste of your attention, how a word from you is received like a man starved, fulfilling his every desire; how he aches for you.
You’re so close to each other that you can hear the thudding of his soul, threatening to crack and shatter his ribs, violent and unforgiving, a striking comparison to how he’s holding you like the gossamer petals you know so well. You want to weep at the feeling, the sensation of being so truly, utterly and irrevocably adored by him. Because he does, more than you could ever know.
[The petals in the keychain were his own, that you’d actually pressed and given to him from the flowers in the meadows. He’d gotten it painstakingly handmade. He wonders if you recognize them.]
v.
[You do.]
*(No exception to yourself; once you settle into your new mattress in your new dorm and you finally process the conversation and cry in peace, that is.)
flower meanings:
red carnations: deep love and affection, the words “my heart aches for you”, the petals represent a beating heart filled with love.
white carnations: pure love and adoration, purity, good luck and a prosperous life.
TA DA. i can't believe no one voted gojo in the polls, y'all r fuckin traitors (im actually so obsessed with the header panel hngggg)
areudirty
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