꒰ 𓏲๋࣭࣪˖🌷.ᐟ Satoru Gojo is the loudest, prettiest boy on campus — and secretly the biggest nerd you've ever met. You make a list of twenty ways to make him yours. It works better than expected. ꒱
ᘛ ꒰ satoru gojo x reader | university au | fluff, crack-ish, mutual pining, 3.4k wc. no real warning, this is pure fluff. art by @/to00fu dividers by @uzmacchiato and @pixopix ྀིა
Gojo Satoru did not look like a nerd. That was the first thing you had to get past.
He was six-foot-three, white hair that looked like he'd bleached it out of spite, and a jawline that made underclassmen forget how to walk in straight lines. So the first time you sat next to him in Intro to Theoretical Physics and watched him correct the TA's derivation on the whiteboard— politely, cheerfully, in a way that made the TA visibly reconsider their choice of career— you assumed it was a fluke. A pretty boy who got lucky on one problem set.
It was not a fluke. It happened every single week.
By week four you knew: underneath the sunglasses he wore indoors "for the bit," underneath the easy charm and the way he called everyone "sweetheart" like it cost him nothing, Gojo was the single biggest nerd you had ever met in your life. He annotated his textbooks in four colors. He had a ranked opinion on which university library floor had the best "ambient silence." He once spent twenty minutes explaining the Fermi paradox to a girl at a party who had asked him, literally, where the bathroom was.
And somehow, against every instinct you had about self-preservation, you'd fallen for him anyway.
The problem was that Gojo Satoru was completely, catastrophically oblivious to the fact that you liked him. Not because he was dumb— the man had a 4.0 and could recite pi to sixty digits when he was nervous— but because emotional self-awareness was, apparently, the one subject he'd never taken.
So you did what any reasonable person would do. You made a list.
Not a real list, not at first— just something you texted your roommate at 1 a.m. after he'd walked you back to your dorm and then said "anyway, goodnight, study buddy!" like a golden retriever who'd just learned the word "goodnight." But it grew. Item by item, week by week, you built yourself a plan. A syllabus, if you wanted to be annoying about it. A plan for how to make a nerd— your nerd, if you had anything to say about it– fall for you back.
Here's what the list looked like, three weeks later, mostly executed and slightly out of order:
1. Ask him to explain something you already understand
Not because you need it explained. Because Gojo lights up like a Christmas tree the second someone asks him a real question, and there is nothing in this world cuter than a six-foot-three man drawing a diagram of quantum entanglement on a napkin at 9 p.m. because you asked "wait, but how does that actually work?" He'll talk for eleven minutes straight. You will not understand half of it. You will not care.
2. Bring him coffee exactly the way he takes it, without asking.
Oat milk, two sugars, and— this is important— he needs it slightly too hot, because he likes complaining that it burned his tongue and then drinking it anyway. The first time you showed up to your study session with his order memorized, he stared at the cup for a solid five seconds like you'd handed him a diamond instead of a four-dollar latte.
"You remembered," he said, and for once he didn't sound like he was performing anything.
"It's not that hard, Satoru."
"No," he agreed, still staring at the cup. "I guess it's not."
3. Steal his hoodie and never give it back.
This one is less a strategy and more just theft, but the effect is the same. You took it during a group project when the library air conditioning decided finals week was a personal vendetta, and you simply forgot to return it. He noticed. He did not ask for it back. He instead started "accidentally" leaving other sweaters at your dorm, like he was building a small collection of hostages in reverse.
4. Beat him at something. Anything.
Gojo has never lost gracefully in his life. He is aggressively, hilariously competitive about things that do not matter, like Mario Kart, or who can name more moons of Saturn, or whose flashcards are better organized. Beat him once— just once— and watch a switch flip behind his eyes. He will demand a rematch. He will demand several rematches. He will, three rematches later, forget that he is supposed to be trying to win and just start trying to make you laugh instead.
5. Notice the thing he's insecure about, and don't make a big deal of it.
Underneath the confidence, Gojo has Opinions about his own eyes— the pale blue, the way people stare, the way strangers sometimes ask invasive questions like he's a museum exhibit. You noticed early that the sunglasses weren't entirely a bit. So you never once commented on his eyes unless it was in passing, the same way you'd mention someone's nice handwriting. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Just a fact about him, not a headline.
He clocked that you'd clocked it. He didn't say anything. But he started taking the glasses off around you more.
6. Let him info-dump. Then remember what he said.
Two weeks after the Fermi paradox incident, you asked him— out of nowhere, mid-lecture— "okay but statistically, if the paradox holds, doesn't that actually support the idea that we're early, not alone?" He turned to look at you like you'd grown a second head. A good second head.
"You remembered that?"
"You explained it for twenty minutes to a stranger looking for the bathroom. Of course I remembered."
7. Make him carry something heavy for you.
Not because you need the help. Because there is a specific, devastating satisfaction in watching Gojo Satoru— who could probably bench-press the entire physics department— insist on carrying your grocery bags, your laundry basket, your six textbooks, all at once, while pretending it's nothing, while very obviously flexing about it.
8. Show up to his study group uninvited and stay anyway.
He runs a Tuesday night study group that is, allegedly, "for anyone who wants to come," but somehow the same three terrified freshmen show up every week and leave within the hour because Gojo cannot resist turning every session into a TED talk. You started showing up too. You did not leave within the hour. By the third week, he'd started saving you a seat next to him without being asked— the one by the outlet, because he'd noticed your laptop charger was fraying.
9. Text him something dumb at 2 a.m. and let him overthink his reply.
You know this one works because your roommate is somehow also friends with his roommate, and the intel came back within the hour: Gojo spent eleven minutes composing a response to your "ok but if a vending machine gains sentience is it a philosophical zombie or just annoying" text. Eleven minutes. For a joke. He sent back four different drafts before landing on one, and it was still unhinged.
10. Compliment his handwriting, not his face
He gets told he's hot approximately nine times a day, by everyone, including strangers on the bus. It means nothing to him anymore— it's just weather. But tell him his lecture notes are genuinely, freakishly beautiful— every equation boxed, every margin annotated in four colors like he's illuminating a medieval manuscript— and watch him go quiet in a way he never does when someone calls him pretty.
11. Let him see you fail at something.
Gojo doesn't actually want a girl who has it together 100% of the time— he wants someone real, though it took you a while to realize that. The night you completely bombed a presentation and cried a little in the stairwell after, he didn't try to fix it or hype you up with empty noise. He just sat down on the concrete step next to you in his very expensive jeans and said, "okay, worst professor you've ever had, go," and let you complain until you'd laughed the tears away.
12. Ask about his family. Actually listen.
He deflects hard whenever anyone brings up the Gojo name, the money, the expectations. Most people either fawn over it or pretend it doesn't exist. You did neither— you just asked, once, gently, "is it heavy? Carrying all that?" and let the silence sit instead of filling it. He didn't answer for a full minute. Then he told you more than he'd told anyone all semester. He told you about his twin.
13. Give him a nickname that isn't about how he looks.
Everyone calls him "Six Eyes" as some ironic school-wide joke about how much he supposedly sees. You started calling him "Professor" instead, low and teasing, every time he got insufferable about a fact nobody asked for. He complained about it constantly. He also, notably, never asked you to stop.
14. Show up to his dumb extracurricular thing
He's in the university's astronomy club, which meets on the roof of the science building at ungodly hours to look at things you cannot see because of light pollution. You went once, mostly out of curiosity, and ended up going every month after, wrapped in his stolen hoodie (see: item 3), while he pointed at smudges in the sky and insisted, with total conviction, that one of them was definitely Saturn.
"That's a plane, Satoru."
"It's Saturn, and I won't be taking questions."
15. Get jealous. Badly. On purpose.
You are not proud of this one, but it worked, so it's staying on the list. A guy from your seminar started sitting suspiciously close to you during group work, and Gojo— usually the most chill, unbothered person alive— suddenly developed a burning need to sit in on your seminar "for fun." He is not enrolled in your seminar. He does not need to be there. He was there anyway, arms crossed, radiating an aura your professor mistook for academic passion.
16. Take care of him when he forgets to take care of himself.
For someone so smart, Gojo is disastrous at remembering to eat during midterms. You started leaving snacks in his backpack without telling him— protein bars, the specific brand of gum he chews when he's anxious, a note sometimes. He never mentioned it directly. He just started leaving you snacks back, an unspoken little economy of care neither of you would put a name to yet.
17. Let him walk you home even when you don't need it.
It's fifteen minutes out of his way. He does it every time anyway, sunglasses off, hands in his pockets, talking the entire walk about nothing and everything, and you've started timing your goodnights to be a little longer than they need to be.
18. Catch him staring, and don't look away first.
It happened in the library, over a stack of shared notes— you looked up and he was already looking, not at your notes, at you, and for once in his entire dramatic life he didn't have a single word ready. You didn't look away. Neither did he. Somebody's highlighter rolled off the table and neither of you moved to catch it.
19. Tell him, out loud, that you like the nerd version of him best.
Not the flirt. Not the golden retriever performing for a crowd. The version that gets quiet and intense over a whiteboard, that memorizes the digits of pi when he's anxious, that lit up over a napkin diagram because someone finally asked him a real question. You told him this on the roof, under his fake Saturn, and he went so still you thought you'd broken him.
20. Kiss him first.
Because he will never, ever make the first move— not out of fear, but because some small, stupid, sincere part of him doesn't believe someone like you would actually want someone like him, underneath all the noise. So you have to be the one. You kiss him on the roof, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, his ridiculous fake constellation still glowing faintly behind him, and he makes a sound against your mouth like every ounce of composure he's ever performed just short-circuited at once.
When you pull back he's staring at you the way he stares at a problem he's finally solved— stunned, delighted, a little smug that he got there at all.
"Say something smart, Professor," you tell him, breathless.
"Give me a second," he says. "You broke my working memory."
once you and zuko wed, he finds himself constantly looking for your hands.
his honeyed-ember eyes drawn to the glint of gold, hand-forged by one of the nations finest blacksmiths, nestled neatly on your left hand — a circle of eternal fate that ties him to you forever. the sight of your wedding ring settled the dramatic drum of his heart, because you made a promise to him, one of forevers and late nights and early mornings and meals for two. you’ve always wanted to be his and he’s always wanted to be yours. now it’s true, now it’s a fact.
there’s no need to be jealous when you shake the hands of ambassadors that eye you like a prize to be won, because at every congress and gathering — you are introduced as the wife of the fire lord, queen of the fire nation. a little piece of him tied to your name. you find his hand and you squeeze, the metal cool against his palms that sizzle with flickering flames of annoyance. somehow you’ve always grounded him.
there’s a pride that fills zuko, when little girls from your home and tribe ask if you’ve married a prince whenever they set their sights on the bedazzled band on your ring finger. there’s a blush that spreads violently from the tips of his ears down to the back of his neck, a scarlet hue stark even against the burn scar from his youth, when the elders pinch and pull zuko’s cheeks inspecting him. you’ve done well, they tell you. they’d have snatched him up and married him too — if they were younger. though, the ring could have been bigger, they mention. he is the fire lord after all.
when you train, when your body moves with the fluidity of water that has shaped the earth into the one he’s lucky enough to walk with you — zuko teaches himself to locate your wedding ring amongst your bending. the pools of water that loop around your liquid like a shield or a weapon only you have the strength to muster, add to the ring’s dazzle. he finds you dazzling then, one with the water — where life both begins and ends in one full circle. you’ve always told zuko, that your destinies are looped, that water had guided you to him and vice versa. you would born for each other. to die with each other — even if you find your power a means to his end.
zuko wouldn’t mind if it were you who put his flames out. he had made a promise at an altar with the world his witness. he would live and die by you. for you.
at night, when the sun’s flames ebb way and fade into petal pinks and midnight blues across her sky — zuko searches for your hand in the dark like a moth drawn to a single source of light. his lips graze the ring and his hands map your body with the same determination he’s always possessed. the rock at the centre breaks the chapped skin there at the same your own lips part with a soft, shattered moan because the fire lord’s goal has been the same from the start. he wants to prove himself worthy of the wedding ring, the promise of eternity, that sits heavy on your finger. if not during the day with his actions and his loyalties, then at night where your bodies meet like the tides and shores under the guidance of the moon’s gentle command. tangled limbs and interwoven fingers, pleasure that hangs like stars in the night sky.
zuko, throughout it all, searches for your hand, the wedding band, just make sure that it’s still there and that you still love him so.
helping zuko dry and brush his hair after a shower.
fluff. this is about adult zuko in the new movie btw bc wheeewwww
pls don't be mean to me i haven't written in years but we are Soooooo back
-
quiet humming fills the air as you run your fingers through zuko's hair, attempting to rid it of any knots. you look at him through the reflection of the mirror, a small smile gracing your face.
he looks relaxed, a rare occurence. he found it amusing how determined you look, as if brushing his hair was the most important task in the world.
you're gentle with the way you handle it, your fingertips lightly combing through his tresses as if he were going to break with the slightest pressure.
