satoru and shoko, and a discussion of the concept of normalcy, no matter how relative it may be [ao3]
“Hey, Shoko. Why do you never heal your eyebags away?”
If Shoko is surprised by the question, she doesn’t show. She just shrugs and continues munching on her sandwich as she looks over the charts of one of her patients. Just another working lunch for her, another bad habit that Satoru has tried to make her quit in vain.
“It makes me feel normal,” is her quick and succinct answer.
“Normal?” Satoru scoffs as if the mere mention of the word offends him. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” Shoko shrugs. “It’s just one of those mundane things that makes me feel human, you know?” That is all the explanation she is planning to give, but she elaborates at the slight downturn of Satoru’s lips in confusion, and just before he could open his mouth to no doubt try to annoy a longer answer out of her, or worse, debate her on it. “It’s like the way RCT works, right? The way it heals is not exactly what you would consider a normal or orthodox way of recovering. It’s not how humans naturally heal, unlike modern science and medicine. I understand the need to heal fast in our world; it’s almost always life or death after all, but I’d like my eyebags to go away naturally.”
“Why?”
“It’s not something life-threatening and therefore worth using my cursed technique over. It’s just there. Plus, with the hours I work, it’ll just be a waste of time.” Shoko shoves the last of her sandwich in her mouth and downs the rest of the ramune Satoru bought for her to wash it down. “Besides, don’t you think it’ll be a good sign when they finally go away?”
Satoru huffs out a laugh at her cheeky grin. He thinks about what she said and concludes that it makes sense. In a way.
“I see your point. I guess.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You ever have moments when you just want to be normal?”
“Normal is relative,” Satoru scoffs and waves a vague hand. “Isn’t this our normal?”
“For the sake of this conversation not falling dead flat on its face, humor me.”
Satoru seems to really think about it and supposes he is being rather cynical about the whole ‘being normal’ take if he’s being honest. Of course, he’s thought about being normal and more…human now and again, even ordinary, sure. He has always had a curious mind, and Satoru has pondered the what-ifs of not being all knowing, all seeing, or all powerful.
But being all three of those is all he’s known, and Satoru isn’t exactly sure how he would fare being ‘normal’ or ‘ordinary’. Or if he’d even like it. She tells her this much.
“Knowing you? Oh, you’d absolutely hate it.”
“You think?”
“I’m sure. Positively loathe it. You’d be scratching at the walls trying to find a way to stand above the rest.”
“Sure.” He shrugs, trying for casual. “You’re probably right, but I guess it might be nice to not have to put out fires every second of every damned day and just be, to use your term, ‘normal’,” he says as he puts up air quotations with his fingers. Then he grins and lightly bumps her shoulder. “But that’s why I hang around you.”
“Oh? What are you trying to say?” Shoko smiles at him, calm, serene, and oh-so-threatening. “And I advise you to be very careful with your next words. I do handle all matters regarding your health, just saying.”
“I didn’t mean anything bad by it, doc. Chill out.” Satoru laughs, fixing the Ray-Bans he decided to wear today, when Shoko pulled them down his nose. “Unlike you, I can’t turn off my technique. I can’t just not use the Six-Eyes or take down Limitless.” Because every time he does, tragedy and mayhem always happen. “And I don’t have anything I can just let be like your eyebags because I have to have my RCT always running in the background so my brain doesn’t get fried.”
“Any more than it already is, yeah.”
“Shut up.” Satoru pouts and teasingly tugs at the ends of her hair. “Anyway, with all that on top of being the next clan head, I’m pretty much handed everything I want on a silver platter since birth and—”
“We get it. You’re rich and a very, very special boy. A gift to mankind, a god amongst men, a—”
“Shut uuppp! I’m trying to make a point here!” Satoru whines as Shoko snickers. “Anyway, as I was saying, before you just had to point out the obvious, things just happen for me. Sometimes, before I even ask for them, or even when I don’t need them. Inevitably, I grew up to be a spoiled, rotten brat.” He scowls when he sees her opening her mouth for another quip. “As you never fail to remind me, even now.”
“The biggest brat the jujutsu world has ever seen. Perhaps even the universe. I guess you’re kinda alright now, but, man.” Shoko shakes her head as she remembers their teenage years and how apparently insufferable Satoru was then. “High school you. Every time you opened your mouth, it took everything from Suguru and me not to punt you out the window. Or smother you in your sleep. Limitless be damned. Truly a herculean effort. The patience we exerted on you? Saintly. Even Yaga held back from really maiming you every time you open your mouth.” She pauses and looks up from the papers in her hands, squinting her eyes as if realizing something. “Maybe Geto was on to something, building a cult around him.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it already. Damn.” Satoru rolls his eyes under his sunglasses, but makes no effort to refute Shoko’s words. There’s no use since she only speaks the truth after all. Teenage him was a real arrogant, spoiled brat. He still is, but he’d like to think he’s toned it down to a lesser degree, what with Shoko always humbling him and only very, very rarely letting him get away with anything. “But you see what I mean now, right? I mean, you basically just proved my point.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“You make me feel…normal. Ordinary. You don’t see me as the Six-Eyes or Limitless. Hell, I don’t think you ever did, you muggle .” Satoru uses an old taunt he used to call her and Geto for their lack of knowledge of jujutsu society and class standing. “And that was…nice, you know? You never looked at me and decided how you’ll treat me based on merits or what I can do for you, or the favors or status you’ll gain from being associated with me.”
Not that Shoko ever had any designs of the sort other than occasionally making him pay for her bar tab—a small price to pay for everything she does for him. Satoru honestly wishes she’d ask for more.
“You’re still in denial about how much of a dork you were then, huh?”
“Hey! Don’t try to pretend you didn’t also cry at the end of Digimon Tamers when we were watching the reruns.”
“I never said Digimon was dorky. I said you were dorky,” Shoko easily counters. “And I didn’t wanna be caught dead with dorks like you, loser. You were gonna ruin my street cred.”
There is a pause before they both dissolve into giggles. But Shoko is right. She really was the coolest girl Satoru had ever met. Still is.
“You know, I’ve never heard anyone oppose or turn me down until I went to Jujutsu Tech? And I mean, let's be honest, even Suguru spoiled me sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. But you—” Satoru cuts off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. He pushes his sunglasses up to his head and turns to her with a smile and his clear blue eyes full of mirth. “You know the first time I heard the word ‘no’ said to me was from you?”
“Really?”
“Yeah! Remember in first year when I asked to copy your biology homework and you said ‘no’?”
“Yeah, that’s because I haven’t done it then either.”
