#gojo x reader

[aisheux]

New commission 🎉

(Did it for 25$ only btw)

Dm for commissions 🌸

You can help me with my medical bills if you want 🙏

[lemon-berri]

Headcanons of Satoru Gojo as your knight in shining armour...

☆Knight!Gojo who was honoured to be assinged to guard the princess. To protect this kingdoms most precious treasure, their future monarch.

☆Knight!Gojo who soon realised this task wouldn't be so simple when you started to test his resolve.

☆Knight!Gojo who has trained with the kingdoms most powerful warriors, who has survived battles and won glory in bloodshed. And yet finds he is weak to the flutter of your eyelashes.

☆Knight!Gojo who discovers something much more important than his assignment when you kiss him under the stars.

☆Knight!Gojo who had given you his heart before he even realised it. Who's armour couldn't protect him from falling in love.

☆Knight!Gojo who sneaks into your rooms after nightfall. After all, what better place is there to protect you than right by your side?

☆Knight!Gojo who is soft when the armour comes off, who smells of iron and citrus and something unique, who's eyes are impossibly blue under the visor.

☆Knight!Gojo who smiles after you fall asleep in his arms, all while whispering vows against your temple. Vows to protect you with his life if it ever comes to it.

☆Knight!Gojo who finds it amusing when you dance with princelings from other kingdoms. He is not jealous, for he knows he's the one who will end up in your bedchambers in just a few hours.

☆Knight!Gojo who knows he cannot be yours in the end, that someday you'll have to choose someone else- for the kingdom.

☆Knight!Gojo who is grateful he gets this time with you regardless. He will cherish it forever.

[adhwtv]

𝔄𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔰

𝕂𝕠𝕣𝕚

Chapter - 3:

The Kori clan had always been a cult posing as a clan. Operating in the deep shadows of the jujutsu world, their existence was known only to corrupt higher-ups and the members sworn to their secrets. They practiced various rituals forbidden in the jujutsu world. Prohibited because they were used entirely for self-interest, which included aiding others only in exchange for something greater. A deep sense of superiority permeated the clan; after all, they held knowledge that most of society remained blind to. In order for the rituals to work, the clan needed an heir capable of absorbing negative energy. It was a hereditary trait, and only through such an heir could the rest of the clan achieve the ability themselves. Most members possessed weak and unstable absorption. They could perform simple rituals, but the more significant ones remained entirely out of reach. Even basic rituals demanded grueling effort and constant practice. None could compare to Hina and her younger twin brother, Hikaru; The heirs of the Kori clan in the modern era.

Rituals were not the only thing their absorption could accomplish. Birth of local curses could be suppressed, though it was nowhere near enough to combat the overwhelming number of curses in the world. It barely made a dent. Still, their absorption possessed a secondary, involuntary effect: they acted as emotional sponges, inadvertently soaking up the misery of those nearby and leaving them with a hollow, fleeting sense of peace.

For Hina and Hikaru, the ability came naturally.

Yet the gift was far from a blessing.

It was forbidden for a reason, wreaking havoc on both the mind and the body. Unless one could utilize the Reversed Cursed Technique, the ability was essentially a slow poison— and even then, it was a harrowing power to possess. Although absorption came with a healing factor, it was like a dimming light fighting against the wind; a constant struggle to endure the filth. Clan members had to go through it too. The only reason they survived it at all was because of their heirs. Not only did they gain power through them, but they also relied on them like a renewable source, their own negative energy continuously drawn in by the heirs like a vacuum. Once the inheritors died, however, the clan would not lose their abilities immediately. Instead, the accumulated negative energy would slowly consume them from within.

Agonizingly.

*** The Kori clan is governed by a strict triumvirate: the Executor, the Advisor, and the Overseer to ensure everything remains in order. They genuinely believe they will rule jujutsu society one day. Hina harbors a deep resentment toward their objective. Well, it doesn't really matter what grandeur they promise when it strips you of your rights, or of the things that make you feel human, reducing you to a mere source for others' gain. She tries her best to keep her brother from falling into their twisted ways.

Even though she possessed the hereditary technique and traits, she was never considered a candidate for heirship, simply because she was a woman. Hikaru met enough of their requirements for them to eagerly shape him into the future face of the clan. There was only one problem: Hikaru was weaker. Being twins only made things worse. In jujutsu society, twins were considered a bad omen—two souls dividing what should have been one. As a result, neither could ever reach their full potential. Because of this, it was initially proposed that Hikaru be executed. Their mother was the one who begged endlessly for her child's life to be spared, pleading a case to compromise and use them both for different purposes: Hina would act as the official powerhouse and heir, while Hikaru would handle the clan's operations from the underground.