“you know you can use an actual brush, right?”
his eyes flicker up at your reflection in the mirror, before you slowly remove your fingers from his hair. you ruffle the top of his head and reach over for the hairbrush, letting out a breathy laugh when you see the scowl forming on his face.
you bring your hand towards his forehead, gently running your fingers across it to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed.
“is someone grumpy?” you tease. he rolls his eyes, pointing to his hair that still had to be fixed. you bring the brush to his head, gently combing through. he closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling. it was rare that the two of you were able to have a quiet moment with each other. especially since he was now the firelord and your friends were insane. constantly calling him out for emergency missions.
as peaceful as a day could be for a firelord, no fighting, no fire, and no aang. just you and him.
“pretty hair, pretty boy,” you mumble. he opens his eyes and glances at you, a sheepish look on his face. he feels the heat rush to his cheeks and ears, still not used to you complimenting him. even though you do it all the time.
“you must be talking about yourself,” he shakes his head. “your hair is prettier than mine.”
“well, i guess you’re right about that.”
“wow,” he snorts, "you just sounded like sokka.”
you grimace, moving the brush away from his hair. “please never tell me that i sound like sokka ever again.”
he laughs, spinning the stool around to face you. you bring your hands up to squish his cheeks, his lips forming into a pout. the chair creaks underneath him as he shifts to place his lips on yours, his hands immediately finding your waist.
“what an honor," he mumbles against your lips. "prettiest girl in the world calling me pretty."
"you and your honor," you laugh.
"just had to ruin it, didn't you?" he sighs.
you hum, playing with the strands of hair that frame his face. he leans into your touch, eyes closing once your bring your fingers back to his scalp.
"you know what wasn't pretty though...," you start, a mischevious glint in your eyes. "that awful ponytail when i first met you."
he groans, smushing his face into your chest. "you really do always have to ruin it."
you laugh and he's annoyed, but he's still brings his arms around your waist and squeezes you tight. it was a habit he had, as if you would disappear if his grip was any looser.
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because despite it all, if anyone was allowed to fall straight into despair – if anyone had the right to – it would be him.
but he simply can’t.
only because every time he finds himself at the edge of the cliff, there’s always something pulling him back.
a bratty six year old with spiky hair, his smiley older sister, or you – his beloved coworker that he, by the grace of god, charmed right into his hand. a bored salesman, an over-enthusiastic pink-haired high school student, and the ingredients to rice balls.
he supposes that’s why the words don’t hit him. that every other time, there were two, four, or six hands pulling him back. but the depths of this won’t impact anyone the way it would impact him. that he’d fall on his own this time.
there would be a pair of hands missing.
all he can think about is that the chairs in the ward are rather uncomfortable, that all hospitals have the same, shitty fluorescent lights, and that megumi’s probably wondering why the two of you haven’t called him to check on him after his mission yet.
that you would have made some shitty joke about sitting in his lap instead of sitting in the chairs, that you’d complain the lighting in the room was too dingy to take any good pictures, and that you’d call megumi the second you knew he was home.
“so when will she remember?” gojo asks.
shoko looks at him, steely eyes staring back into his, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. he can tell there won’t be any pulling this time.
“we have no idea of knowing when she’ll be out of the woods. it could be three days for all we know.” shoko states.
“or three years.” gojo states.
shoko swallows hard.
“or three years.” shoko affirms.
satoru realizes there’s three stages to it, two weeks after the fact.
first, the slow walk to the edge of the cliff, with everything looming below him – the mere fact that he could sense that something went wrong when kugisaki returned from her mission alone.
second, the pause right at the edge, where the rocks begin to crumble under his feet. there’s a wide expanse in front of him, ice cold water that he could plunge into at any second, and he can slightly feel himself leaning forward – someone telling him straightforwardly, shoko’s warm hands on his shoulders when he explained.
and lastly, the plunge. it’s cold air obliterating his ears as he falls, the crush so hard that he can barely stand when it happens. and he makes no efforts to stand back up once he’s fallen, because for all he knows, his limbs are broken – when he has to sleep in his bed without you for the first time.
satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest things, until he doesn’t. because the woman he’s spent four years loving doesn’t even remember who he is.
--
the first thing you remember is icy blue eyes. in some object permanence, child-like type of way, it’s the only thing that makes you feel safe now.
that and the fact that he’s always here.
“okay, y/n. can you tell us what you remember?”
shoko is standing across from you – gloved hands on her clipboard as she holds her pen firmly in her hand.
“my name is y/n l/n. i’m a jujutsu sorcerer and a teacher at jujutsu tech. i lost my memory three months ago on a mission with one of my students when i got struck by a curse.”
you try not to visibly wince. or make long pauses. only because it makes shoko and satoru’s faces droop a little more when you do. recalling the memories gets easier, more repetitive as time goes on, but it still feels like a warm sting rod is hitting the raw parts of your brain at times.
“do you remember the student’s name?” shoko asks.
“kugisaki.”
“okay, that’s good. do you know who we are?” she asks.
the instruction is helpful. the questions feel like a soft guidance – like each of your memories has been placed in a room that you need to unlock and that she’s presenting you right at the doorstep of the room.
“you’re shoko. my doctor. but we were friends before in school.” you add.
“that’s right. what about him?”
you look over at satoru, at the way he’s stiffly sitting in the chair next to you.
every time you look at him, the smiles are always genuine. soft and sweet – always accompanied with a gentle nod to encourage you. but you can tell from his posture, from the darkness under his eyes, that it must bother him all greatly.
though, he has every right to be upset, to be tired.
“that’s satoru. he was here when i woke up. and he’s my husband.”
shoko scratches on the clipboard before she gives you a smile.
“that’s good. anything else?”
you frown.
“no. no, i don’t think so.” you murmur.
she gives you a nod, as she sets the clipboard down. and when she starts rummaging through her drawers, you feel your heart sink at what comes next.
“wait. wait, can we not do that today?”
shoko looks back at you, quickly flickering her gaze to satoru, before she meets your eyes again.
“it’s really best if we try little by little, everyday. i need to be careful when we use reverse cursed technique on something so malleable as a brain and memories, so it needs to be in small amounts. but consistent. we can’t skip and lose precious time.”
you look over at satoru, reaching for his wrist. his skin is searing and warm under your fingertips, and you squeeze hard over his pulse point.
please.
satoru gives you a nod, before sighing, and looking back up at shoko.
“can i talk to her alone?” he asks.
shoko gives him a curt nod, before shuffling out of the room and sliding the door closed. you look back at satoru, as he gestures for you to talk.
“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position with your friend….i mean, our friend.” you clarify.
“s’okay, bug. what’s wrong?” he murmurs.
satoru watches as you squint your eyes, an elongated pause in your response.
one of shoko’s directions to him was to try to sprinkle normalcy in as much as he could – nicknames, memories, common phrases – in hopes that something would trigger in your memory and help you remember.
he’s supplied you with each story when you don’t remember and he can tell that you’re trying to commit them all the memory again. to retrieve the memories that he’s told you.
“bug.” you state.
“that’s right.”
“because…”
“we were on a mission and-” satoru adds.
“and the curse was a bug.” you finish.
satoru smiles brightly. it almost feels like praise, when he looks at you so warmly. when you can remember something.
“big insect type thing.” satoru confirms.
“and i hate bugs. so you started calling me bug because…”
you frown.
“i forgot why you did that.” you state.
satoru scoffs.
“it’s called flirting, princess. though, that was never your forté.”
you smile.
“you have horrible game.” you respond.
you can tell that the tiny gripes make satoru really happy. you recall shoko telling you a story about how it related to something from before, but you can’t really recall exactly what it was. regardless, the smile you always get feels good.
“oh yeah?” he asks.
“mhm. you think calling the girl you like a bug is flirting?” you state.
“girl i love. and you can’t even accost me for it, because it worked. we’re married, idiot.”
the blunt admission makes your chest hurt. only because you can tell that he means it earnestly.
and that it must be painstakingly true – that satoru gojo loves you – because he’s still sitting here three months later, when you can barely remember his name at times. or the fact that you clearly must have been in a very loving relationship with him if he’s still sitting here with you when he could, and maybe should have, run.
you squeeze hard on his pulse point again, your hands still curled around his wrist. he uncurls his hand from your hold before locking his fingers in with yours and squeezing your hand back.
“you’re like a space heater, satoru.” you state.
“it’s part of my charm. when we still slept in the same bed, you’d always put your ice cold feet on my legs and try to steal my warmth.” he states.
“and you’d let me?” you ask.
he smiles.
“and i’d let you.” he affirms.
you swallow hard.
“sorry. i’ll do the treatment thing. i just hate how it makes me feel after. s’kind of like…my brain got fried? and sometimes it jumbles things up more so i feel like i’ve barely made any progress. and….and i want to remember you all really badly i just-”
you feel the warmth on your cheek this time, his nimble fingers transferring warmth to your face this time.
“we know. just take your time, okay? we’re not going anywhere.”
--
six months after the fact, satoru throws you a birthday party.
it’s hard not to hold onto him like a tether when you go out in big crowds – the overstimulation nauseating at times. and it makes your chest swell that he firstly, realizes it, and second, refuses to leave your side because of it. you lock your fingers in with his as he lightly guides you through each of the people in the room.
“y/n sensei!”
you swallow hard as four people present themselves to you, a harsh squeeze on satoru’s fingers. he obliges quickly, a hand on your back as you shake your head. pink hair, brown eyes.
“you’re choso?” you ask.
you watch his face fall quickly, before he shakes it off.
“no, no. this is choso. but you were close, he’s my brother! we talked about him last time i saw you.” he responds, gesturing to the boy at his left.
“right. i’m sorry. it’s todo.” you state.
“no, no. he’s todo.” the boy responds again, this time gesturing to the boy at his right.
you feel another hand loop around you – cold hands on your shoulders – that you welcome. that you easily recognize as one of the other constants, besides satoru.
“ignore yuuji. and i promise, it’s just as confusing when you can remember it too.” megumi states.
you smile.
“are you flattering me, megumi?” you ask.
satoru reaches forward, and much to megumi’s dismay, flicks his forehead.
“you’re such a mama’s boy.”