“I know, but that’s not the point. You could’ve said you’ll let me copy it after you’re done, or offered to do mine.”
“Hah!” Shoko lets out a cackle and slaps the papers she’s holding on her thigh. “Fat chance I’d let you copy mine, and an even fatter chance I’d offer to do any of your homework for you.”
“Exactly. You don’t see me as Gojo Satoru, clan head and the first wielder of Six-Eyes and Limitless in the last three centuries, the Strongest sorcerer of our time,” Satoru says the titles bestowed upon him, which usually always come right after his name in an almost monotonous tone. “You make me work for things. You don’t see me as a god or a king or the strongest. With you,” he shrugs and pokes a finger to her cheek, “I could just be Satoru.”
“Tch. You’re not a god or a king. You’re just, and still are, a spoiled brat.” Shoko turns and attempts to bite at his finger just as Satoru laughingly retracts it. “Shitty, spoiled Satoru. SSS. You should have that on a shirt or engraved on something.”
“I love it when you’re mean to me.”
“Masochist.”
“Only for you~”
Satoru leans his weight on her as he singsongs and chuckles when Shoko lets him for a moment before shoving him off her.
“I don’t always make you work for things, you know?”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. For example, I’ve never made it hard for you to take a pretty girl out for a meal—” Satoru lets out a cackling laugh at this. “—and enjoy her company.”
“Is the pretty girl here with us right now?”
“I am,” Shoko counters smoothly. “I even choose where we go so your pretty little head doesn’t have to think about it.”
“How very generous.”
“You’re very welcome. Just a small payment for my ‘making you feel normal’ services.” Shoko smirks at him, cool as ever. Satoru barely held himself back from letting out a dreamy sigh. She gathers her things as she stands to leave. “Pick me up at six?”
“Six? Isn’t that too early? Your shift ends at nine, right?”
“Talked Okkotsu-kun into covering the rest of my shift so we could go to that bakery with the parfaits you like so much before it closes.”
Damn. Satoru really likes it when a woman has initiative and takes charge. Considerate too.
“Careful, Shoko. You’re spoiling me.”
“Sometimes you deserve it.” Shoko leans down to plant a kiss on his forehead, sweet and entirely indulgent, before turning to walk back to the Infirmary with a backhand wave. “See you at six.”
Satoru watches after her, wholly smitten and wishing the hours would go by fast.
Chapters: 10/10
Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Ieiri Shoko
Characters: Gojo Satoru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Getou Suguru
Additional Tags: Canon Universe, set when satoru and shoko are 22, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mission Fic, Friends to Lovers, Growing Apart, getting to know each other again, Protective Gojo Satoru, Feelings Realization, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Gojo Satoru Needs a Hug, Ieiri Shoko Needs a Hug, Slow Burn, light smut in later chapters
Summary:
Years passed since Suguru defected and everything fell apart. Satoru is now 22 and all he does are missions, meetings and making sure Megumi and Tsumiki are fine. He barely sees Shoko anymore, buried in work as they both are.
But things change when Satoru and Shoko get assigned a mission together: to find out what is happening in a small village. As Satoru and Shoko work together to solve this mystery, they grow closer again. Perhaps closer than neither of them expected...
But they are watched. And soon, the mystery of the village will unravel.
I finally finished my first Satoshoko story! It was a fun write even if this was the first time I wrote for a het ship. Anyway, if you haven't checked it out yet and you have ao3 account, consider giving this fic a chance. 🩵
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Ieiri Shoko, Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru/Ieiri Shoko, Gojo Satoru/Ijichi Kiyotaka, Ieiri Shoko/Ijichi Kiyotaka, SatoShoko - Relationship
Characters: Gojo Satoru, Ieiri Shoko, Getou Suguru, Ijichi Kiyotaka, Itadori Yuuji
Additional Tags: Post-Star Plasma Vessel | Hidden Inventory Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), Canon Compliant (Mostly), Ieiri Shoko-centric, Gojo Satoru-centric, Gojo Satoru is good at everything so he is canonically a good lay, Young SatoShoko, Adult SatoShoko, An optimistic and smutty take on SatoShoko
Summary:
Following Suguru's breakdown, Satoru and Shoko seek comfort in their friendship amidst the chaos of their lives as sorcerers. Through banter, transgression and shared cigarettes, they hint at deeper emotions while navigating the challenges of the jujutsu world.
Shoko stands at the floor-to-ceiling window. Watching the twinkling of city life at night she takes a hearty drag of her cigarette. The silk robe has begun to slip off of one shoulder but she can’t be bothered to fix it. She’s had too much wine. Feels like she hasn’t quite gotten her sea legs yet and god damnit why hasn’t Satoru got any ashtrays around?
“Here,” he comes up from behind her with a familiar small bowl, kisses the exposed skin of her shoulder and it makes her skin prickle.
“Thanks,” she flicks her ashes into it.
“When are you going to quit?” He asks.
“When I feel like it.” She says, cigarette in her teeth. She’s in no mood to have this conversation with him. “When are you going to start eating?”
“I do eat,” he says.
Lies.
His kisses move up to the crook of her neck. Like a distraction. And she hates how much it’s working.
“Not enough. You look thin.”
They lock eyes through the reflection in the clean glass. She lulls her head back at the feel of his teeth.
“So do you.”
Touché.
“I’ve had a lot of work recently,” Shoko says, butting her cigarette into the bowl for Satoru to place to the side. It’s not untrue. She’s tired. Even her fingers ache.
“Then let me help you relax.”
He slips the robe clean from her shoulders. It’s the only thing she’s wearing and now that she’s exposed to the night air she recoils on instinct. Gojo is there to grab her by the wrists, unwind her limbs like vines from where she is wrapped around her own bare chest and place her hands on the glass in front of them.
She should be used to this by now. His kind of love. The kind that makes you open yourself up, sharp scalpel rip from pharynx to navel, exposing all of those nasty things you’ve gone through so much evolution to hide—to protect. Somehow he’d managed to dig his hands inside of her. She could feel him. Feel him squeeze and wrench and grab at all her viscera until it ached. Until there was no space inside her hollow cavity left unaccosted.
He penetrated.
Gojo left her vulnerable. Left her to seek out his warmth, an act that—she had to admit—felt more than comforting after an endless ennui of contact with cold corpses. Their stiffness lingered in her bones like a sickness, blue mouths and prominent veins etched into her minds eye like a map of death itself. He withdrew the chill from her, pressing her against his warm skin and enticing her to touch his pink flesh until she forgot it all.
He wastes no time, lips leaving a trail of kisses down her spine and its not until his forceful hands press her chest against the large window that she realizes the position she’s in. That anyone with a sharp eye or basic telescope can see her—and them—and what they do under cover of moonlight.
