i can't be the girl you want. | gojo x reader | just barely NSFW | drabble
summary: all satoru ever wanted was for you to love him. you're trying. you really are. themes: angst, binding vows, unrequited love, marriage of convenience, explorations of duty and filial piety, might expand later word count: 890
Gojo Satoru was the strongest. Everyone in jujutsu society knew this to be fact—but they didn’t know him as well as you did.
You stroked the back of his hand, which was interlocked with his other across your lap. He held you tightly to his chest, his face buried into the crook of your neck as you sat entwined with one another. You caressed him, and wetness spread through the shoulder of your blouse.
“Tell me you love me,” he rasped out. “Please.”
“I love you, Satoru.”
He squeezed you even harder, shaking his head. In a pitiful mutter, he said, “That didn’t make me feel any better.”
A twinge of guilt pierced through your chest. You stared down at the rug underneath you, taking note of the coffee stain that never came out; the stain you had created, apologized profusely for, and at Satoru’s insistence, eventually stopped trying to efface. You kept your mind turning, thinking, dissociating. Anything to avoid the bitter reality of your relationship.
“Now,” says to you an elderly woman with pale, sagging skin, “this vow shall be inscribed into your skin. Let it serve as a permanent reminder of your place.”
The vow was made between your parents and the Gojo Clan and before you were old enough to comprehend the meaning. Servitude, loyalty, six spawn to inherit your shared abilities—the words were burned into your back in ink. You had accepted this long ago, but you never realized just how much it would torment him.
You didn’t like hurting him like this, being unable to provide exactly what he desired. The ink burns. You especially hated making him cry.
The ink is a permanent reminder of your place.
You licked your dry lips.
“I love you,” you repeated. “You don’t believe me?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“I think you’re just saying what I want to hear.”
“But…you asked, Satoru.”
“I know.”
Silence fell between you. Ordinarily, you would have relaxed into a rare moment of quiet like this, but when it was accompanied by Satoru, it gave you chills. It just wasn’t right for him to be keeping his mouth shut. You would have much rather had him lauding you with idle chatter or being a nuisance instead.
“I’m sorry,” you said eventually. “I really am, Satoru. I’ll try harder—.”
“You shouldn’t have to try, cutie. It shouldn’t feel like trying.”
Your lips clamped shut. You swallowed back your own spit, feeling a nervous pit begin to form in the base of your throat. Your hands massaged his repeatedly as guilt snuck up your arms and into your chest, eventually bathing you from head to toe.
“It’s just not fair, cutie. I’d do anything if it meant you’d really love me. Anything.”
You didn’t doubt his words, which chilled you to the bone. After all, what wasn’t Gojo Satoru capable of? That list must have been infinitesimally small.
“I do love you,” you repeated. “I just…don’t know how to love you the way that you want me to. I’ve always felt something here for you, but you won’t accept it.”
You touched your palm to your chest, right over your beating heart. Satoru moved his head to observe, then placed his hand over yours, grasping tightly. His pink lips were pressed flat.
“It’s okay,” he said, sighing. “Don’t force it.”
“But I’m n—.”
“Don’t,” he said sternly, “force it.”
Your lips fell shut. Satoru pressed a firm kiss to your temple, whispering an apology against your skin. Lacing your fingers together, he continued to hold you quietly, like a child with his stuffed bear after a bad dream. His face returned to the crook of your neck, but this time your skin remained dry.
“I love you,” Satoru whispered. “I love you so much that I kinda hate myself for it.”
You frowned, feeling a hot, uncomfortable pressure form behind your eyes. It welled beneath your eyelids, pooling, until it rolled down your cheeks in hot rivulets. You gripped his hands hard, sniffling petulantly when your nose started to run.
Satoru straightened up sharply. He placed his hand to your face, turning it back slightly to look at his. Your wet eyes met his red and dry ones, the latter of which were widened in surprise.
“Cutie,” he said breathily.
“Why would you say something like that?” you answered hoarsely. “It’s not like I want to hurt you, Satoru. I want to be the partner you want me to be. I really do.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, wiping at your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry.”
“You hurt my feelings.”
“I’m so sorry. Hey, come here.”
He brought your lips together, giving you a tender, chaste kiss. Your shoulders trembled with sobs, but you kissed him back with a hunger you hadn’t felt in years.
From there, everything moved so quickly that it sent your head spinning. Satoru’s tongue was in your mouth, his warm hands were under your shirt, and you were rubbing your hips against that familiar, aching hardness. Even if you couldn’t love him how he wanted, even if he couldn’t accept your feelings for him as they were, you never had a shred of conflict when it came to physical intimacy.
Perhaps that was why you both defaulted to it in heated moments; no matter how empty you may have felt afterwards.
this is a drabble that i've been sitting on and debating on expanding! i wanted to create a type of scenario like riza in fma, where a secret is inscribed on your back by your parents/satoru's. yes, i write poetic type stuff too! if you like it, please leave a note! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated! masterlist | ask | ao3 | more of this pair