“oh, leave him alone, satoru.” you state.
the group of them smile, even the ends of megumi’s mouth upturning, as satoru feigns shock by clutching his hands to his chest. you give them all a smile as they break up into their own conversation.
satoru gestures for you to follow him into the kitchen and you give the group of them a smile as you walk away. you push yourself onto the counter as satoru reaches for the birthday hat and a tiny little book before he makes residence in between your legs.
“okay, you ready, bug?” he asks.
“for?”
“you love to take pictures. lots of them. you’re kind of the sentimental type. so…”
satoru hands you the book as you start to flip through all the pages. each one has four little polaroids in it – of you and him, megumi sprinkled in here, with little captions on each of them.
new year’s 2021
megumi’s sweet sixteen
shotgun wedding :D
“shotgun wedding?” you ask.
“we had a quickie court wedding before we actually got married because we couldn’t wait. anyways! we have to-”
“wait.” you state.
satoru stops, bright blue eyes staring into yours expectantly. you can tell that he’s trying to brush it off quickly from the way he’s jittery as he shakes the camera in his hands.
“i know you don’t like to remember memories like this one because they make you sad but-”
“they don’t make me sad.” satoru states.
“don’t- don’t lie. i can hear you crying sometimes in the other room after we talk. and i feel bad but, but maybe it’ll click or something?” you ask.
satoru sighs, before giving you a nod. and he recounts one of the best days of his life, in as much detail as he can.
“what if we got married tomorrow?” you ask.
satoru looks over at you, your glasses still perched on your nose as you work through the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. satoru always thought that it was a little bit corny that you did it right before you went to bed, like a little elderly lady, but knew better than to poke fun at your “enrichment time in your enclosure” as you so poignantly termed it.
“huh?” he asks.
“like. went to court. got married.” you shrug.
satoru reaches for the newspaper, before quickly shoving it straight to the side – not short of any protests from you – as he crawls straight into your lap, nose only a few inches away from yours.
“i was still doing that, idiot.” you state, cupping his face in your hands as you squeeze hard.
“you want to marry me?” he asks, voice laced with excitement.
you scoff.
“are you dumb? we’re engaged, satoru.”
“but you want to marry me. tomorrow?” he asks.
satoru watches as you pause, eyes so full of love that it makes his chest hurt.
“dunno. was just thinking about it.”
“and?”
“stop trying to get me to say something cute.” you state.
“so you admit it. there’s something cute to say?”
you smile, before pinching the bridge of his nose.
“no.” you state.
“c’mon. we’ll do it tomorrow if you tell me. i’ll wear a nice suit, you can wear that silky white dress you have. have sushi with megs after, he can be our witness. pick up rings, get a bouquet on the way.”
you smile brightly.
“you’ll really do it?” you ask.
“of course. s’nothing i wouldn’t do for you.” he whispers.
you lean forward, pressing a warm kiss to his lips.
“i just don’t like that you’re not my husband already. and i get the whole big wedding and clan members and blah blah blah but…i just want to be married to you now. i don’t really care how it happens, i just want that day to be here already.”
satoru smiles, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek.
“it’s settled then. we’re getting married tomorrow, bug.” he responds, before pushing off of you and shuffling under the sheets.
you smile hard, following suit by placing your glasses on the nightstand and curling up into his arms.
“s’bad luck to sleep in the same bed? because that means i’ll see you tomorrow morning?” you ask.
“maybe. but who's going to keep your feet warm if i don’t sleep next to you?”
“very good point, satoru gojo.”
you look back down at the picture, pressing your fingers against the polaroid wrapped in the plastic. the two of you stayed true to your word – a plain but white dress and a simple suit – with your arms wrapped around his neck as you both cheese into the camera.
you note that glittering necklace around satoru’s neck, as you press your fingers to the chain around yours. you had the necklace when you woke up, the only other jewelry you had besides the golden little band around your ring finger – which you assumed was the wedding ring satoru gave you when you got married.
“you have one of these too?” you ask.
satoru smiles, before reaching into his shirt and pulling out the necklace. and surely but not, he has the same necklace as you with the little paper airplane charm hanging at the end.
“we couldn’t find rings on the way to the courthouse. so you picked these shitty airplane necklaces from one of the stands on the way there.” he states.
you smile, as you look down at the picture.
“and we ate with megumi after?”
“uh huh. he got really mad at us after. you kind of whined that you didn’t get a first dance so i decided to move all the furniture around to make room and kind of broke his science fair project.”
“oh my god. no wonder that kid hates you.”
“shut up. we stayed up fixing it. and he doesn’t hate me. he actually danced with us a little bit too – though it was definitely against his will.” satoru adds.
“you tease him too much. leave the poor baby alone.” you state.
satoru’s eyes go wide as he places his hands on your shoulder, the look on his face so excited as he smiles.
“y/n?”
you raise your eyebrows.
“yeah?”
his face falls just as fast.
“oh. nothing.”
you frown.
“what happened?”
“nothing. it’s stupid, i just-”
“it’s not stupid! what is it?” you ask.
he looks at you, before pulling back a little.
“i thought you remembered for a second. that’s always the line you use when i tease him – leave the poor baby alone.”
you frown.
“sorry.” you whisper.
he shrugs.
“s’okay. it’s kind of nice if you think about it.” he states.
“how?”
“well. it’s obvious that big parts of us are shaped by the people that are around us. your best friends, your co-workers, your partners.”
you reach for his hand.
“you wonder how much of it is the stuff you experienced that makes you act the way that you do and how much of it is actually you, you know?” he states.
“exactly! sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt, but-but i think about that all the time. like if i can’t remember, will i still be the same person i was before? the person you all loved? or if this is going to change me so drastically that i’ll be someone new.”
satoru smiles.
“the former.”
“huh?”
“you’ll be the same person you were before. cheesy as hell, but the cuteness will make up for it.”
you roll your eyes.
“how are you so sure?”
he pauses, before placing his hand in your palm.
“one of my favorite things about you is that you were, or are, really compassionate. we always joked that megumi was our kid, but really. you were like his mom – understood him in ways i didn’t, always knew what he was thinking and how to fix it too.” he states.
“yeah?”
“and one of the things megumi hates most is when i tease him in front of yuuji. s’got a big crush on him.” he states.
you look over at the two of them, at megumi and yuuji laughing at choso three feet away and try your best to recall every memory of the two of them together. if megumi always smiled so brightly when he was around him.
“you got real mad at me. told me to leave your poor baby alone. you’ve always cared for him in that way and i can tell that you still do. you might not remember him, but he’s still your baby. you might not remember who you are but you’re still you.”
it’s silent.
“you’ll be the same. you’re still going to be the girl i loved and you’re still going to be my wife.” he whispers, warm tears in his eyes.
his voice wavers on the latter part of the statement.
almost like he doesn’t believe it.
you place your hands on his shoulders and squeeze hard.
“satoru.” you whisper.
he shakes his head.
“sorry. i didn’t mean to say it like that, i just-” he states.
you place your hands on his cheeks and squeeze hard.
“from the type of guy you are, i can tell that i probably fell in love with you all over again hundred times in one day.”
satoru smiles, a tear spilling as you quickly wipe the wetness on his cheek.
“this isn’t any different. i’m not sure about a lot of things, but-but this i am. your eyes are the first thing i remember from when i woke up. i’m almost positive they’ll be the last thing i remember when we’re old wrinkly people too.” you murmur.
satoru wraps his arms around you, tucking your face into his neck, as he squeezes you hard into his frame. you can feel his heart racing underneath you, his pulse point rapid as he slowly breathes in. and surely, it comes to a standstill.
“what did i say? told you that you’d still be cheesy as hell.” satoru states.
you scoff.
“does the cuteness make up for it?” you ask.
“a hundred percent.” satoru responds, before pressing a kiss to your cheek.
satoru takes the picture, after snagging one of the little party hats and securing it on top of your hair, and quickly scribbling on the developed polaroid before tucking it into the book. satoru runs off to the little cake, quickly lighting all the candles as you take the quick second to look down at the picture.
a very forgetful bug turns twenty-six <;3
--
“hey, i’m home!”
satoru shuffles back into the apartment, arms aching and sore from his mission, as he rummages through the kitchen. the fridge is empty leave for a few condiments and he makes a mental note to order takeout.
“did you want to order something?” he calls out, halfheartedly registering you walking towards him as he shuts the fridge door.
he’s taken aback when he feels your arms wrap around him from behind, your arms nearly squeezing the breath out of him.
“ow, bug. you’re hugging too hard.”
he turns around only to find tearfilled eyes staring back at him, immediately dropping his phone in his hand to cup your cheeks.
“woah, hey. you okay?” he asks.
you shake your head, bringing your eyes to your sockets to rub the wetness away. you can barely say the words, the pounding in your head and racing in your chest not coming to the standstill.
“what’s wrong?” he asks.
“do-do you remember the first time you cried in front of me?” you ask.
satoru pulls back, albeit a little bit confused, as he frowns.
“um. let me try and think. maybe at our real wedding?” he asks.
“no. no, that’s not right.” you whisper.
“huh?”
“you cried for the first time when megumi got hurt when he was out with nobara and yuuji. he didn’t call either of us afterwards and you were sad that maybe he didn’t need you anymore.” you state.
satoru hums in response.
“that’s right. i totally forgot. idiot got twenty stitches and didn’t think to tell either of us.”
you deflate, putting your hands on his shoulders as you squeeze.
“satoru.”
“what?”
“you forgot. but i remembered.” you whisper.
satoru brings his hands to your sides, squeezing hard as you see his eyes - icy blue - filled with warm tears.
“y/n. are-are you serious?” he whispers.
“yeah. s’all kind of fuzzy and i have a really bad headache but i remember you and-”
you can barely finish your sentence because satoru’s hands – now cupped around your neck – have pulled his face flesh with yours and he’s pressing his lips to yours. it’s enough to shock you to your core, nearly stumbling in his arms, as you feel his tears start to fall onto your face.
“you’re back. you-you remember me.” he whispers.
“yeah. yeah, i am. i do.” you whisper, nearly hiccuping from the lack of air reaching your lungs from the tears.
you rest your forehead against his, the two of you heaving in tandem as satoru runs his hands all over you – on your cheeks, your biceps, the length of your back.
“i know that it was still you before. and-and i still loved you the same, of course i did – you’re my wife. but you don’t know how fucking happy i am that you’re-”
“you’re insane, satoru. i can’t believe you…you stayed. and you-”
“you’re mine. of course i stayed.”
“i know, but…i didn’t even remember you. and now that i look back on it, sweetheart. you must have been so upset and alone, you…you barely even smiled. or made any shitty jokes. i’m sorry i didn’t notice.”
“you didn’t have anything to go off of. s’okay.”
you wrap your arms around his neck, his face tucked into yours as you run your hands in his hair and softly murmur into his ear. you’re not sure when the crying starts, when he starts trembling under you, but you have every intent to keep him in your arms as long as he needs to.
“satoru, you did so good.”
“yeah?”
“so good, sweetheart.” you murmur.
satoru frowns.
“i tried really hard to keep it together for you. i-i didn’t want to make you feel bad or that-”
“you did keep it together for me. but you can let go now, i’m here to catch you.”
it’s enough to leave him sobbing in your arms, your quiet whispering in his ears not reaching him. he’s positive that he’s made you say it a hundred times at this point – that you love him – and he’s more than thankful that you’re willing to oblige.
satoru realizes there’s three stages to it, two weeks after the fact.
first, it’s the hand being extended to him. it was so quiet that he barely realized it at first – the fact that you were trying to pull him back, the first second that you remembered. warm hands squeezing his frame, the same way they always had.
second, the realization. the water he was drowning in was so cold that he could barely remember the extent of the warmth and when it returned, it was so sweltering that he could barely remember that he was freezing a few seconds ago. sweet honey eyes – being so full of love that he can see it pouring out of your eyes when you look at him.
and lastly, being pulled up. it’s warm air tickling his skin this time – the smell of your perfume, cold feet on top of his when he goes to bed, a kiss on the forehead, two little airplane necklaces, matching golden wedding bands.
satoru gojo finds hope in the simplest of things. in the mere fact that you were looking at him.