But she can’t seem to care. Not when he grips her hips, pulling her backside toward his face. Not when his warm mouth moves between her thighs. Despite the way her head drunkenly spins when she closes her eyes she can manage to focus on the swipe of his tongue and the way his name sounds as it leaves her lips. No longer the mirthful trill of friendship. It’s smoky and lubricious, carried on a whisper that begs for more despite herself.
“You love the way I taste?” She says breathlessly, though she knows the answer already.
“I do. You taste so fucking good,” he hums.
His breathing is heavy against her folds. She can feel every languid lap as he eats her out from behind. Every calculated flick of tongue and the way the tip teases in circles at her most desperate spots. His head shakes into her, bringing her spine to a charming curve. And when he tongues her clit the city lights blur, like stars against a black abyss. They dance in her vision as if she were spinning.
Shoko doesn’t need him to tell her that she tastes good. She knows it. But she enjoys his adoration all the same. The way he does his best to please her. Her hands push his face into where she needs him most, and she loves how he doesn’t fight her on it.
“Keep going. Make me cum,” she whines.
He’s voracious. His tongue wriggles inside of her and his hands rub in circles at her clit until her knees begin to buckle. He’s no stranger to eating her out, knowing exactly how she likes it and where she likes it.
Her hips press back into his face when she cums. She ruts herself against his mouth and chin and the ringing in her ears is almost deafening when she reaches the height of release.
He kisses her thighs, her ass, the small of her back.
“Relaxed?” He asks.
The way he looks up at her, gaze like a puppy waiting for a treat, has her melting in a way that only he can bring about. She cradles his face in her hands. His mouth is wet with her and she swipes at the swell of his bottom lip with her thumb.
“Not quite yet,” she smiles.
___
It smells like rain. Her boot skids on a tiny rock on the sidewalk, the sound all the more loud given the unusual hush draped over the city this evening. She needed cigarettes, he needed something sweet to drink. Under the yellow glow of street lights she opens her new pack, slender fingers pulling a cigarette from the bunch.
“You need to quit,” Gojo harps for what may be the millionth time.
“What I need is a beer,” Shoko lights her cig.
“I have some,” he says, “at my place.”
It’s an invitation for a lot more than beer. She knows this. Knows she should say no. Go home, not muddle their boundaries any more than they already have been. But her place is lonely and cold, and her fridge was empty.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay then.”
That’s when he does it. The unthinkable. His warm hand reaches out and grabs hold of hers like they had done it a million times before. Like they’re a real couple, not just two lonely people fucking around to fill the emptiness, if only for a little while.
Reflexively, she pulls her hand back.
“Don’t,” she warns. Partially to herself.
He doesn’t say anything. She brushes stray hair behind her ear as they continue to walk in silence. Footsteps echoing, they seemed to get louder and louder. She wants to tell him she’s sorry. That she just doesn’t want anything to get confused.
“Fuck it, fine,” she mutters, grabbing his hand.
She can see the corners of his mouth perk up, and as she watches her feet take one step after another she allows herself a small smile, too.
___
She hates the the chirping of birds. She hates the lemon glow of sunlight pouring in from the windows and the way it warms the bedsheets. She hates the sound of someone rattling around in the kitchen to make breakfast. Shoko hates a lot of things about mornings when she’s hungover.
“Coffee?” Satoru asks.
Just the thought of it alone makes her stomach turn in the most nauseating cyclone. “I’d rather die, thanks.”
She wants to roll onto her side, throw the covers over her head and call it a day. Of course, Gojo would be a morning person, whereas she would sleep until noon if given the chance.
“You can’t sleep all day.”
“Watch me,” she replies, rolling over and away from him.
He slides into the bed. Pulls her onto her back and climbs on top of her.
“Cut it out,” she moves to hit him playfully but he pins her hands above her head.
“You’re so pretty, Shoko,” he says.
It’s so out of nowhere that it leaves her mouth hung open for a moment and she doesn’t know how to react.
Deflect.
“So are you,” she replies.
“I’m serious,” he laughs for a moment. “You are.”
She can hardly take him seriously. Her eyes must be extra dark this morning, her hair a mess about the pillow and she’s only wearing one of his old sweaters—not quite a vision of beauty.
“You are pretty,” he kisses her eyes. “You are pretty,” he kisses her nose. “Pretty,” he kisses her waiting mouth.
She leans into him when he deepens the kiss. Lets him place his weight on top of her and she threads her fingers into his soft hair. Yes, there are a lot of things Shoko hates about mornings, but this isn’t one of them.
___
Sometimes she spots him across the street. A glimpse of long black hair between the moving bodies of the crowd and her feet plant like lead into the sidewalk until she remembers. Until something snaps her back to reality.
“Can I bum a smoke?” A voice startles her from behind.
She turns. “Creep.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“You could have texted.”
“Then I wouldn’t have been able to scare you,” Gojo smirks.
“Such a child.” Shoko can’t even find it in her to sigh.
“You okay?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, dragging her eyes off of the crowd and back onto him.
“I’m fine. I just don’t feel much like going out tonight, after all. Can we just go back to my place?”
She’s thankful that although he looks like he wants to ask more, he doesn’t press. And besides, there’s nothing left to gain from chasing old ghosts.
___
Those first sips of cheap red wine set a blaze that rolls from her belly like wildfire, consuming every inch of her. By the fourth glass she’s forgotten all her troubles. Like a phoenix she arises from a pile of her own ashes, shedding her tired body for something new.
“Why here?” She asks, crossing her legs in her seat.
“He liked it,” Gojo replies listlessly.
“There’s nothing but lonely old men in here,” she takes another sip of her drink.
“Should we get dessert?” Gojo asks from behind a menu.
“I don’t care.”
“I think I want dessert. Maybe cheesecake.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little…unhinged.”
“Maybe the castella.”
Another lonely soul wanders in from the snow, taking refuge in the warmth and jazzy Christmas music playing overhead. She downs her glass, leaving a lipstick stain on the rim.
“Can I smoke in here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to the ladies room.” She slips her pack into her bra.
There’s no way she’s going to go through the trouble of grabbing her coat from the coat check to stand outside in the cold for a smoke. With any luck, the bathroom will have a window. Ducking around waiters and down a hall, the chatter of the main room growing faint, Shoko pushes into the bathroom, her mouth longing for the feel of a cigarette.
There’s a chill on her back as the door slams behind her. A click of the lock as she turns around and although her mind registers that it’s just Gojo, her heart still hammers in her chest.
“You lost?” She asks as she lights a cigarette between her lips.