Even so, growing up Hina and Hikaru didn't receive much of their mother's love. Yet, not even for a second did Hina truly blame her. Their mother had been forced into this life at a young age, her own years sacrificed for children who couldn't even relieve her of her pain. Ungrateful children. Hina had thought many times, "well she's a human too right? Or...?"

No human deserved something so cruel.

Abuse was not always direct violence: sometimes it was being forced to harm others. It could be handled by both: a human and a weapon. The only difference is that a weapon could not confess the sins it had witnessed nor speak of the atrocities it had committed, willingly or not. Complaining was not an option. It was a curse.

So what did that make her mother? A weapon, or a human? The answer was not clear. She only knew her mother deserved better.

Being a human is much nicer, though. That way, feelings are not a weight you must carry. As someone's tool, however, you must face whatever nature they wield to defend themselves with. Their true selves.

*** Actually there's more I wanted to reveal about Hina and her clan. But I decided it's not something I wanna tell in one go. This chapter was also supposed to have a second part, but I could not finish writing it yet. I don't wanna rush it and try to write my best. Thank you for your patience!

[thejujvtsupost]

New smau dropping later for the first time in 7 months!

Adding to the little unofficial baby au

Smau masterlist

[adhwtv]

𝔄𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔰

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕝𝕦𝕖𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕥𝕙

(Guys, English is NOT my first language. SO, it won't be the best. It could be overexegrated too because I dug into a lot of words and stuff to make it sound fancy or whatever.😭)

***

Jujutsu High wasn't taking in enrollments at the moment. However, they made exceptions for training heirs from influential clans. The higher-ups, after all, had to maintain their standing with the families. That's where Gojo Satoru and Kori Hina come in. Being a sorcerer meant learning how to call devotion by a different name: Weapon.

Gojo Satoru had the six eyes and Limitless technique. Hina had Redaction.

They met when they were children. Never talked much though.

June, 2003.

Gojo had a reputation for getting beaten up often by the second and third-years. He never fought back, even though he easily could. Hina, who was well-known around the school, saw him getting bullied frequently.

He was called a freak and worse; "albino weirdo" was one of their favorite names for him. Hina found it odd. So what if he had white hair? It suited him. Besides, everyone's characteristics were unique to themselves.

But he never fought back. That was the thing Hina noticed most, and it pissed her off. He was the Gojo Satoru. No one would bat an eye if he taught those punk-asses a lesson. So, what was wrong with him?

Maybe it was because of how long they had known each other, but she felt a strange obligation to intervene. Usually, her "help" consisted of simply passing by while he was getting beaten, muttering for them to stop, and walking away right after.

It was no surprise when Hina heard the familiar sounds of mocking laughter on a random Saturday. Following the noise, she found him bleeding. It had never gone this far before.

Ironically, Gojo looked like the crazy one here.

Hina had finally had enough.

"Fuck off, yeah?"

The second-years didn't even have time to react before she was kicking their asses. They fled as fast as they could. Hina rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "Fuckasses..."

She extended a hand to help Gojo up. He stared at it like a dumb chicken for a while before finally taking it. The cold touch of his skin contrasted sharply with her warmth, grounding him more than words ever could.

She was too annoyed to even ask, yet the question slipped out anyway. "Why wouldn't you defend yourself...?"

Before he could answer, she turned on her heel. As usual, she left.

***

(I'll add Hina's appearance and a cover to this story later. Y'all are free to imagine yourself as Hina! Also I know I'm not writing Gojo perfectly and there might or might not be mischaracterization...but, I'll try to make him stay in character as much as I can.)

[mimimochis]

which jjk characters do you read the most

satoru gojo

suguru geto

kento nanami

choso kamo

toeji fushiguro

hiromi higuruma

ryomen s*kuna

megumi/yuji/yuta/inumaki

others

( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡° )

Remaining time: 15 hours 45 minutes

i’m not sure because i mostly write for satoru gojo, but i feel like there’s a stark difference in engagement in stories with him vs other jjk characters and im not sure if it’s because of the audience i’ve attracted who favor him like me or if it’s just his popularity in general

[kireampie]

currently thinking about siri!satoru who gets all needy and clingy when he knows you're using another virtual assistant to help you. he knows he's better, and he has a foolproof way to test that out. . . coming to life, of course!