--
an: our very first 1989 song!!! I thought ironically that it would be very funny if I did an amnesia au to out of the woods. and then I accidentally wrote all of it.
includes: fem reader, friends hinting to lovers, non curse au, suguru and shoko being active third and fourth wheels, in denial reader, pining (and teasing) gojo
satoru’s changed his wallpaper.
you try not to feel like a stalker for realizing he’s changed it a day after he does, but in your defense, you happen to always be seated next to your friend, and noticing his wallpaper as he checks the time isn’t exactly your fault. it was different from yesterday, and it’s not a creepy thing that you noticed.
it’s by chance, and it just so happens that you’re not the only one who notices either.
“you changed your wallpaper?” suguru points at the phone in satoru’s hand, stretching a hand across the table and waving his fingers, “let me see.”
“inoue waka,” he grins, handing the phone over for suguru to get a closer look. “isn't she hot?”
shoko glances at you. you pretend you don't notice as you take a sip of your milkshake.
inoue waka is pretty, sure, but you didn't think satoru was into girls her type anyway. he seems less shallow than looking at women in bikinis all day—but then again, you suppose he is just a guy, after all.
you don't even really care that satoru's wallpaper is some random girl on a beach in a bikini. you had, of course, wanted to think your friends were better than frothing at the mouth over women who were half naked, but boys will be boys, and satoru is just a boy. who is your friend. and nothing more.
and you don't care that he's really into someone like inoue waka.
"you sure you won't get in trouble for this?" suguru snorts, but his eyes linger on the screen a bit longer than they really need to. you'd reach over and smack him across this table if you could—why is he encouraging this?
"with who?" satoru chuckles, "my mom? what's she gonna do, take my phone away?"
"she really ought to," you say pointedly, "walking around with a bikini photo as your lock screen isn't exactly a very dignified thing to do," you scold.
maybe if you weren't so focused on satoru, you'd notice suguru try to hold back another snort and shoko elbow him as she pretends to clear her throat to stifle a chuckle.
you don't care that satoru's wallpaper is inoue waka because the idea of a girl being his lock screen is a big deal—it's not. sure, you held a schoolgirl crush on him back in the day a few years ago in grade school, but you're adults now. time has passed and he's grown, you've grown, and those things fade with time. you don't nurse that lovesick little hope you did back in the day because you and satoru are really good as friends—very good, actually. a great duo, in fact.
it's simply your job as a friend (and as a woman) to instill some respect and dignity in him so that he views women like they're people, not a pair of tits to ogle.
that's all there is to it. really.
"why," he chuckles, leaning in closer as he stares into your eyes over the lenses of his sunglasses, "you jealous?"
he's just joking, like he always does—that's what you tell yourself, anyway, when he takes a sip from your straw and steals a bit of your milkshake. his eyes never leave yours even as you watch him swallow, and it's almost intimate, watching him do this one tiny, regular, normal little thing. you've shared drinks with each other since you were teenagers—not just him, in fact. shoko and suguru share a cigarette all the time; it's nothing new.
but a small, stupid, lovestruck part of you that's still hooked on your teenage days is screaming, his lips touched where yours were!
"jealous of what, asshole?" you snort, shooing him away from your drink as you steal it back. he pouts, reaching for it again before you smack his hand away.
you're a bit compelled to give him back your drink once he flashes you those curled lips of his, but he already drank his, and it's his fault for inhaling everything as soon as he gets them. you'll take your time to savor your milkshake, and satoru can sit and watch. and sulk.
"that you're not my wallpaper anymore," he wiggles his eyebrows like he's got you cornered. you think he might for a moment with the way you blink.
okay, so you were his wallpaper—but so were shoko and suguru. it was a group photo, and changing it from that does, in fact, replace you, but it replaces the other two people in this equation as well.
you roll your eyes as you scoff, staring at him in amusement. "i don't know, satoru. i think you only made that your wallpaper to prove to people you actually have friends."
"i'm not his friend," shoko says instantly, "i'm only here for you."
"hey," suguru frowns, "i shared my fries with you."
"okay," shoko concedes, "and for your fries too." suguru pulls his platter away at that, and shoko sighs and mumbles, "okay. i'm here for you two. no one else."
she makes sure to gesture between you and suguru as she throws satoru a glance, and he pouts again, looking at her in disbelief.
"what about me?" he gasps.
"you never pay for your own food," shoko scoffs, "fucking leech."
it's not so bad, you think: being friends with satoru has its perks. he's funny and endearing and makes for a good source of entertainment when everyone agrees to tease him in unison. there's a fond smile on your face before suguru snaps at your face and pulls your attention back.
there's a knowing smirk on his face as he says, "you've had your mouth open over the straw for ages now. are you gonna take a sip or keep staring?"
luckily, satoru is still whining away as shoko pushes his buttons on the side, and neither of them seems to hear suguru or notice the embarrassment flooding your features. you sputter, trying to hide the way the question makes you flustered enough to slam your drink down a bit harder than you intend to.
"i'm not staring, you jerk. i was just...listening in."
"yeah," he snickers at your answer, lips twitching into an even larger grin, "some great listening skills you had back there."
you can feel more heat creep to the back of your neck—just because you weren't listening to suguru doesn't mean you weren't listening to something. you're not good at splitting your attention, that's all. it's just that satoru is very good at demanding attention to center around him without even trying, and old habits die hard.
you weren't staring at him on purpose.
"hey," you're interrupted by satoru's incessant tapping on your shoulder, making you reluctantly turn away from suguru's knowing gaze before you sigh and pretend to look at the man next to you in weariness.
"what, satoru?"
"that's no way to talk to me," he huffs, "and tell shoko i am, in fact, very handsome! i am, right?"
shoko rests her cheek on her palm as she flutters her lashes at you, grinning deviously as suguru perks with interest. both of their gazes tell you they're thinking the same thing—this should be good.
"yeah," shoko baits, "is he?"
"no. you're hideous," you grumble, not looking at satoru's wounded expression as you glare at your two friends across the table. some friends, really—it's like they pray for your downfall.
"that's a lie," satoru huffs, crossing his arms stubbornly, "everyone at this table is in love with me. admit it."
"oh, i bet someone is," shoko mumbles under her breath, earning a warning glance from you—you're not in love with satoru. it was a simple crush. it's history now.
satoru reaches for your drink again, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he takes it from your grasp. it's a fleeting moment, but you both pause at the contact, eyes meeting before you quickly glance away and he takes a quick sip from your milkshake, and both of you pretend it didn't happen.
your bottom lip is tugged between your teeth as you chew on it nervously, and satoru's ears are suspiciously close to a dusty pink. it doesn't mean anything, after all—it's just an accidental touch.
suguru seems almost pains before he tiredly says, "it's getting late. we should go home."
"right," satoru nods, still holding onto your milkshake like it's his. you'll probably let him have it—you were having trouble finishing it, anyway. and it doesn't hurt that he's been eyeing it since he finished his. "i'll walk you home," he turns to you.
"wha—" you try to protest, but shoko cuts you off before you can.
"great idea! suguru and i will go out for a smoke. see you guys."
they're off before you can say anything else. it's just you. and satoru. and you suppose that stupid wallpaper of that bikini model that lights up on the table as he gets a notification. you eye it for a moment and he can't help but grin.
"you're so jealous," he chuckles. "knew it."
"am not, you idiot," you click your teeth in irritation, "your ego needs a reality check."
"i'll change it just for you," he hums, leaning closer until his elbow brushes against yours on the table, closer and closer until your arms are pressed against each other and his head is leaned closer to yours and you can smell his cologne.
it's expensive, just like the rest of him.
"keep your little bikini picture," you roll your eyes, "it makes no difference to me—"
"how about this one?" he hums lowly, looking at you expectantly for your answer. there's a grin on his face that tells you he's teasing you, but there's an anxious little tap of his foot that you think might say otherwise.
you look over—it's a picture of you and satoru. you're sleeping, head rested on his shoulder as he smiles to himself and scrolls through his phone. the picture has to be taken by suguru—only he would take it from a tilted angle like a moron.
"when was this?" you furrow your brows, "and why do i look like that? don't you dare—"
but he laughs, low and smooth and in that soft little boyish way that makes him feel just a bit more reachable. a bit more touchable. a bit more possible to be yours.
"it's cute," he murmurs, "you were drooling."
"satoru," you hiss, "if you're always this annoying, you'll die single."
he grins—it's amused and soft and slightly awed all in one. it makes you pause, and then you feel it: the steadily building thrum of your heart. satoru is just a schoolgirl crush, but you don't know if you've ever outgrown those high school days.
at least not the moments that feel like him. the moments that smell like his expensive cologne and taste like the strawberry milkshake you get because you know you'll end up sharing. the moments where somehow, in some way, it's always the two of you that are always left alone. together.
"maybe not," he murmurs, leaning closer, breath just fanning over your lips, "i still have some hope left for me." and then he stands and stretches as he grabs your milkshake and looks at you expectantly. "c'mon, i gotta walk you home. it's getting dark, y'know."
you stand, he takes a sip of your drink, and there's a notification on his phone that suspiciously looks like suguru's contact. you don't get a glimpse of what it says, but you do get a glimpse of his wallpaper.
it's you—of course, you're sleeping and not at your best moment—but it's you all the same. you're not jealous of inoue waka—but if you were, you'd think that maybe you really wouldn't really have to be.
reblogs appreciated!
ctrltoru — do not repost, translate, or plagiarize.
hiii i heard you wanted some requests 👀 and I'm super glad you're back !! I missed you a lot lot <3
My head has been so full of post-dinner date Gojo ideas. The domesticity of getting unready with him and cuddling in bed right afterward. It's just so simple but so cute. oh oh and doing nighttime skincare with him :( having him sit down and rubbing in the different creams into his skin and the way he would lead into your hands. ahhh he has me so weak (_ _)
Feel free to use any of these ideas to write or take inspo from if you want! Gojo is such a cutie :3
Anyways, have a lovely day, and remember to take care of yourself!!
pairing. gojo satoru × gn!reader
content. bunch of fluff + comfort, reader has smaller hands than gojo (in case that bothers anyone!!) & sits on his lap, sappy reader + gojo!! read slowly for maximum enjoyment <3
sticky-note. nonnie u are so goated for this idea, i think this might be my fav gojo fic so far 😭 I MISSED U MORE!! hope u have a wonderful day and thank u for sending this in 🫶
satoru thinks your hands are pretty.
they’re smaller than his—of course they are. he can’t think of a single person who has bigger hands than him. he enjoys it, though. your touch is stimulating in a way; fingertips completely gentle as you rub the latest lotion that you bought onto his face.
“can’t keep your hands off of me, huh?” he leans back and grins, but you can’t even be annoyed by his teasing. there's a shine in his eyes that you haven’t seen a very long time—and you are more than happy to see it now.
“mhm,” you hum, softly kneading his cheeks like you would with a baby. his blindfold is off and his demeanor seems so relaxed, his face basking into your soothing touch. it’s hard to hold back your own smile. “you just have that type of charming effect, y’know?”