Gojo shakes his head.
“What if I had to piss?”
He takes a step toward her. Slowly pulls the smoking cigarette from her mouth and tosses it onto the floor. She’s between him and the wall now and his warm hands feel so good as they slide her dress up her hips before slipping her panties down, just enough so that his fingers can find her.
“Here? Now?”
“Why not?” He answers. His lips kiss her neck until she melts.
Try as she might, her brain can’t come up with a reason to protest. Not when his fingers feel so good inside of her. Not when her hips start to grind on his large palm. His free hand gropes at her breasts and his lips tease down the low cut to her cleavage where he begins to suck at her soft skin.
“Don’t leave marks,” she winces at the feel of his teeth. Uses her hands to grab at his hair and strain to pull him away from her.
“But you like it. It makes you so fucking wet,” he mewls into her tits.
She hates how well he knows her. But she knows him, too. And when she slides his zipper down his cock jumps out, so easy for her to grab hold of. And she can feel him flinch at her touch, so desperate for her hands, her anything.
They breathe heavily into one another, eyes locked as they jerk each other off. His fingers move at lightening speed and when they curl inside of her she shudders, unable to stop herself from moaning out his name. Her own hand moves faster, hammering into the base of his cock until he grunts low and steady.
“You get off from doing this in a public place? Perv.” Shoko pants.
“You’re the one about to cum all over my fingers. You’re soaking wet. Hear how wet you are?”
She could. Every wet squelch of her arousal. There was no denying she was close to orgasm. Or that her body wished it was his cock and not his fingers inside of her right then.
“Never said I wasn’t a perv,” Shoko smiles through her whines.
His palm against her clit has her clenching around his fingers in waves, the slow moan of her orgasm making his cock bounce and his hips stutter until he’s shooting strings of cum against her bare pussy and thigh.
There’s never a knock on the bathroom door. Not even as they get cleaned up. Shoko blows a thin stream of smoke out of the cracked window as snowflakes fall to the ground. The chilly air a bit welcoming to her skin. She butts on the sill before closing it up,
“Let’s go get you your dessert.”
___
Her breathing is as shallow as his love. A maelstrom of memories have done their best to keep them from this point of no return. They flash before her now, the laughter of three friends and spring flowers and late nights when the world is quiet except for whispered secrets.
She’s on the couch, fingers pressed into herself in an act that only she has witnessed until this moment. She closes her eyes but she can still hear him next to her. His groans make her nerves electric and without realizing it, she moves her fingers to the sound of his hand.
One eye peeks open. He’s watching her. The look on his face so achingly sensuous that she has to remember herself.
“No looking,” she scolds him.
“Remind me why I can’t look, again?”
“Because those are the rules. We’re just doing this as—ahh—friends.”
“And friends can’t look?” Gojo pants.
“Friends can’t look.”
“Then don’t look at me, either.”
“I wasn’t going to.” She circles her clit, her hips rolling in pleasure.
“Hnn—you were looking.” Gojo strokes himself faster.
“Only to make sure you weren’t.”
In the corner of her eye she can see him. How long and hard he is. How quickly his hand moves and how strong the muscles of his arms are. How his veins stick out with the strain of what he’s doing and she wonders what it would be like to ride him before shaking the thoughts from her head.
“Yeah right. You want to look, admit it.”
“I…d-don’t.” Shoko clenches around her fingers, lets out a languid mewl.
“Fuck,” Gojo moans, “yes you do.”
“That’s not how this works.”
Their naked bodies grow slick with sweat. She can feel beads of perspiration crawl down the nape of her neck. Her fingers dig until they find the spot that has her toes curling and she pinches a nipple with her free hand.
“Fuck it, I’m looking,” he says.
When they meet eyes she can’t look away. His cheeks are flush, his lips parted for his quick pants and his fist is stroking himself faster and faster as he watches her play with herself. She pretends the fingers are his as she matches his pace. Pretends she’s on top of him, her hands roaming around the tight muscles of his chest and abs and playfully ghosting over his hard nipples until he shivers. She wants to feel his hip bones cut into her thighs. She wants to feel the head of his cock push toward her cervix.
“Ahh, ah,” Gojo jerks himself unabashedly, rubbing a thumb over his swollen head. “You’re so fucking sexy, Shoko.”
Despite herself she lets out a high pitched whine, her orgasm ripping through her in a rush of waves. She can see his eyes roam from her chest to where her hand meets her pussy and she can only wonder what he’s imagining. Her thighs clench together as she cums and it’s only a few seconds before he follows suit. His orgasm coupled with an animalistic groan that sends shivers throughout her body. She hadn’t known he could sound like that. And she knows the sound won’t leave her memory anytime soon.
“We can’t do this ever again,” she tells him.
“Right,” he says, still breathless.
“I’m serious. Let’s promise to never cross this line again. We’re friends.”
“Friends,” he repeats.
“Exactly. Friends,” she replies. But for some reason the word makes her stomach feel hollow.
___
She was drunk. Admiring the way the moonlight shines around his head like a halo and thinking it was a crime for someone to be so god damned pretty. He’s drunk, too. For the first time in a long time. Beer cans and bottles of wine litter the coffee table and the movie they were watching has lost their interest. Her head lay in his lap as she finishes the last of her cigarette.
“It’s true, you’re haunted.”
“I’m not haunted.”
“Yes you are,” Shoko slurs.
“By who’s ghost? Should I burn some sage?” Gojo jokes.
She flicks her ashes, pointing her cigarette up at his face as he looks down on her. “Not by who. By what.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“You’re haunted by a moment.”
She can tell this catches him off guard. He stirs a little in his seat.
“A moment.”
“Yeah, a moment. I think moments can have souls,” she takes a slow drag of her cig.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you. I can see it in your eyes, you have the weight of sadness. I’ve seen it enough times to know.” She thinks of all the loved ones she’s had to deliver bad news to. All the hope and will to live drained from their faces, the ghosts of what could have been forming inside of them like thick black smog that takes on a life of its own.
“Maybe it’s because you’re haunted by a moment, too.”
“Maybe,” she puts out her cigarette.
“So what’s the big deal?” Gojo attempts to brush it off.
“So, maybe it prevents us from having new moments.”
She doesn’t know how long he looks at her. Or why she grabs his face, running the pads of her thumbs pitifully against his cheeks. She doesn’t know when exactly they start kissing. What she does know is that being in his arms makes her feel better. Lighter. And for now, that’s enough.
“Touch me,” he whispers.
She blames it on their drunkenness. How quickly things escalate. Her head is spinning too fast to think about the consequences of their actions. All she can focus on is how incredibly hard he is and how soft his begging sounds.
