with the sole exception of satoru gojo
✧˖°── .✦────☼༺☆༻☾────✦.── °˖✧ .
Satoru Gojo x fem!reader
°❀⋆in which:
in which Satoru Gojo keeps pushing, teasing, testing just to see the exact moment you finally break.
°❀⋆summary:
when a mission goes wrong and you end up injured, gojo once again proves that he doesn’t play by the same rules as everyone else. and maybe, just this once, neither will you.
°❀⋆word count: 1.3k
°❀⋆an:
okay hi… it’s been a minute. this is my first gojo piece and also my little comeback, so please be kind. i wanted something soft with a bit of tension (because let’s be real… it’s gojo).
if you enjoyed this, feel free to send requests! i’m currently taking anything jjk related. angst, fluff, spice, you name it
lmk if you want part 2 (smut?????)
hope you like it <3
✧˖°── .✦────☼༺☆༻☾────✦.── °˖✧
You’ve always lived by rules.
Rules for your private life, rules for work, rules for friendships, rules for relationships. Rules for everything. Every part of your life follows a structure so rigid it leaves no room for error. No room for the unexpected. Because as a jujutsu sorcerer, rules aren’t optional. They’re what keep you alive. Everything needs to be calculated. Precise. Controlled.
Everything, except Satoru Gojo.
Going on a mission with him means one thing: he will, without fail, push you to the very edge of your patience, tearing through your carefully built structure like it’s nothing.
“You could at least help instead of sitting there texting,” you snap, narrowly dodging another attack from the special grade curse.
“If I stepped in, it’d be boring for both of us,” he replies, grinning like he’s just said something genius.
“I hate you.”
“you know that’s not true, sweetheart.”
You don’t even bother replying. No insult would do your irritation justice.
Arrogant. Insufferable. Typical Satoru Gojo.
It takes longer than it should, a drawn-out fight, your body pushed harder than you’d like, but eventually, the curse is exorcised.
When you turn back, his phone is gone. He’s watching you instead, that same half-smirk playing on his lips.
“If you keep this up, i might finally be able to retire,” he says, offering you his arm.
You scoff, swatting it away. “Shut up, idiot. If you’d done your job, I’d already be asleep by now.”
You walk past him without another glance. Only when you’re sure you’re far enough that he won’t notice, you lift your uniform slightly. The wound on your abdomen isn’t deep but it’s bleeding enough to stain the fabric.
By the time you reach your room, exhaustion settles deep in your bones. You clean the wound quickly, wrapping it as best as you can.
“Where’s my favorite colleague?”
You nearly drop the disinfectant.
“Satoru Gojo, have you ever heard of knocking?”
“No. Should I?” he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, entirely too relaxed.
Then his gaze drops. His expression shifts.
“You could’ve told me.”
His voice is different now. Quieter. Serious.
“If you weren’t too busy breaking one of the few rules we have, maybe you would’ve noticed,” you shoot back, brushing past him with a small shove before collapsing onto your bed.
“Now that you’ve invited yourself in, you can also leave.” You turn away, a sharp breath slipping past your lips as the movement pulls at your wound.
“I could.”
He doesn’t.
“This is highly unprofessional…” you murmur, barely audible.
“So is getting hurt on a mission, if you think about it.”
Silence settles in the room.
You hear him move. The faint rustle of fabric as he picks up the blanket you’d left on the chair. A second later, it’s draped gently over you.
“I’m not cold.”
“For once, I’m trying to take care of you. You could at least accept it,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dips under his weight.
You can feel it. His presence, warm, steady, too close.
You turn your head slightly, just enough to look at him.
“You don’t follow a single rule.”
A small smile tugs at his lips.
“I follow the important ones.”
You hesitate.
“…and what are those?”
“the ones that matter to me.”
Your breath catches.
It’s subtle. Barely there.
But the air shifts.
His hand moves, slow, almost hesitant for once. Brushing against your arm as he adjusts the blanket. His fingers linger a second too long. Not enough to be intentional. Too long to be accidental.
Don’t get too involved.
You remember the warning. A colleague’s voice, firm, certain.
You’ve always followed rules.
Never questioned them. Never broken them.
Because rules are what keep everything from falling apart.
…with the sole exception of Satoru Gojo.
He’s still there.
Watching you like he’s waiting for something.
You could tell him to leave.
You don’t.
And he notices.
Of course he does.
His hand comes up slow, deliberate, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face just enough.
“You’re really bad at following your own rules,” he whispers.
Your breath catches.
You don’t move away.
That’s all the permission he needs.
His lips hover barely there, close enough to ruin you. For a second, he waits.
Like he’s giving you one last chance to stop this.
You don’t.
The kiss is inevitable.