“you’re being awfully nice today,” he remarks suspiciously, peeking an eye open to look closely at you. you pinch his cheek in return. “what’s the occasion baby?”
you roll your eyes, pulling back your hand for a moment to scoop up a bit more lotion. you swipe it lightly onto his forehead. “what? i can’t give you attention? can’t i spoil my boyfriend for once?”
the tips of his ears redden at your words, making you giggle at the rare but pleasant sight. “....i mean, you can, but—”
“shh,” you shush him. he closes his mouth instantly. “no more talking! this is the most important part because i have to smooth out all the wrinkles in your forehead.”
he lets out a big gasp, being playfully offended—narrowing his eyes with an indignant look. the smile you didn't even know you were sporting grows wider at how cute he is. you wouldn't say it that out loud though, of course.
it is so beautifully quiet and peaceful. you can’t think of the last time you spent time with satoru like this: seated on the living room floor of his apartment as you slap your whole skincare routine onto his face. his back is against the couch with his legs sprawled out, but not too sprawled out so you are more than comfortable on his lap. it’s nighttime so the curtains are draped over the window, but you love the warm, dim lighting of his living room. gojo satoru is gorgeous, but is especially pretty in this lighting; with his head comfortably tilted back and eyes closed, but not forcefully or harshly shut as if he’s in pain.
for the longest time, you've been used to seeing satoru in pain. not in a physical way—but in an emotional and mental way that tugs at your heart strings just seeing him in that state. you know the burden that comes with being the strongest: there will always be a significant power divide between you and the people you love, which will never not be difficult for the other party to ignore. it also doesn’t help that he is so happy-go-lucky all the time, despite the jujutsu sorcerer duties that keeps piling rocks onto his shoulders.
but now in this moment, he is all yours. he isn’t the strongest, nor is he Gojo Satoru. he is just yours—just the lover boy who melts into your open arms whenever given the chance. just a boy who had to give up being a boy so he could be a man for others to look up to him. just someone you would want to depend on you, the same way you lovingly depend on him.
“i love you,” you suddenly whisper, in the midst of just simply applying lotion onto his skin. your slow, comforting movements make him want to fall asleep, but your words make him wide awake.
“out of the blue?” his head shoots up, eyes wide and visible despite being behind his messy bangs. he sits up and stares at you, the same glimmer back in his eyes. “i mean, i’m not complaining—”
you interrupt with a huff, “i say it everyday, jerk.” you place your hands on his chest to wipe away any of the lotion moisture left on your palms. he doesn’t bat a single eye. “what do you mean ‘out of the blue’?”
“i know, but...”
your jaw drops a bit. you actually cannot believe your eyes as satoru tilts his head a bit to the side, shyly averting his eyes as you see a tint of scarlet on his cheeks. “it just feels so intimate right now, so...”
good lord. you want to baby him so bad. you want to shrink him and keep him in your pocket and always protect him wherever you go.
“you’re too cute for my well-being,” you breathe, going back on your earlier words. “you know i always mean it when i say i love you, ‘toru.”
“stop,” he whines. he raises an arm to cover his face, eyes still unable to look at yours. “don’t compliment me. i don’t think i’ll be able to handle it right now.”
you can’t help but laugh, squeaking in surprise when satoru pokes at your sides with a little pout. you want to tease him, you think. you might as well with a smile permanently on your face now.
these are the type of moments you crave: moments when satoru tears down his walls and lets himself act like he’s a little boy all over again in front of you. it’s not like he necessarily had walls up with you in the first place, but being a jujutsu sorcerer has always meant protecting and guarding yourself at all times no matter the cost.
but now, you have him. and he has you in his arms, the one that sneak around your waist and warmly wrap around you to keep you close to his chest. it's cuddly but protective, both of your laughs drowning out any other background sounds.
and you are more than willing to protect him yourself.
synopsis: satoru gojo is spoiled and arrogant. he's also the next in line to inherit his family's fortune. his father sends him far away in a small town for a week in hopes that he'll 'change' for the better. instead of the usual five-starred hilton hotels, he stays at a local inn and starts to befriend the owner's daughter.
tropes: small town romance, christmas au, golden retriever x black cat
MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST
contents: fem!reader, spoiled rich boy!gojo, acts like an ass to everyone but hopelessly falls in love with you at first sight, feels like a really bad hallmark movie, mentions of wealth class differences, reader isn't a tsundere - she's just indifferent for the most part and introverted
word count: 7.5K (idk i will uh make the fics shorter in the future)
a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! idk if this is what you wanted but hopefully you like it!! :3 everyone also give a round of applause to @popponn for beta reading this big mess LMAO
Satoru Gojo has a lot of expectations, but this certainly isn’t one of them.
He isn’t particularly excited about spending a week away from his big city penthouse to be rotting in a small town motel in the middle of nowhere but, his father, CEO of Gojo Corporations, heavily insisted that he ‘needs this’ and that ‘it’ll be good for the company’ — whatever that means. Satoru is confident that his father thinks he’s incapable of running the family business after last month’s run with the paparazzi and his third fling of the month. It wasn’t his fault that they got caught doing drugs at one of Zenin's parties, everyone else was doing the same thing, it just so happened that the cameras were only focusing on him.
Well, that’s what he gets for signing up to be the son of one of the richest men on Earth.
“You need to start taking this seriously,” he recalls his father slamming his fist down at the desk before throwing a bottle of Henessy at the wall. “I don’t want this company to go bankrupt just because I have a son who only thinks with his dick.”
Ouch… but he’s not wrong about that.
So now Satoru finds himself driving up a winding road somewhere very deep in the mountains. Exactly five hours away from the city. And, for the past three hours, all he’s been seeing are miles and miles of pine trees, sheets of snow, and — he had recently learned this from Suguru — sugar shacks. Apparently when you’re out over a hundred miles into wilderness territory these sap houses are littered everywhere. The fact that Satoru is beginning to count more shacks than designer cars on the road is really starting to get to him.
“This whole thing is so fucking stupid,” Satoru has also been talking to himself throughout the journey in order to not lose his mind. “He could’ve just sent me door to door caroling instead of whatever this is.” Satoru doesn’t know how to sing well, but he does know all the lyrics to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ and that usually gets him all the tips. He wonders if he can manage to make a small side hustle when he starts wasting his week here.
He takes a sharp turn up around the hill before finally recognizing a big red sign with the name ‘Mistle Town’ as seen on the postcard his dad left him before leaving. It takes him another five minutes of driving through said small town, which is quite literally something out of one of those really bad holiday movies that his mom would force him to watch when he was little, before arriving at the inn. Upon arriving, Satoru is noticeably disappointed at the lack of valet assistance and, the size and design of the inn, is rather lackluster.
First, it just looks like a regular white farmhouse. Maybe having a max of ten rooms, none of them being penthouse sized, Satoru assumes. There are a couple of flowerbeds out front, all covered in a couple of inches of snow, and there’s subtle signs of holiday decor slowly bleeding its way outside. He sees someone dressed in an oversized puffer by the entrance, arms occupied with red tinsel and large white ornaments, and figures that the first nice thing he’ll do is to help out a random stranger — just to prove something to his dad.
Satoru parks his Rolls Royce in a spot furthest away from everyone else in the parking lot and sends a ‘im alive and well’ text to Suguru, because he’s very much so going to be in frequent contact with him for the remainder of the trip, before heading up.
“Need a hand?” He points out the obvious but still manages to throw a smile as if he’s already fixed the situation unfolding in front of him.
Satoru’s presence seems to pull you from your busy trance. You wiped your body around, nearly smacking the damn tinsel in his face, and made a small surprised noise.
“I’ve got it,” you muffle out and he looks entirely unconvinced but, whatever, he tried anyway.
Satoru gives you a few encouraging pats on the back before heading inside, failing to realize his strength and causing you to lose your balance, making a few ornaments tumble to the ground. Thank god they’re all plastic though.
He pretends to not hear you yelling after him as he enters the double doors, immediately greeted by the scent of roasted coffee beans and leather. It’s the precious hour in the morning where nobody comes by, right after the cleaning staff had just finished vacuuming, when he struts in. He immediately spots someone vaguely familiar by the front desk. Long black hair, a red poofy bow tie in the back, and a distinctive scar across her face. The woman isn’t working alone, a man with another facial marking is next to her, brewing two cups of coffee by the espresso machine.
Satoru looks at the woman again and outwardly smiles. “What are you doing here?”
“Ugh,” Utahime’s composure immediately falters at the sound of his voice, not that it’s a big shock. “Helping the family business, what else?” she throws back with a certain sharpness to her tone, and waves off the casual talk. “Have you even mentally prepared yourself for what you’re getting into?”
Satoru simply shrugs and saunters over to a nearby seat by the counter. “Nah, honestly just planning to fuck around till I get back.”
Utahime flushes a little, though it’s mainly from frustration. “Satoru Gojo, you really are—”
“Utahime,” the man next to her speaks, handing her a cup of coffee, and slides Satoru a freshly brewed one, too. “I can explain the details to him, if you would like?”
The older female rubs the bridge of her nose and exhales a long, overdue sigh. “Please do, Choso.”
“Yeah,” Satoru leans into the counter, lips pointed down at this new face. “Please, do tell.”
“You’re basically our little Santa helper.” A new voice rings out from behind him. It spooks Satoru from his seat and he whips his head around to be met with your narrow eyes.
“Huh?”
“Also think of this as an unpaid internship.” You start laughing when he gags on his own saliva at your statement. “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”
Satoru swallows. “U-Unpaid…?”
Now it’s Utahime’s turn to speak, she huffs and tosses a couple of stockings into his arms. “Your father sent us a lengthy email a few days prior regarding your bratty behavior. So, of course, we came prepared.”
“Prepared…?” He feels the fabric in his hands and whines at the grainy texture. This is so not 100% real wool.
If Satoru thought he had any chance of actually taking over his father’s company, because he knows the difference between supply and demand, he’s wrong.
Customer service is not his forte. He’s always thrown emails and sponsorship paperwork at his many assistants, and Satoru doesn’t even know his own email log-in password. So, when you walked up to him first thing the next morning with a brown apron, the inn’s logo large and embroidered in the center, telling him how to function all these coffee machines that he’s seen behind hundreds of counters, it invoked some fear into his already wrecked nerves. Plus, no one dared to warn him about the clientele during a holiday rush.
“I want a venti peppermint frappe with two pumps of chocolate, three pumps of hazelnut, replace it with almond milk, one shot of espresso, and top it off with a drizzle of caramel on top.”
He slumps against the counter. “You sure you want all of that?”
“Can I please get a half dozen sfogliatella and a cannoli?
He starts picking at his cuticles and sneers. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
“My change is supposed to be five dollars, you only gave me three back?”
Satoru groans. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”
By the end of his four hour shift, Satoru feels like he’s just done more charity work than he’s ever done in his life — actually, maybe this could also be comparable to the time where he did the ribbon cutting ceremony at Chanel; gotta support small businesses, right?
“Gojo.” You’re seated across from him behind the counter, arms crossed and pursed lips.
He barely spares you a glance as he idly plays whatever shitty mobile game that’s number one on the app store. “Mhm? What is it?” He clearly knows you’re upset, your voice practically screams ‘I will end you’ in the most monotonous way possible. But can you blame him? Of all places, Satoru does not want to spend his winter break here.
You jerk your head to the side, fingers rhythmically tapping away on the counter, clearly unimpressed. “It hasn’t even been a full day and you’ve managed to piss off every single customer.”
Satoru expression shifts, brow creasing, and sighs, grabbing a handful of mint chocolate from the freebie candy jar by the register. “Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes and shoves three pieces in his mouth before jabbing a finger at a young man. “I didn’t piss him off!”
You glower, cheeks slightly puffed out. “That’s Yuuji and he’s practically a family friend and Choso’s little brother, so he doesn’t count,” you explain before adding, “Plus, he’s literally nice to everyone. You’re not special.”