Her tongue slides up the length of his cock and he immediately grabs at her hair, messing his fingers through it with a deep exhale. She teases him for a while. Lapping at the head and slapping him against her flat tongue until she can see a rose heat on his face.
It’s sexy, the way he watches her suck him off. His mouth open, sometimes biting his bottom lip enough to leave a mark. The tendons in his neck straining while his head cocks to the side to get a better view.
“You’re so good,” he repeats as she bobs up and down.
She knows she’s a little messy from being drunk, but that only seems to turn him on more. His hips thrust his cock into her mouth and every time she muffles or gags she can feel a forceful twitch as his length jumps.
She gets a good rhythm going. Taking as much of him as she can get and using her hands on his balls and base of his cock.
“Fuuuck, just like that. Take it all,” Gojo grips her hair, pushing her down onto his cock until he’s fucking her face.
She relaxes, letting him fuck into her as fast as he likes. Even when she starts to drool uncontrollably. He goes rough, but not rough enough to hurt her. And if he was, she’d use her teeth to teach him a lesson.
“Your mouth is so hot. Ugh, I’m gonna cum so much,” he moans.
She wants to touch herself but her body won’t coordinate enough. She can only focus on how good his hands feel on her head and how much pleasure she gets from hearing Gojo, the great and powerful, moan for her. How his abs flex and how he smells. How thick and sturdy his thighs feel underneath her palms.
She knows they’re a mess, but in this moment she doesn’t care. If they can find some comfort, even for a night, in each other. Well, that’s enough.
When he cums he presses deep down her throat. Makes her drink it all. His head tilts back, ethereal, and his moan vibrates from his chest so melodically that it rings in her ears like a choirs chorus.
They sleep together on the couch that night, too drunk to move to the bed. He kisses her more, his lips plush and soft as her fingers dance along the lines of his clavicles. Until they both fall into a deep sleep.
___
A drunken man buys her a drink. She buys one back. That’s how it goes. Outside, the shadow of spindly trees sprawl across dark pavement. The wind shakes the door and she startles, an unwelcome hand places itself on her thigh.
“What are your plans for tonight?” He asks.
“I’m not sure,” she says.
It rubs her knee and she wants to smack it with all her strength but instead she takes a sip of her drink, not bothering to acknowledge it.
“A hotel room?” He prompts.
“Not on your life.” She takes another deep sip of her drink. She should have ordered something to eat, she’s feeling a little too floaty.
“Come on,” he urges, crooked teeth showing themselves.
His hand moves up and she breathes silently.
“What the fuck are you smiling about,” she replies seriously, watching his face go blank.
“Yo!” A voice calls following the slide of the door.
She turns to see his figure. How he bounces with confidence each step. Ebullient. How his blue eyes peek at her over the dark rim of his glasses. The hand at her thigh disappears.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Gojo says, taking a seat next to her.
“Come for a drink?” She asks.
“Come for you,” he says.
There is something in his voice that has an edge. Dangerous. She can recognize something sharp when it’s right in front of her. His body language is stiff. Despite it all, she takes another drink, swirling the contents of her glass on the bar top.
“You’re drunk,” he says.
“So?”
She can see him appraise the bar. Watches his eyes survey the patrons with scrutiny. He’s way too fucking observant.
“So it’s time to go home.”
“I’m not done yet,” she replies. It’s not like her to let someone else decide what she can and can’t do.
“Come’on. This wine is cheap, I have better at my place.”
He’s not mean. He’s not even pushy. It’s so like him.
Where have you been?
She’s asked the question so many times, now. But he is here. She wants to pull him by the sweater toward her. Wants to bury her face in him and bang her fists against his chest for leaving on a mission without telling her. Wants to hear his stupid laugh and feel whole again. He’s alive.
“Okay,” is all she can say.
___
Sometimes there are no consequences. There is only a story. A life. Only the feeling of your best friends embrace. Only his kiss and the way he touches you. Only his hand in yours and the familiar scent of his cologne.
She realizes she is staring out the window. The rain is pelting the glass when she sees a dark figure under the street lights moving forward. She puts her drink down on the counter. Unlocks and opens the door to her apartment.
“How did you know it was me?” Gojo asks.
“Just did,” she says.
When he enters she asks if he needs a towel.
“You’ll catch cold.”
“I’m fine.”
There’s only a breath between them before he pushes her against the wall. He pulls his shirt off. Then her night shirt. His skin is chilled and it makes her shudder at his touch. His kiss tastes sweet, his tongue like candy in her mouth and she welcomes him wholeheartedly. He moves fervently. Hungrily. He pulls and kneads at her flesh as if it’s the last time he will ever get to feel her.
“Slower,” she says.
“Not anymore.”
She’s only wearing panties and he makes short work of them, kneeling to the floor as he pulls them down and helping her out of them. He kisses up her thighs. Then her stomach. Then her breasts. She doesn’t know when he removes his own pants but he does.
He’s rough with her this time. His mouth sucking inky crescents into her skin and his hands moving her in every way he likes. He lifts her with ease, letting her legs wrap around his hips while he presses her back into the wall.
She can feel the head of his cock circle around her hole. It’s the first time she feels him here and her head lulls back at the teasing. She lets out a sharp inhale when he presses inside of her for the first time and the groan he makes has her wrapping her arms around his neck as if her life depends on his anchor.
He feels so fucking big that at first it hurts, the way he stretches her. But the more he thrusts the wetter she gets, until she can’t help but grind her hips down into him. Desperate for more. And Gojo holds her up so easily, practically bruising her with the way he slams her down onto him by her hips.
They both breathe and moan into each others mouths. His tongue laps at her lips between sucking on them as he fucks her hard, his kisses moving down her jawline and to her throat.
“You feel so good,” he confesses into her warm skin.
“So do you.”
“I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“I know,” she says.
She should be less surprised at how easily he holds her up. As if she weighs nothing. He pushes inside of her as deeply as he can, drawing out a string of moans like pearls from her parted lips.
“You’re so good and tight for me.”
“Yeah? You wanna cum inside me?” She pants.
“I do. I’m gonna fill your tight little pussy with cum until you’re dripping with it.”
“I want you…I want you to fill me up,” she whines.
His cock feels so good, the head hitting her deeply just as she likes. He drives into her with pent-up force and she can’t even find it in her to dislike the way his hip bones cut into the soft skin of her thighs. She likes the ache. Likes the sound it makes each time he rams into her. Likes the pounding of her back hitting the cold wall and the way her Hung pictures shake, waiting for the right moment to crash to the ground.