[satolune]

── ˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ₎ა ˙˖

ᘛ ꒰ 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐗 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𑁤

ᘛᰍ𝅄 how 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 and 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 act with a crybaby girlfriend ♡

ᘛ ꒰ satoru gojo and satoshi gojo (separate) x crybaby reader | university au | fluff, crack-ish, 3.2k wc. no real warning, this is pure fluff. art by @/ge2lovu dividers by @uzmacchiato and @pixopix ྀིა

nerdjo and his crybaby girlfriend ♡

You've cried in front of Gojo Satoru exactly eleven times. He keeps count. He'll actually say it out loud, mid-argument, like it's evidence in a trial only he's allowed to preside over — "this makes eleven, for the record" — and somehow that's worse than if he'd just let you have the moment.

Right now is going to be twelve.

"I'm not — I'm not upset," you say, even though your voice cracks on the second word and gives you away completely. "I just think it's a little insane that you got a 98 on a test you didn't study for and you're acting like it's a personal failing."

"It is a personal failing." Satoru doesn't even look up from where he's re-deriving the two points he lost, pen tapping an impatient little rhythm against the desk. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose and he hasn't bothered to push them up, which somehow makes him look more insufferable, not less. "Two points, angel. Two. I know exactly which step I skipped and it's going to bother me until I die."

"You're going to make me die. Of secondhand humiliation. For you."

"Cute of you to worry about my reputation. I don't need the help." He finally glances over, and whatever he sees on your face makes the corner of his mouth twitch — not soft, not yet, more like satisfaction confirming an already-known result. "Oh, don't do that."

"Do what."

"The eyes. You're doing the thing." He sets the pen down with theatrical patience, like you're a mildly interesting variable he's chosen to solve for. "I have never in my life met someone who cries this easily over homework arguments. It's actually kind of a design flaw."

"I'm not crying—" you are, a little, the stupid prickling kind that happens when you're more frustrated than sad and your body doesn't know the difference. You swipe at it fast, annoyed at yourself. "I hate that you keep count."

"I keep count of everything. I have a 4.0 to maintain and apparently also a girlfriend who tears up if I use the word 'technically' in the wrong tone." He says it like a scientist reading off a data point, entirely too pleased with himself, and pushes his chair back to close the distance instead of just talking across the room like a person with object permanence issues. "C'mere."

"No. I'm mad at you."

"You're mad at the concept of me being annoying about a 98, sure. Doesn't mean you don't want a hug." He crouches down in front of your chair anyway, forearms braced on either armrest, effectively caging you in with the sheer, obnoxious confidence of someone who has never once considered that he might be told no and meant it. Up close his eyes are very blue and very smug and it is deeply unfair that you find both of those things attractive. "I'm right, aren't I."

"You're always right, that's your whole thing, it's exhausting."

"It is my whole thing." He reaches up, thumbs the wet line off your cheekbone with a gentleness that doesn't match a single other thing about his personality, and you hate — genuinely, chemically hate — how much that one small contradiction gets you every time. "You cry if I win an argument. You cried when I got us upgraded seats on that flight because the gate agent 'didn't even make me use my full charm.' You cried during that documentary about deep sea fish."

"The fish thing was valid, they live their whole lives in the dark—"

"It was a fish, baby." But he's smiling now, the real one, not the one he performs for the rest of the lecture hall. "Twelve times. You're an easy crier and I'm an insufferable genius and somehow this is the healthiest relationship either of us has ever had."

"That says more about your standards than mine."

"Everything says more about my standards, I have excellent standards, that's how I ended up with you." He kisses your forehead before you can figure out if that was a compliment or an insult, and honestly you've stopped trying to sort those into separate categories where Satoru's concerned; with him they're usually the same thing wearing a different shirt. "You want to know the actual two points I lost? I'll walk you through it. It's genuinely fascinating."

"I do not want a lecture on your test right now."

"You're getting one anyway, you're already crying, might as well cry about integration by parts instead of my ego." He's already standing, already pulling his notebook back toward you both, already narrating before you've agreed to a single word of it — and the worst, most damning part is that you let him, elbow propped against his shoulder, watching him get worked up over a problem he answered correctly, because apparently this is just what loving Gojo Satoru looks like: getting talked at by someone who is never once unsure of himself, and somehow finding it the most steadying thing in your entire week.

"You skipped a substitution step," you point out eventually, squinting at his margin notes. "Right there."

He goes quiet for exactly one second. "...I'm aware."

"You just wanted me to find it myself so you could feel smug about explaining it."