And for a second, Satoru considered arguing that fact. Having been born into wealth, granted whatever wish he wanted, his butlers and maids are always on speed dial, that’s the lifestyle he’s used to. Placed on this tiny rock called Earth just to take over it one day, is what his father used to always say to him. But how can he, Satoru Gojo, take over when he’s stuck working a minimum — scratch that, unpaid — wage job as punishment?
Instead of fighting, Satoru slumps against the counter and pouts, like a little kid who just got their toy taken away. You and your sister Utahime have a clear advantage over him, by somehow being close, yet distant, friends to his family. Maybe karma is real.
“I’m putting you on ski lessons later.”
Satoru’s ears perk at this. “Oh, so I get some employee benefits, right?”
You roll your eyes, digging deep in your pockets to pull out a sheet with his name next to a list of others. “Wrong. You’re in charge of teaching five year olds how to ski.”
“Huh?”
Somehow that sounds even worse than being a barista. Kinda.
By the end of his first day of unemployment, Satoru tries to convince himself that a full change of scenery is nice. Well, he has to convince himself, otherwise he’s stuck dreading each coming day for the rest of the week.
“Tired yet, Gojo?”
You flop down on a spare armchair in his room, squishing his Canada Goose jacket underneath. He’s too tired to yell at you to get off and tumbles onto his bed, feet dangling off the edge, letting out a loud groan when his face immediately makes contact with the rough wooly blanket. Surprisingly to him, everything just feels so comfortable that the quality of the products doesn’t even cross his mind.
Sure, the air in the room is a bit musty, and he can feel his cheeks flaring up from the sudden change in temperature and the dull aching nag in his legs from demonstrating ski tricks to toddlers, but there’s an odd sense of fulfillment swelling in his chest just about now. He almost suggests taking over Choso’s lesson but, according to the hotel pamphlet, there’s going to be an ice fishing tournament tomorrow and he kinda wants to check that out, too.
“Exhausted,” he mumbles into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. Satoru wiggles his body around for a few moments before slipping out of his snow boots and stares out the window, noticing flickering green and purple lights in the night sky. “Woah, are those…?”
He hears you laugh beside him. “Yeah, northern lights. We see them all the time during the winter.”
“Only seen them bitches in ‘Polar Express’.” Satoru finds himself saying whatever’s on his mind right now, his brain too whipped out to control his mouth. “You guys are lucky to see this every night.”
“I know you’re all pooped out from today but,” he feels the mattress dip by the edge and your fingers poking at his thighs. “Did you wanna head up to the balcony and watch them for a bit?” you say this experimentally, waiting for his reaction.
Satoru might be a stranger to most natural phenomenons, having to zone out all the time whenever he did go on family vacations to a fancy national park when he was younger. Though, during the short time of spending his time here, it makes him think about packing up and leaving behind the fast paced city life for a bit of natural beauty and brightness.
“Carry me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like a giant.”
He manages to gather some energy to sit up on his elbows. “You should at least have some form of hospitality to a family friend, you know?”
You eye him for a long moment, and then finally huff, breaking the contact to kick your feet into the festive carpeted floor. “Alright, just don’t lean your whole body weight on me.”
“Wouldn’t count on that.”
Both of you end up tumbling onto the balcony rails around one in the morning. As expected, Satoru couldn’t keep to his promise, throwing his ridiculously long arms around your shoulders, and whining the whole way up the stairs. It’s not his fault that the inn didn’t have an elevator installed. In all, it’s not a bad day — a bad night, even.
You straighten him against the railing before throwing a blanket over him. The fabric is thick and heavy, and Satoru forgets the ache in his limbs as he watches the way your eyes focus, eyebrows knitted, when you’re making sure he stays bundled up against the winter air. Once upon a time, Satoru never would’ve thought he would actually enjoy being in the company of someone who’s actively trying to teach him a lesson.
“Okay,” you say suddenly, almost like a reminder that you need to breathe, and pull away from him once he’s wrapped tightly like a swaddled baby.
You both sit in silence for a moment, and Satoru feels the urge to fill all that silence. He supposes maybe that’s why most people find him so annoying. He never really shuts up, always wants to add the last comment to everything. Though, with the help of Suguru by his side, it’s gotten slightly easier and bearable for others but, when his head is big and full of loud thoughts, it’s so hard trying to calm the buzzing noise in his head and —
“Gojo, look,” your pointer finger darts at the illuminated skyline in the distance and he snaps his head, following the trail, before gasping.
He feels your other hand tugging at the blanket when he finally makes out two faint bright lights in the distance. You squirm slightly next to him, to the point where your shoulders touch, and Satoru finally breathes, because suddenly, there’s heat rushing in. The loud, rough winds around him seem to die down and he’s aware of the slightly gazed expression on your face as you look into the far distance.
“Did you make a wish?” he finds himself whispering.
You grin. “Yeah, gonna make you work here for eternity,” you reply back in good natured spirit.
Something stirs inside Satoru. Something important. Well, Satoru-level important, so in the grand scheme of things, not very — but still. He unravels parts of his blanket and throws it over your head, making sure that it messes up your hair, and laughs when you throw him another pout.
“Did you make a wish?” you adjust the blanket so it covers your shoulders, moving a little closer to him, avoiding the cool breeze.
Satoru nods but presses a finger to his lips. “Not telling, though. Might not come true if I do.”
“Oh, shoot. Maybe I should’ve kept mine a secret then.”
He rolls his eyes and nudges your waist with an elbow. “You will definitely not see me here again.”
Satoru realizes, very fast, that his life has become very different, very quickly. And it might not be the bad kind of different.
Over the course of the next few days, he’s practically glued to your side as you’re showing him all things related to hospitality that his father tried to drill into him when he was a pre-teen. Obviously, it didn’t work at the time. Satoru’s known for being defiant just because he wanted to, and eventually his father stopped with the after school etiquette lessons. You, on the other hand, unfortunately have him tied around your fingers.
“You need to tidy up the edges more, Gojo.”
“There’s barely a wrinkle in these sheets!” He points at the bed sheet on the mattress, the one that he’d been working on for the last ten minutes in vain while you stood next to him with slightly concerned eyes. It’s a room service type of lesson today and, even though Satoru has never made his own bed before, he’s positive that he didn’t leave behind any smudges that might catch anyone’s eye.
“Did you check tuck in the sides? Or are you trying to get off easy for today?” You say, there’s a mild accusation in your tone when you speak, smiling as you step aside.
And, despite the warm smile, Satoru frowns a little, because guess who forgot to tuck in the sides?
When Satoru ducks his head around the mattress and sees a good loose chunk of the sheets hanging off and groans when you’re right. “It’s not my fault that they’ve made them so big for no reason,” he replies, somewhat embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his already ruffled hair.
You roll your eyes and stick a tongue out. “You’re getting the hang of it though, maybe even faster than Yuuji when he first offered to help.”
He flushes at the unexpected praise and quickly fixes the sheets, turning his whole entire body away from your sight. “Better than Yuuji, right?”
“Oh? So, you only work better with compliments, Gojo?” You sound amused, as if a lightbulb just popped on top of your head.
Satoru flattens out the bed once more, strangely now feeling satisfied with the final outcome before turning around, sticking out a tongue of his own. “Only if it’s from you,” he answers, honestly.
You laugh, and hopefully it’s not at him. “I thought you would be more annoying to deal with.”
“So, I’m just regular amounts of annoying?” He points out, with a fake frown, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the sheet.
You turn your gaze, seemingly in deep thought, before responding with a small shrug and grin. “Possibly a perfect amount of annoying.”
Satoru feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, again. “Well, of course, it’s the perfect amount because I’m perfect,” he replies, instantly, but suddenly he’s shy and feels the need to go to the next room to fix their stupid sheets before he combusts in front of you.
“Gojo,” you say, almost hesitantly.
He swallows and rubs the back of his neck, wiping off evidence of his sweaty palms. “Yeah?”
“You missed a spot,” and your pointer fingers direct at the far right corner of the bed frame. He must’ve pulled the sides too hard and it caused the other side to flip over. Ugh, he’s not cut out for this at all.
“I’m… uh, still better than Yuuji, right?”
“Mhm, getting there, Gojo.”
By day four, Satoru has surprisingly adjusted to the rules and responsibilities. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten him mildly well behaved, Suguru is a bit surprised by the daily updates being less… aggressive and whiny. What started as long vent paragraphs about the lack of heated flooring and needy customers, soon turned into photo albums of kids face planting into the snow and unconsented selfies with you in the background. Satoru absolutely makes sure you end up looking the worst out of the two because he’s gotta let his best friend know who’s the prettiest and he’s definitely racking up a blackmail album of all of your worst moments in case anything happens in the future.
It’s closing time and he just got back from the reindeer shed out in the back, covered head to toe in all things hay and snow. First things first, and no one bothered to tell him, but reindeers smell bad. Like, really bad. Especially at the end of the day, where their pens are covered in shit and countless carrots and apple bits from the little kids overfeeding them. Satoru is vaguely aware of the fact that he smells, just like he’s vaguely aware that the hotel lobby is oddly quiet from the usual banter between you and the usual workers.
Utahime and Choso are sitting by the cafe bar, seemingly deep in conversation about ordering more supplies for next week. Satoru thinks about interrupting their session with probably an unrelated dumb question, but the idea dies when Utahime notices his presence and motions him to come over.
“You stink,” Satoru casts a half-glare at Utahime and begins picking out some of the scattered hay pieces stuck to his sweater.
“For the record, I became good friends with Rudolph and Vixen today,” he grumbles back and Choso throws him a pat on the back.
“Hey, I don’t mind your stink, by the way. Smells kinda nice,” Choso offers up, but Satoru only shoots him a very unhappy look.
“If you think I smell nice then I’m really worried about what you think smells bad,” then he turns over to Utahime again, who’s engrossed in whatever is on her clipboard right now. “So, what did you need from me?”
“My sister,” she starts and taps away at the clipboard before handing it over to him. It’s pages upon pages of invoices from the past month. “Could you hand this to her? She should be in the back.”
“You treating me like an errand boy?”
Utahime scoffs. “What? Don’t wanna see her?”
“No, I do,” he responds, a bit too fast for his own liking, and straightens out. “Uh, is that all?” Satoru hopes his face doesn’t betray how much he’s a bit excited to interact with you, given that today was a full day out in the trenches, and he absolutely needs to hear you say his name at least twice a day in order to have a good night’s sleep.
Choso is trying really hard not to laugh, and Satoru takes it as a sign that he currently has a cheesy smile on his face — go figure. “One of the corner rooms upstairs requested a weighted blanket, mind also doing that too?”
There’s a certain relief that floods through Satoru and he thinks maybe he can take on a few more tasks for the night if that means spending a little more time with you, even if his body is screaming that he needs to take a two hour long shower.
“Hey,” he starts to say when he rounds the corner, “Where’d you put those weighted blankets again?”
Satoru expected to walk in on you neck-deep in paperwork. You’ve mentioned earlier in the week that this year would be the busiest and there’s a bunch of stuff due. Something about end of the year tax returns and inventory counts, it all goes out his ear but he remembers something similar that his father told him in a prior conversation. He thinks he could probably help you figure out some of it, but that might be a bit much.
What he walks in on, thought, is you sitting in your little makeshift office. You’re on your laptop, the screen’s tilted just right enough that he gets a glimpse of what you’re looking at. You’re looking at flights and hotels, even got a whole spreadsheet on the second monitor. From what he’s seen of you so far, you didn’t come off as the type to talk about your future that much.
His voice catches you by surprise and your expression flickers from something vaguely focused to embarrassment real quick. You hastily close out the tabs and go back to the hotel’s homepage.