“I knew you’d feel so fucking good, Shoko.”
“Don’t stop—ahh—right there, please,” she begs.
She’s so close, and his hips are merciless. She digs her fingernails into the skin of his back but he doesn’t seem to care. Or notice. He just continues to fuck her right there in the entryway, now using his large hands to push her down on his cock until there’s nothing left for him to give. Their foreheads touch and she concentrates on his thick white lashes as he looks down on her. And the way their breath mingles in what little space is left between them.
When she cums it rolls through her like a vicious storm, hitting hard and fast and when he feels her tighten up he bounces her on his cock, rubbing a thumb into her clit until she’s shaking in his arms. Until his rough bounces push staccato whines from the depths of her chest.
“Fuck yeah,” he groans.
He’s breathless while he fucks her through her orgasm, until she goes limp in his arms and even still he continues to push her down onto his greedy cock.
“God, you’re so wet. I can’t get enough.”
The overstimulation is too much, she tries to break free from his grasp but he won’t let her. Not when he’s so close. He holds her down, grabbing her limbs that are so desperate to break free and pushing them to her sides. Kisses her mouth and holds her by the face, locking her in and she can feel his deep exhales against her skin as he kisses her senseless. She’s so slick now, she can hear it.
His hips stutter when he cums. With each spurt inside of her he groans and they’re holding each other so closely that she can feel the vibrations through her chest. They’re both slick with sweat now and he stays inside of her, pumping slowly until he’s spent every last drop and even then he’s hesitant to pull away.
When he finally does let her down she can hardly walk, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn as they take her to a room she can get cleaned up in. And when they reconvene on the couch its a heavy silence that stretches between the two of them, as if it’s a strip of rubber they’re curious to see how long it can get.
She pulls her pack from the coffee table, lighting her usual cigarette and sighing at the way it makes her tired body tingle and relax.
“I thought you quit,” he says.
“I did.”
Silence. Another crackling inhale. She puts her feet up onto his lap, letting her head fall back onto the arm of the couch.
“I think I love you,” he breaks the silence.
“Oh.”
“I mean, I’ve always loved you as a friend. But I think I love you…more than that.”
“I see.”
She had to know this would eventually happen. That there was no way they could continue on their path without encountering a crossroads. That at some point, some turn she failed to see, they had begun to mean more to one another than simple friendship. Than fleeting comfort on lonely nights. She doesn’t know what path they’re on now, but she knows there is no turning back. She needs a drink, her throat feels dry and her tongue feels heavy in her mouth as she looks to Gojo. His face is so boyish and pitiful as he waits for her to say something. Anything. She rubs her face with a groan, as if it may be torture to say what she is about to say. The cigarette shakes in her trembling hand.
"Hah?” Satoru turns to Shoko, his lunch, half a bite of cream puff is halfway through his mouth before he puts it back in the box. “Oh, you mean when will it be our turn to kick the bucket. Nah." He looks at her questioningly and seems to have realized something before shrugging and actually thinking about it. “Well, I mean, I did at some point but then I just stopped thinking about it after a while. You?”
Shoko takes a drag and blows the smoke upward. "I think about it all the time."
Every time someone gets wheeled in on her autopsy table, every time she has to be at the crematorium, and every time another tomb gets put up in the school's cemetery.
"Really? thought you'd get used to it by now what with—" Satoru makes a vague hand gesture, "you know."
What with the high mortality rate of being a Jujutsu sorcerer and being exposed to that since they were teenagers, what with their colleagues and peers dropping like flies every day, what with the likes of Geto Suguru being out and about.
Satoru didn’t mean to sound so casual and blase about the whole ordeal, but when it’s the reality they live in, conversation such as theirs is mostly on par with small talk and is almost synonymous with asking about the weather.
"You'd think right?” Shoko’s smile is wry when she looks his way. "So, you never think about when it's your turn?"
"Nah. I'm Gojo Satoru. The the stronge—”
"The strongest sorcerer of this generation with the combined power of Limitless and the Six Eyes and thus will never die?”
Satoru blinks at her before turning away and stuffing his face with his remaining pastries. "I wasn't gonna say that,” he scoffs. When Shoko just hums he insists, “I wasn't! Well, not all of it.”
"Haha. Thought so."
"Well, not the part about not dying! Sure, I'm the Strongest but I'm not immortal, Shoko, no matter how much you think I am godlike. Flattering though."
Shoko rolls her eyes at the assumption. Satoru elects to ignore this and continues his explanation as he dusts his hands off the powdered sugar.
"I know I'm gonna die someday and there'll be a new Six Eyes wielder. It's just not happening soon. I still got a lot of stuff to do."
"Always the busy bee."
“That’s me,” Satoru concedes, tilting his head and smiling. He leans back and looks ahead at the vast view of the campus forests before them. "I'll tell you this though. I know for sure I won't be the last one around."
"Oh? Why's that?”
Satoru grins at her. "Hm? Because that's gonna be you silly!” He boops Shoko and laughs when she scrunches up her nose.
"No, I'm not."
"Yeah, you are"
"No," she turns to him and gives him a level look, "I'm not."
Since joining the school and being made aware of Jujutsu hierarchy, Shoko has always known she's only ever meant to be a designated survivor for the Six Eyes. Rare as it is for an RCT user to come by, she’s protected and kept safe only to heal and maintain the Six Eyes when injured and pull its wielder back from the jaws of death when it comes to it even at her own expense. By that logic, Gojo Satoru was, and will always be, the designated last man because the Jujutsu world will always need the Six Eyes.
"Yeah," Satoru meets her eyes, intense baby blues glinting challengingly and clashing with her bored violets, "you are."
"I'm not playing this game with you."
"I'm telling you it's gonna be you."
"And what makes you so sure?”
"I just am. And I'm never wrong. Well, rarely.” Shoko opens her mouth to retort. Satoru is quick to attempt to cut her off. “No! Wait—”
"Uh-huh.” Shoko decides it's pointless to list down the many, many times Satoru has been proven wrong, lest it takes up their whole lunch break, and instead throws his challenge back. “Care to put a wager on that? Put your money where your mouth is."
“Bet,” Satoru bites because of course, he will. He never passes on the opportunity to be right and gloat. “How can you even think you’d go before me? You’re Jujutsu’s most prized asset! Not everyone can perform RCT as you are well aware and without you playing doctor none of those losers stand a chance, ergo, the higher-ups and all the powers that may be who run our world would sooner, I don’t know, offer up a virgin in a ritual sacrifice or have Tengen absorb a special grade before letting even a strand of hair on your pretty head get plucked.”