"I contain multitudes." He flips the page like that settles it, entirely unbothered, entirely certain that being caught changes nothing about how correct he is in every category that matters. "Anyway. Thirteen's coming. I can feel it. I'm going to say something devastatingly accurate about your parking technique later and you're going to cry about that too."

"I hate you."

"You really don't," he says, and reaches for your hand without even looking, like it's a formality, like of course it's there — and of course it is.

fratjo and his crybaby girlfriend ♡

The music is still going somewhere downstairs, bass thudding up through the floorboards like a heartbeat that belongs to someone else's house, but up here in Satoshi's room it's just you, him, and the fact that he has not said a single coherent sentence in four minutes.

"You can breathe, you know," you say, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he stands by the door he's just shut, hand still on the knob like he's reconsidering the whole plan. "It's just me."

"I know it's just you." He says it too fast, which is how you know it isn't true — not the just you part, the I know part. Satoshi Gojo, who twenty minutes ago was standing on the kitchen counter doing a keg-stand countdown for a room of forty people, who has thrown three separate house parties this semester and gotten banned from a bar for "excessive charisma" (his words, and somehow the manager's too), currently cannot make eye contact with his own girlfriend in his own bedroom.

"You were fine downstairs," you point out, not unkindly. "You climbed on the counter."

"That's different, that's — everyone down there wants the loud version. That's easy. That's a bit." He finally crosses the room, sits on the very edge of the mattress like he hasn't fully decided he's allowed to, and rubs the back of his neck. "Up here it's just you looking at me and I don't have a — a bit for that. I don't know what to do with my hands."

"You could hold mine."

He looks at your outstretched hand like it might be a trick question, then takes it anyway, and something in his shoulders drops half an inch. "Sorry. You're not — you didn't do anything, I promise, I'm just—"

"Weird when it's quiet. I know." You've had this conversation with him before, in fragments, usually at two in the morning after everyone else has gone home and the house finally goes still enough that the real Satoshi surfaces — soft-spoken, oddly formal, apologizing for things that don't need apologies. It took you a while to understand that the party version of him is the performance and this is the actual boy underneath it, and once you did, you never wanted the performance again. "It's okay. I like this version better anyway."

"You say that, but—" he stops himself, jaw working, and you watch him decide whether to finish the thought.

"But what?"

"But then you cry, and I don't know if it's a good cry or a bad cry, and downstairs I can fix things with, like, a shot and a dumb joke, and up here I just kind of freeze and make it worse." He says it all in a rush, like it's been sitting in him for a while. "You cried on Tuesday because I forgot to text you when I got home and I still don't fully know what to do with that information."

"I cried because I was worried, not because I was mad at you."

"I know that now. In the moment I just saw you crying and my brain went completely white." He laughs, short and a little helpless. "I can talk a stranger into buying a hundred dollars of tequila for a party they weren't even invited to. I cannot handle you getting teary over a missed text. It's genuinely humbling."

"You're doing fine right now."

"I'm doing fine right now because you're not actually upset right now." He squeezes your hand like he's grounding himself with it. "The second the crying starts I turn into a golden retriever that's been left in a thunderstorm. Satoru would probably have some smug little speech ready. I just panic and offer you snacks."

"Satoru counts every time I cry like it's a scoreboard, it's honestly worse."

"See, that's so him. He'd rather be right than useful." Satoshi finally cracks a real smile, the one that doesn't show up much outside this room, easy and a little crooked and entirely unguarded. "I'd rather just — I don't know. Sit here. Hold your hand until it passes. I'm not gonna have some genius thing to say about it."

"You don't need a genius thing to say. You could just say that."

"...Yeah?" He looks almost surprised, like it's news to him that showing up quietly counts for something. "Okay. Noted. For future crying. Just — sit and hold hands, no snacks required unless requested."

"Snacks are always welcome, for the record."

"Right, duly noted, I'll workshop a snack protocol." The noise downstairs swells for a second — someone's turned the bass up, someone's shouting his name from the stairwell, Toshi, bro, get down here — and he glances toward the door like a switch is about to flip back on, the loud version gearing up to clock back in. But he doesn't move yet. He stays sitting on the edge of his bed, thumb tracing slow over your knuckles, in absolutely no hurry to go be a menace to forty strangers when he could just stay here a little longer, quiet, uncertain, entirely yours.

"You don't have to go back down," you say.

"I know." He says it like it surprises him too. "I kind of don't want to."

Downstairs, someone starts chanting his name. Up here, he doesn't let go of your hand.