“What is it, Gojo?” And there’s this awkward, oddly frantic moment of you fumbling around with the keyboard and mouse, like a teenage boy who’s just got caught looking at porn.
“Ah,” Satoru thinks seeing your flustered side is rather adorable, to say the least. “You tryin’ to plan a vacation or something?” He struts over to your desk, placing a firm hand onto the back of the chair, and there’s this smile on his face that just screams ‘gotcha’.
Your face scrunches up but it’s not out of annoyance. “Kinda?”
Even with a grumpy look, it’s a good look on you. Makes you kinda dark, brooding, and beautiful, and it turns your eyes into dark storm clouds, or some other weird, waxy poetic shit that Satoru can’t figure out the words to. Either way, Satoru thinks you look cute and can’t stop noticing your little facial movements. You’re more expressive than you would probably imagine.
“Ooh, where to?”
You sigh and start playing with your thumbs. “Malaysia. My friend told me great things about it and I’ve been meaning to go for a while now but time and money are always iffy.”
“Makes sense, I can imagine that being an inn assistant doesn’t pay all the bills.”
That was probably the wrong thing to say. You huff and glare, an icy-death glare, at him. If looks could kill, Satoru is sure that he’ll be six feet underground by now.
“Weighted blankets are on the second floor closet by the laundry room,” you answer his initial question curtly before shutting the laptop. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“It was just a question,” he mumbles slowly, and maybe even a little dangerously. “If money’s an issue—”
“Gojo.” Your voice is fixed and rigid, one that leaves absolutely no room for debate. “Your dad was right about you; you always just fall back to your fame and wealth.”
As you’re busy staring, Satoru realizes that you’re kinda being a total ass to him right now.
“That’s not fair,” his voice is rising and can’t seem to put a stop to the words spilling out. “Don’t bring my dad into this conversation.”
“Or what? You can go back to your privileged life anytime you want. This is just a field trip for you while others actually have to try hard and make a living.” You spit out.
“No one forced you to become an inn worker, you know? If you’re so worried about money then you could’ve just found another high paying job.” Satoru wrinkles his nose and his volume continues to rise.
You immediately offer him a dark glare and it comes off in a cut-throat way that shuts Satoru up mid thought. The rest of his counters die in his throat when you start making hand gestures at the office exit and he gets the hint: ‘leave before I lose my shit’ is the calling he sees.
And it works, because he finds his tone shifting a little, awkwardly kicking the floor and backing off. “Whatever…”
That was last night and, by now, Satoru is realizing that he’s kind of a giant asshole and the guilt is slowly eating away at him. Was he always like this? It couldn’t have been — he’s only met you a few days ago, and this is only meant to be a quick, ‘vacational’, getaway. Sure he might be a bit selfish and a dick, but he had been able to function perfectly fine before all of this, hadn’t he?
Satoru’s not really sure.
It’s noon, and he’s lying in bed. Choso had asked him to cover his shift at the cafe, and he’d agreed, readily, even though it’s supposed to be his day off, because you’re working. Choso had texted him, though, saying that you had simply said you’d work the entire shift by yourself.
Of course. It’s absolutely not funny anymore.
Satoru sighs. He’s going to apologize, that’s for sure. It wounds some of his pride, yeah, but whatever, this tension between you guys, though, isn’t worth it. He finds himself wasting his entire morning away rotting in bed. There are things that he could be doing, that he looks forward to, like feeding the reindeers or demonstrating basic ski moves to little kids. Choso and Yuuji totally got him addicted to yelling out ‘pizza’ and ‘french fry’ at every chance he gets. They also got him addicted to a shitty relationship forum they both browse, but somehow the idea of reading other people’s relationship drama, when he’s facing drama of his own, is kinda mentally exhausting.
On second thought, maybe he should post on that forum, actually.
It might not be such a bad idea.
Or maybe he could reach out to Suguru and ask how to apologize?
His best friend is a bit more grounded and attuned with other people’s feelings compared to him, afterall. Satoru’s not good at this stuff and he’s always just cut others off whenever they do argue, but this feels different. And, well, for the first time in forever, Satoru is desperate.
“I fucked up big time and I need to apologize, help me out here?”
Suguru scoffs over the line. “Wow, what happened to saying ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?”
Satoru rolls his eyes. “Hi, hello. How are you? How do I make a sincere apology?”
“I’m good, thank you. Now, for your request, depends on how big the fuck up is.”
He bites his tongue, finding the right words to essentially not sound like a huge dick but, no matter how he wants to rephrase it, the outcome is the same. “I might’ve implied that she’s poor and needs someone to take care of her?” It sounds so stupid, so mean, and so degrading now that he’s saying it out loud.
He hears Suguru sucking in his teeth and sighs. After a couple of pauses, his best friend finally speaks. “That’s pretty fucked up.”
Satoru frowns. “Okay, yeah, it is,” and he sits up in his bed when a snowball makes an impact against the window. It’s Utahime. And, currently, she’s throwing him the nastiest glare that a woman has ever given him in his life. “Um, I’ll call you back, buddy…”
“What? I haven’t given you—”
“Don’t have time for unwarranted advice right now.”
“You called me!”
“Bye!” Satoru ends the call before shuffling towards the window, swallowing a hard lump, and inches the glass panel just small enough for him to hear coherently and not big enough for her to punt him across the face. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
But Utahime is in an obvious shitty mood and Satoru’s lack of charming antics aren’t going to work this time. “I’m going to apologize, I promise,” he tries to insist.
“This is all your fault,” she immediately gets to the point and it makes him shrink back just a tiny bit. He’s starting to see that the bluntness runs in the family. “Just get your ass to work.”
“But my shift doesn’t start till—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Utahime starts to form an even bigger snowball and raises it to the window panel. “Ass out of bed, now.”
Okay, so as much as Satoru had tried to tell himself that this week wouldn’t be bad, it’s really starting to get fucking awful.
Everyone’s in a shit mood. Yuuji tries to crack some jokes but the usual crowd isn’t having it. You’ve been throwing Satoru dirty looks while working behind the cafe counter together and he’s been put on drink duty — which is his worst nightmare — while you’re attending to the customers because you’re young and cute enough for them to be nice to you. Satoru has spilled hot coffee and chocolate on himself like four times so far, and the shift just started. He’s terrified that the rest of this week is going to be like this.
“Can we talk?” Satoru whisper shouts over the espresso machine.
He sees your shoulders tensing up but immediately relaxes them afterwards. “Did you hear something, Yuuji?”
The boy looks up from the bar counter, it’s his day off and he’s catching up on some homework, but the seemingly growing tension that’s unfolding in front of him is making it painfully hard for him to focus on anything engineering related. Yuuji scratches the back of his neck before darting his eyes back and forth between the two of you. Normally, he would be the voice of reason, but Satoru doesn’t blame him when he shakes his head.
“N-Nah, must’ve been the wind or something...”
Great, he’s been reduced to an air draft.
“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you agree without missing a beat. As the next customer in line spends an eternity holding everyone up, debating whether to get the seasonal muffin or french toast to go with their drink, you continue, “Thought I heard a rotten brat for a second.”
He absolutely doesn’t expect the harsh insult. Satoru widens his eyes at the outburst and there’s a small pause, the silence ticking in between everyone, and he’s sure that you’re glaring him down somewhere in a small reflection on the counter.
Satoru debates whether to call out your name and shake some sense into you, but Yuuji quickly swallows and makes a motion with his hands to his throat, a universal signal saying — ‘I wouldn’t test the waters, if I were you’.
And, after the customer finally decides that they didn’t want any pastries with their coffee order, you finish the transaction before announcing that you’re going on a small fifteen minute break to “stretch”. Though, anyone could see that you’re planning to cool off before you manage to actually blow up in Satoru’s face.
“How the hell am I going to talk to her?” he groans to Yuuji once you’re finally away. He’s managing the cash register and, surprisingly, finishes taking the remaining orders quite smoothly compared to his first day. At least he can pat himself on the back for this.
“You’ve really pissed her off, dude,” Yuuji replies and Satoru just rolls his eyes because that’s all he’s been hearing from everyone else all day today. “You should talk to her when she’s not… charged up.”
“Way to point out the obvious.” Sometimes he forgets that Yuuji is a bit oblivious. How is he doing so well as a mechanical engineering major?
Yuuji makes an audible ‘pop’ and whistles. “What did you even say to her?”
Satoru groans into his hands. “Did she not tell you?”
“Well, she wasn’t exactly in a chippy mood to talk about anything this morning — outside of work, that is.”
“Here’s a little TLDR version: might’ve said something classist.”
“Might’ve?”
“Okay, definitely said something classist.”
“Then…” Yuuji drums his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. “Y’know, whenever me and Megumi fight, I always invite him out to the movies to try and cheer him up. Might not be applicable to you but…”
Satoru blinks. “Are you suggesting a date would help?”
“Maybe not a date—”
“No, I’m sorry for calling you dumb, you’re so right—a nice date might work!”
“You never called me dumb, though?”
“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, kiddo.”
Satoru unravels the ribbon on his apron and throws it in Yuuji’s general direction, not caring if he tossed the stained uniform directly in his face. He hops the counter and pats the younger male on the shoulder, flashing him a genuine smile because, hey, maybe Yuuji actually is smarter than he looks.
“Gonna totally invite you to the wedding.”
It’s no secret that Satoru Gojo hasn’t been on a proper date in a pathetically long time.
He has swiped right on a number of highly influential celebrities and figures on dating apps before. Matched with nearly all of them. Gone on…maybe a lot of first dates with not a lot of second dates coming right after. Who cares though, everyone’s just there for the photos and followers anyway. Satoru knows that he’s attractive and that he personally loves big, lavish dates but, at this point, he knows you enough to understand you absolutely hate big gestures.
After a short winded conversation with Suguru and Utahime, separately, Satoru has concluded on not buying you first class tickets to Malaysia.
“Are you trying to get her to hate your guts?” Was the general consensus of the conversation with said people.
So, what’s the next best option if he can’t fly you out to Malaysia? The answer is pretty simple — bring Malaysia to Mistle Town. And no, he’s not going to be relying on his black card for anything, even though the back of his mind is telling him otherwise.
Choso blinks several times at Satoru’s printed out proposal. The colorful letters and Google image photos of beaches and coconuts slapped poorly onto the document screams back at Choso and Yuuji, bright and early on Christmas Eve.
It’s unusual for Satoru to be bouncing excitedly in place for someone other than himself. So this catches everyone off guard.
Yuuji whispers something intangible to Choso, but Satoru is able to make it out as, “Do we even have coconuts here?”
To which Choso replies, “It’s winter, so I don’t think so.”
And Yuuji moves onto the next question in queue, “What should we do about the lack of palm trees?”
A patient sigh from Choso, “We could always trim the pine trees outside?” He lamely suggests.
“It’s a good idea, no?” Satoru jumps right back in, completely missing the flat vibe from the brothers. He frowns. “Why are you guys giving me that look?”
And, like his best friend and your sister, the brothers throw him a confused head tilt.
“Well,” Yuuji weakly starts, “Your plan ‘Project: Bring Malaysia here in hopes of Y/N falling in love with me’ doesn’t really sound that great… even on paper.”
Satoru grins, fully expecting that to be the response. “I’ll order the things, don’t worry about it. I just need to borrow your lungs for this project.”
Yuuji scratches his cheek in confusion, laughing nervously again. “Our lungs…?” he echos.
“How long do I have to keep this dumb blindfold on, Choso?”
“U-Um,” Choso shoots Satoru a brow as he carefully guides you through the hotel lobby.