“Hah!” Shoko slaps a hand on her thigh at the absurdity of Satoru’s attempt at an argument. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Can you imagine them sacrificing your virgin ass or having Tengen absorb you? As if the Gojo clan will even allow that.”
“Okay, well, maybe not me but someone,” Satoru concedes. “And, hey! I’m not a virgin. I’ve had plenty of sex! I do so much sex you won’t even believe.”
“You’re right I don’t. No one who actually fucks says ‘I do so much sex’, you loser virgin.”
“I do not appreciate this slander of my virtue. See, this is what’s wrong with society. Why am I being mocked for preserving my purity? Is it so wrong that maybe I’m saving myself for someone special that I—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll live long enough to find them eventually. Strongest Sorcerer and all.”
At this, Satoru gives her a strange look which Shoko wholly ignores because for all his theatrics Satoru is an open book that she’s always been able to read like her first-year anatomy books. Shoko looks away because she’s not quite ready for the thing she knows she’ll find in his all too earnest gaze and his wry crooked smile. It’s not something she—it’s just not something they can jump into right now.
“Nah, you’ll probably outlive me,” Satoru says eventually, and before Shoko could open her mouth to protest, “Your main ability is RCT which means you can literally make yourself live forever."
"First of all, that is not how my RCT works—”
“You don’t know that!”
“Second, you can use RCT too. And third, unlike you, I don't have the ability to see through everything and be ten steps ahead of everyone nor do I have a literal armor around me at all times."
"Okay, one, I never figured out how your RCT works because you're really shit at explaining. Like what the hell does 'go fwish and hyooi' even mean?? Two, I figured out RCT on my own no thanks to you! And even when I could use it, I couldn't figure out the hoodoo voodoo you do with yours. And third, well, that could be arranged."
"What could be arranged?"
“The lack of ‘armor’ around you at all times,” Satoru makes air quotes, crossing one long leg over the other as he turns to face Shoko in one swift motion. “Like you said.”
“Yeah?” This seems to pique Shoko’s interest, turning towards Satoru and leaning into his space when he drapes an arm over the back of the bench they’re sitting on as if drawn to him. He tilts his head at her and Shoko doesn’t swat his hand away when he starts to play at the ends of her hair. She sends him a lazy smile, eyes half-lidded and gaze soft. “How?”
"Want me to put Limitless and a potential Six Eyes in you?"
Shoko blinks, brows furrowing, before it hits her and she laughs.
—
For all his touting of the title of the Strongest, Satoru hopes to all the gods he doesn’t believe in that he isn’t the one left as the sole survivor.
Or if he must, he hopes Shoko survives the reckoning too so they can be alone together.
But if nothing else, Satoru will do everything in his power and make sure Shoko lives.
—
Shoko stares down at the newly erected tombstone in the campus graveyard.
The heels of her sensible loafers crunches at the still-wet grass of the freshly packed earth. It’s empty, of course. The body of the last Six Eyes wielder was shipped to Kyoto, long gone and properly disposed of by the Gojo clan.
She squats down on the grave and reads the tomb’s engravings, fancy and cursive, the stone carved more intricately than the rest because of course it is. Only the best for the Strongest Sorcerer of their generation.
Shoko takes a drag and exhales the smoke directly at it, flicking the ashes over it carelessly.
What Satoru failed to understand was she never wanted to be the last one standing. Not after Yuu, not after Suguru, and not after Nanami.
And especially not without Satoru.
"Anything to win a bet, huh?” Shoko snarls, eyes red-rimmed and bruised. “You fucking psycho. You just had to be right all the time."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
title: under you under me
tags: canon compliant, 5 + 1 fic, humor, or attempt thereof, fluff, banter, pre-relationship, flirting, gojo satoru is in love, gojo satoru is bad at flirting
summary: five times Satoru tried the kabedon on Shoko and the one time she taught him how
“Alright. You got me,” she says, eyes darkened to a violet shade in the dim lighting, shining and a little glazed from all the alcohol. Her lips, shimmering and wet with the beer she’s been chugging down for the whole evening and the passion fruit lipgloss Satoru knows she favors, are stretched into a smile that is decidedly fond and sweet and oh-so-bad for a very sober Satoru’s heart. “Now, what?”
Satoru swallows. Good news, he’s managed to flawlessly execute a perfectly smooth kabedon, miles better than the first time he tried it on Shoko when they were first years (after, of course, practicing on Suguru or either one of their juniors and enduring merciless teasing from them all). Bad news, his brain kind of short-circuited once Shoko looked up at him through long brown lashes, chest pushed out and up as she crossed her arms under it, staring at him expectantly.
“Well?”
“I…” Satoru’s jaw hangs open with the words he definitely doesn’t have because all his thoughts practically evaporate when Shoko’s tongue darts out to lick over her bottom lip before biting into the plumpness of it and all six of his eyes follow the motion. Shoko cocks an eyebrow and Satoru shakes himself out of his stupor. “I…honestly didn’t think I’d get this far.”
summary: satoru and shoko get married the way they wanted to
“My husband senses are tingling and it’s telling me you’re unhappy.”
“Again, you’re not my husband yet.”
“Again, semantics.”
“And I’m not unhappy. I’m just…” Shoko sighs, frowning at her cigarette. “...stressed.”
“Ieiri Shoko, all around cool girl and unbothered queen, admitting she’s stressed? Oh, it’s bad bad , huh?” Satoru teases, reaching out to brush an errant strand of hair that manages to escape Shoko’s elaborate updo. “Wanna just call the whole thing off?”
“What? No.”
Shoko shoots him a look like he’s crazy which pulls a tender smile from Satoru. As if she’s the sane one for agreeing to marry the Gojo clan head, go along the long and dragging intricate archaic rituals, and subject herself to a lifetime of scrutiny and clan politics. Satoru loves her so much it’s ridiculous.
“I’m just saying. The option is there.”
“Listen, I meant it when I said I wanted to do this. I’m in this for the long haul and the whole nine yards, okay? It’s just—this whole thing is—” Shoko sighs and closes her eyes, the edges taut and strained. “Wanna get out of here?”
“What about the wedding?”
“What about the wedding?”
written for the satosho server weekly prompt: wedding [ao3]
shoko and satoru get married—twice
When Shoko decided to get married, and when Satoru said it’s gonna be a traditional wedding because of the clan and both of their standing in Jujutsu society, she didn’t think much of it.
When Shoko let him slip that very shiny ring on her finger, she knew exactly what she was getting into.
Hell, she knew it the day Satoru finally got his shit and his words together long enough to ask her out on a date, and she knew it when she leaned it at the end of it to kiss him.
So Ieiri Shoko entered the wedding planning process and it didn’t come as a surprise to her at all that everything would be chaotic and hectic. To say the least.
What did come as a surprise, however, is how…not well Satoru is taking it all in.
While the usual planning and preparation time of a wedding as big and as important as theirs—she is well aware despite not really seeing the point of it—takes six months to a full year, theirs were all set and done in just two months. Which doesn’t really surprise her given the extent of the Gojo clan’s wealth and influence.
In two months, Shoko was ushered in and out of dress fittings and alterations, food and cake tasting, wine sampling (which she thoroughly enjoyed), flowers and decor (which she really didn’t care much for), and all other inanity such as seating arrangements and memorizing clan members. The last part was fairly easy having been in and out of the Gojo estate and having met most of Satoru’s kinsmen since becoming friends with him. It’s the other clans she couldn’t give less of a fuck about.
Everything went relatively alright and smoothly considering both hers and Satoru’s very busy schedule. And all the while Shoko was just thinking they just needed to get through all these frivolities and then they’re golden.
And then Satoru goes AWOL the day before the wedding. Shoko finds him hours later in the clan’s secret garden hiding in the gazebo she and Satoru used to lounge around with Suguru when they would visit in the summers.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Shoko says as she spots him lying on the gazebo’s cold marble floor. “What? Getting cold feet?”
“Marrying you? As if,” Satoru scoffs from his place on the floor.
“We can still call off, you know? The wedding isn’t until tomorrow. We have time.”
“What, and have my clan and all of Jujutsu society on our ass forever?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair. He has a bitching headache and it's obvious with the way his brows are pinched. “Listen, Shoko. I need you to know that you’re the only one I’m sure about in this whole fucking circus, okay? I’m not backing out on that. And you can’t either! I'm just having an off day that's all! Don’t think you can use this as an excuse to back out!”
“I know that, doofus. And I’m not running away. I’m not the one who’s gone awol and went into hiding the day before their wedding, am I?” Shoko says as he sits by his head, putting a hand over his eyes to soothe them and rid him of his migraine. He’s in the mood for jokes even in his state and that’s a good sign. “So, what is this really about?”
“It’s just…” Satoru sighs in relief as he feels her technique course through him. The pinch in his brows is gone. “I’m sorry for putting you through all this bullshit. I know it’s not your style.”
Shoko smiles exasperatedly. Of course, Gojo Satoru will have a meltdown the day before their wedding.
“Please. Give me some credit. I knew what I was getting into the moment I allowed your dork ass to hang around me.”
“Oh, yeah? What, that you’ll one day be marrying the strongest sorcerer?”
“That you’ll one day bamboozle me into somehow agreeing to marry you, yes.”
“Oh, shut up. You beat me to the punch and asked first,” Satoru retorts, clambering up to lay his head on her lap. “You love me.”
“Of course, I do,” Shoko answers without missing a beat and they sit like that for a while with her fingers carding through his hair until the edges of his eyes have softened and his face finally relaxed.
“Man,” Satoru sighs after a while. “This whole thing kinda got away from us, huh?”
“You know I don’t care about any of this, right? But I’m okay to go along with it all because it’s you I get to meet at the end of the aisle.” Shoko looks at him, really looks at him. “Now, I’m asking you. What do you want?”
She’s asking him what he wants. Outside of him being the strongest sorcerer of their time, beyond him being the head of the Gojo clan, taking aside his duty to Jujutsu society and the world it promises to protect, Shoko is asking him what he wants as just him. As just Satoru.
“You,” Satoru answers without hesitation. He sits up so he can look at her properly. “I just want you.”
“Okay,” Shoko smiles. “Then you have me.”
In the next second, Shoko had sneaked them out of the secret backdoor hidden in the garden’s hedges and into a car. She tells Satoru to drive to the airport while she makes some calls. When Satoru asks where they’re going, Shoko just simply tells him ‘Tokyo’ and to drive fast so they can catch the next flight out. She holds up a finger in a shushing motion when Satoru tries to say something because Suguru has already picked up on the other end of the line.
Shoko knows their friends won’t be flying out to Kyoto for the Gojo estate until tomorrow. She tells Suguru to round up the gang and to get Yaga certified to officiate then meet them at the school in two hours.
It is only when they’re sitting in the plane’s first-class cabin do Satoru says, “You know I could’ve just teleported us to Tokyo, right?”
“I know, but we gotta give the gang time to get ready. It’s lucky Utahime and Mei are on a mission in Tokyo right now. She’ll want to get presentable first at least.”
They get to Jujutsu High with just enough time for Utahime to squeeze Shoko out of her sensible turtle neck and trousers into a pantsuit at her insistence. She also does Shoko’s hair in a modest updo and puts light make-up on her. Mei-mei hands her a bouquet.
In another room, Suguru and Yuu manage to wrangle Satoru out of his shirt and jeans into a white button-up and slacks. Kento lends him one of his suit jackets and tames his unruly white hair into a slick do.
They get married on the school grounds at dusk with Yaga blubbering through half the ceremony and his officiation and lecturing them about how they’re impulsive idiots who are a pain in his ass and that he loves them both very much.
Shoko tosses her bouquet and Utahime catches it. Satoru makes a teasing quip about it and Utahime counters by saying she’ll be walking the aisle next for when Shoko divorces him.
Their reception is held at their favorite izakaya and Satoru and Shoko cut a cake bought by Haibara from Satoru’s favorite bakery.
And then, after all the festivities and the congratulations and the ‘see you tomorrow’s, Shoko and Satoru hop on a flight back to Kyoto (because Satoru took a sip of Shoko’s sake and was feeling a little woozy to teleport) and retire to their respective rooms when they get back to the Gojo clan's estate.
In the morning, Satoru and Shoko get married in the traditional way that was expected of people of their standing, with the Gojo clan and all the representatives of major Jujutsu clans in attendance, the Council, and everyone who’s anyone in the Jujutsu society. Their friends are among the crowd of attendees, no less excited and happy for them than they were the day before.
“Is this your first time?” Satoru asks lowly once they’re arm in arm. “Getting married, I mean.”
“Not really,” Shoko shrugs. “I’ve been married before. You?”
“Oh, same.”
“Good to know we both have some experience then.”
“Just so you know, Mrs. Gojo-Ieiri,” Satoru says leaning down so only his wife could hear. “I would marry you a thousand times over any day, anytime, anywhere.”
“Eehh,” Shoko smirks shifting closer and bumping shoulders with her husband. “How very romantic of you, Mr. Ieiri-Gojo.”
Shoko and Satoru share knowing secretive smiles throughout the ceremony.