It’s currently decked out from head to toe in all things yellow, green, and pink beach themed inflatables. Choso and Yuuji reminded Satoru last night that maybe two flamingos would’ve been enough to get the message across, but seeing that he ordered a whole colony? Yeah, he’s sending the rich boy prayers as he reels you in further, avoiding collision with the colorful balloons and seven-foot tall palm trees, too.
“Choso?”
He squeezes your shoulders when Satoru shoots him a thumbs up. “Ten seconds.”
Satoru quietly walks over to both of you, tip toeing so the sounds of his loafers are minimized against the flooring. Once he’s inches away, Choso retreats off into a different room, mouthing to him words of final encouragement, which Satoru gladly took.
You appear restless under the blindfold. “I swear to god, if I take it off and there’s a giant pile of reindeer shit in the middle of the lobby I will actually kill somebody—”
And Satoru quietly debates whether or not he wants to keep you like this for a little while before revealing the big surprise. Seeing you flustered and confused is a very cute look on you, after all. But, he’s gotten you this far and it would absolutely kill him to leave you on such a bad notice. It’s now early evening, and the sun’s just starting to set enough that the golden rays illuminate your features from this angle. It takes Satoru back to his first private meeting with you on the balcony and he remembers why he’s even doing this in the first place.
Carefully and slowly, he slips down the blindfold and softly calls out your name. “Hey, take a look around you.”
Your eyes are blown wide when you see his face. Anger and frustration dissipate from your face when you soon realize that Satoru carries a soft expression. He watches as the emotions wash off as quickly as they came. Then, you finally take a look around your surroundings and gasp. “You—You did all of this for me?”
Satoru tenses a little, a bit on the edge. “You want the short or long answer?”
You don’t notice because you’re too preoccupied with the numerous fake flamingos around you. “On second thought, maybe no answer would also work.”
He laughs at this, slightly, before turning shy again. He feels silly, ashamed, and it makes his cheeks flush. “I wanted to say sorry again for what I said earlier.”
“You finally want to talk about it?”
He looks at your idle hands and then back to your face. When he sees that you don't move them away as he inches closer, he takes both of them into his palms, giving them a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I was a big idiot and I thought I was trying to help in the beginning but I just sounded—no, I am—a giant ass.” Satoru concludes.
The atmosphere grows quiet and heavy again. The air humid and thick despite the opened windows and you’re looking at him. Then, there are tiny little smiles that break out on your face, like freckles and stars in the sky.
“You’re such a pillow princess,” and he outright blushes ten shades darker at the nickname, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” Coming from you, that’s as good as a love confession.
I like you, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really likes you and doesn’t want to fuck this up.
But, everyone knows that Satoru Gojo is a child at heart.
Satoru doesn’t know who gives in first; realistically, it might’ve been one of those stupid, rare, impossible moments where it’s completely shared. Suddenly the gaudy blow up palm trees and inflatable pool blur from his vision and he feels the world roaring around him when your palms rest on his cheeks. He ducks his head down but you’re the one who closes the distance between.
You taste like strawberries and lavender, smell like warm cocoa, and feel softer than any sherpa blanket he’s had. Satoru closes his eyes and his vision goes white, his hands shakily snake around your waist, pressing you hard against his chest as if you might disappear at any moment. Satoru sighs into the kiss, it feels pleasantly warm, that throb in his chest, it’s a slow, steady thrum of simmering desire and comfort. He’s pretty sure he’s adding way too much tongue, the drool and saliva that comes dripping between you two will be uncomfortable soon, but for now, it adds to the blissed out, satisfaction you’re both basking in.
Finally, you pull away, shortening yourself a good several inches from planting the rest of your feet on the ground. Your eyes are glossed over, watery and looking at him without vexation. “You’re something else.” You say, but there’s no bite.
Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s too focused on the feeling of your warm fingers sprawled all over his heating face. Too focused on the dull pulse of both nervousness and infatuation slowly spreading through his body because you’re giving him that look. This all feels romantic and stupid, he thinks.
“I’m sorry, again.” The words are quiet, hesitant, and Satoru almost regrets them the moment he speaks.
You shift around a little, now dancing on the balls of your feet, but the grasp you have on his cheeks is still relatively firm, even applying a bit of more pressure as if it’s your way of showing reassurance. You tip your head; your eyes are so vivid and bright, it sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine. In this moment, he remembers every single thing between them in shocking detail — the awkwardness, the tension, the frustration, the dumb banters, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.
“I’ll forgive you if you give me a private city tour,” you laugh. “And come back to work with us again next year.”
Satoru offers a small smile. “Unpaid?”
“Will you say no if it is?”
He hugs you tighter, a chuckle bubbles in his throat. “I don’t think I can say no because it’s you.”
Though, while some might think that Satoru is the real loser here for being whipped so hard over a small town girl, you know that deep down the real loser is you. Because you managed to have the son of a CEO wrapped around your fingers and now you will never know peace again. But you’re not really complaining; instead, you’re working even harder to save just enough to eventually see your dream destination while Satoru whines and sends an ungodly amount of selfies everyday when he’s back home. And you won’t allow yourself to get snappy because, well, you’re very much head over heels for him, too.
to no one's surprise, gojo knows almost everything.
for example, he knows that he's your best friend.
he knows that you like hanging out with him more than suguru (even when you fervently deny it), that you have to have your phone in your hand at all times or else you'll freak out, and that you prefer the smaller, simpler moments over grand ones. he knows that utahime's eyes look sharper and she looks happier because shoko gifted her a new eyeliner, and he also knows that toji's been working out because of the new girl that's in his math class, not because he's suddenly interested in leg day.
simply put, gojo knows everything about everyone.
"and then what'd she do?" he leans back on the bench, his finger flipping the pull tab on his soda cap as the wind scatters snowy air everywhere.
"we just talked afterwards," you shrug, staring at the other college students that are throwing snowballs at each other, "it was nice talking to her again, it's been a while."
"i bet. she's a fucking monster," he chortles before he takes a swig of his drink, guzzling down the lime soda like a starved man.
"oh!" your eyes brighten, and you look at him.
you can't help but burst out in laughter when you see his face, but you quickly compose yourself, keeping your smile in check, "she also said the funniest thing—she said that she thought you had feelings for me!"
his eyes widen in surprise, his jaw dropping ever so slightly. "that's wild."
"i know right?" you snicker, fixing your collar with your glove as puffs of vapor escape your lips. he joins you in raucous laughter over the hilarious misunderstanding, the chuckle bubbling up his lips at the notion of liking you as more than a friend.
"hahaha!"
"hahaha!"
his smile drops.
"suguru, what do i do?!"
his roommate lies on the couch with a bored look on his face, his fingers swiping across his phone screen as he plays candy crush.
"just confess."
"i confess that i want you to die."
"if it's between you being a miserable pain in my ass and satan, i'm choosing satan, dude."
gojo raises an eyebrow. "why are you just assuming you're going to hell?"
"because i've associated myself to you." geto's lips quirk up to a smile as he hits a combo, the rainbow array of colors blinding his eyes and almost (almost being the key word) distracting him from the white hedgehog across him.
"help me out first, and then die later. c'mon, don't be stingy!"
"i literally already gave you advice, just tell 'em how you feel."
"...one small problem with that."
"what?"
"i—" gojo opens and closes his mouth indignantly as he tries to explain his feelings in a way that won't make geto violently ill. he raises his eyebrows before he gives him a smile that's as innocent as possible, "well i actually don't know if i like them like that? it was an in-the-moment realization kind of thing, but i'm actually still a little confused—"
geto drops his phone on his face, a thwack! permeating through the small living room as his roommate makes a squeak in horror, kicking his feet against the leather chair he lies on.
"are you fucking serious?" geto sits up immediately, hissing as the pale red welt on his nose confidently becomes less pale, his flip phone pathetically flinging off his shoulder onto the couch, "they literally can't do anything without you, i saw them forget how to chew on rice because you left them on delivered for two minutes, and you're a useless brick if they aren't always in your sight! you two have the most unhealthy relationship i've ever seen!"
gojo crosses his arms, glaring, and geto sighs, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. "...respectfully, of course."
"talk shit about them again and i'll skin you alive. i'm serious."
"that's literally my point."
"that doesn't mean you get to be mean! take it back!"
geto bites the inside of his cheek, staring at him with beady eyes. "for being so fucking observant," he says slowly, "you know nothing."
"what's that supposed to mean?" gojo's eyes narrow, suddenly on the defensive.
"haibara's been eyeing them up lately, y'know," geto shrugs candidly, "i think he's gonna say something soon. who knows? it might even be today."
gojo stares gobsmacked at the man in front of him, his jaw on the floor as he formulates his friend's own words; geto can even see the exact moment the lightbulb goes off in his head, and like a robot, he stands up straight.
"suguru, i need to go! good luck on candy crush!"
"sharon from quebec ain't got nothing on me."
by the time he finishes the sentence, his friend has already left the front door wide open.
suguwu: don't make fun of him
(y/n): ???
suguwu: you'll see
the key to your apartment unlocks itself, and right on time, gojo slams the door wide open, sweating and panting like a bulldog.
"what's this—?" you can barely get the words out before gojo grabs your shoulders frantically, tilting his head to stare into your eyes.
"i like you." he says confidently, "i was fighting for my life arguing with suguru, and i'm not even gonna lie, he fucked with me a bit, but i came out with a clear head, and i know i like you. so don't date haibara, he's a cool guy and all, but he's not right for you. a-and honestly, you'd be in a three-way with his best friend if you were with him, and that sounds like a nightmare."
you have no idea who haibara is, but you stay silent to let him continue speaking. he was always the more talkative out of the two of you (he's also the warmer of the two of you, which is confusing because his hands feel like ice against your sweater).
his hands go from your shoulders to your arms, and he swallows. "i'm usually not stressed when i'm talking to you, y'know," he admits, rambling on, "normally i love talking to you and it makes me feel really good and free, but i honestly feel like i'm gonna puke right now."
"did you take the train here?"
"yeah."
"aw,'toru!" you soften instantly, placing your hand up to his cheek. he melts against your touch instantly, his jaw leaning into your skin as he lets out a sigh. you frown at his negligence, "you know the train hurts your stomach, why did you do that?"
"i just really wanted to see you." he pouts, "like i said, suguru was really fucking with me."
"i'm gonna murder him."
"please do."
"...and satoru?"
"hm?"
it's really cute, actually—how he's forgotten about his very mission when he came here. you suppose you can't blame him too much, he's just arrived from his magical chariot (the train) after slaying the dragon (fighting the urge to throw up on said train), and every prince deserves a reward for his troubles. gojo especially, deserves a happy ending, and you couldn't be more honored to give one to him.
"i like you too, just by the way. yuki may be a monster but her intuition is amazing; i was just about to take the train over to your place, actually!"
he gasps. "but the train hurts your stomach!"
you smile sheepishly. "i guess i just really wanted to see you."
his jaw drops for the tenth time today, and he pulls you into a tight hug (he can't help it, his heart feels so full right now), burying his head into your neck, murmuring against your shoulder. "i love you, i love you, i love—"
"i love you too." you smile because you do love him. he's been your best friend since grade school, your number one supporter since you were born, the man that you've admired before you knew what admiration was. "since you're here, wanna watch a movie?"
"absolutely!"
while he hums, cutting up fruit for your impromptu movie session, you take your phone out.
(y/n): i'll beat ur ass in candy crush if u come for satoru again
suguwu: ???
(y/n): you'll see 😐
justice for suguru 🗣️ inspired by but i like you by boynextdoor and villain w/ a crush :) NOT MY BEST WORK LMAO just something a little bit shorter to feed u until the wrio fic comes out!
gummygunk
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
kianamaiart
areudirty
