#sayuki's reqs

[satorvsslvt]

❛   The Weight of Coming Home  ♡

synopsis. You waited three weeks. You set up the apartment perfectly — candles, dinner, soft music. Three weeks of counting down. Three weeks of missing him. Three weeks of planning the perfect night. And then he walked through the door — and nothing went the way you'd hoped.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader

content & warnings. hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, gojo is exhausted and snappy, harsh words, crying, emotional hurt, six eyes detail, soft comfort afterward, happy ending

word count. 1.7k+

A/N. this is for the lovely anon who requested this! love ya <3

You'd been counting down the days.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours. You'd marked each one on the calendar, crossing off the numbers with a little more hope every morning.

Today was the last one.

Today, he was coming home.

You'd left work early. You'd gone to the grocery store, wandering the aisles, picking up everything he liked — the expensive soda, the brand of chips he pretended not to care about, the ingredients for his favorite dinner. You'd even found candles. Soft ones. The kind that made the apartment smell like vanilla and cinnamon.

You wanted it to be perfect.

You set the table. You dimmed the lights. You changed into the sweater he liked — the one he always said made you look cozy. You checked your phone. No new messages.

He said he'd be home by eight.

It was seven forty-five.

You lit the candles.

The door opened at eight thirteen.

You heard his keys hit the counter. The familiar sound of his shoes being kicked off. The sigh — heavy, exhausted, the kind that came from somewhere deep.

You stood up from the couch.

"Satoru?"

He was in the doorway. His hair was messier than usual. His blindfold was pushed up around his neck, and the skin under his eyes was dark, bruised-looking. His uniform was rumpled. There was a tear in his sleeve.

He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Hey," you said softly. "Welcome home."

He didn't answer.

You stepped closer. "I made dinner. Your favorite. And I got those chips you like, the ones from—"

"I don't want chips."

The words came out flat. Sharp. Like a door slamming shut.

You stopped.

"I just— I thought—"

"I don't care what you thought." He walked past you into the living room. "I just spent three weeks fighting things you can't imagine. I don't need candles. I don't need dinner. I need to not have to pretend right now."

Your chest tightened.

"I wasn't asking you to pretend," you said quietly.

"Then what were you doing?"

"I was trying to make you feel better."

"Well, you're not."

The words hit like a slap.

You blinked. Your eyes were stinging.

"Satoru..."

"Don't." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. "Just— don't."

He was pacing now. Back and forth, back and forth. His hands were shaking.

"You don't understand," he said. "You can't understand. You're not the one who has to—" He stopped. "You're not the one who has to watch people die. You're not the one who has to make choices that get people killed."

"I know," you said.

"You don't know."

"I know I don't know." Your voice was smaller now. "But I'm trying to—"

"Trying to what? Fix me?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Love you."

He laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. It was brittle and sharp and it cut through the room like glass.

"Love isn't going to bring them back."

You flinched.

He saw it.

Of course he saw it. His Six Eyes missed nothing — the way your breath hitched, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way a tear slipped down your cheek before you could wipe it away. He saw the flinch. He saw the hurt. He saw the exact moment his words pierced through you.

And it broke him.

"You flinched," he said. His voice was barely audible.

You didn't answer.

"I saw you flinch." He wasn't pacing anymore. He was standing still, staring at you like he'd never seen you before. "When I—" He stopped. Swallowed. "When I said those things. You flinched like you were expecting to be hit."

"Satoru—"

"I never wanted to be the reason you flinched."

The room was silent.

The candles flickered. The dinner was getting cold. The apartment smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and something sad.

"I'm going to bed," you said.

"Sweetheart—"

"Don't."

You walked past him. You didn't look back.

You didn't cry right away.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, your hands in your lap. The tears came slowly — first a sting in your eyes, then a few drops on your cheeks, then the kind of crying that made your whole body shake.

You pressed your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds.

You didn't want him to hear.

You didn't want him to know how much it hurt.

But he heard anyway.

The door opened.

"Sweetheart,"

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, in the doorway, looking at you.

Your face was wet. Your eyes were red. Your shoulders were still shaking.

He looked like someone had punched him in the chest.

"I'm sorry," he said.

You didn't answer.

"I'm so sorry."

"You should go." Your voice cracked. "You're tired. You don't need to—"

"I need to be here."

"You just said—"

"I know what I said." He stepped closer. "I know what I said, and I was wrong."

You looked up at him.

He looked terrible. His eyes were red. His jaw was tight. His hands were shaking.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said. "I'm not asking you to pretend it didn't happen. I just—" He stopped. "I need you to know that I didn't mean it."

"You did."

"I meant that I was tired. I meant that I was angry. I didn't mean—" His voice cracked. "I didn't mean you."

He knelt in front of you.

"I've been gone for three weeks," he said. "Three weeks of nothing but fighting and blood and darkness. And all I could think about was coming home to you."

"Then why—"

"Because when I walked in and saw the candles and the dinner and the way you looked at me—" He stopped. "I didn't feel like I deserved it."

"Satoru..."

"I don't deserve you." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I've never deserved you. And every time I come home and you're still here, I don't know how to handle it."

"You could try saying thank you."

He laughed — a broken, watery sound.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"You already said that."

"I'll say it a hundred more times."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

You looked at him — at his tired eyes, his shaking hands, the way he was kneeling on the floor like he was asking for forgiveness.

"Come here," you said.

He climbed onto the bed beside you, slow, careful, like he was afraid you'd push him away.

You didn't.

You pulled him into your arms.

He buried his face in your shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know."

"I don't— I don't know why you stay."

"Because I love you too."

He held you tighter.

You lay there for a long time.

His head was on your chest. Your fingers were in his hair. The candles in the other room had burned out. The dinner was cold. The apartment was dark.

"I ruined it," he said quietly.

"You didn't."

"I snapped at you. I said horrible things. You went to all that trouble, and I—"

"You were tired."

"That's not an excuse."

"I know." You pressed a kiss to his forehead. "But it's a reason."

He was quiet for a moment.

"I don't want to be that person," he said. "The one who comes home and makes you feel small."

"Then don't."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

He looked up at her.

"How do you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Stay. Even when I'm like this."

"Because I know you."

You brushed his hair back from his forehead.

"I know the person you are when you're not exhausted. When you're not carrying the weight of the world. And that person is worth staying for."

His eyes were wet.

"You're going to make me cry," he said.

"Then cry."

"I don't cry."

"You're crying right now."

"I'm not."

"Your face is wet."

"It's allergies."

"It's November."

"I'm allergic to November."

You laughed — soft and tired.

He smiled — small and broken but real.

"I love you," he said.

"I know."

"I'm going to make it up to you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." He pressed his forehead to yours. "Tomorrow. I'm going to make you breakfast. And I'm going to hold your hand. And I'm going to be better."

"You're already better."

"I'm trying."

"That's all I ask."

You woke up to the smell of eggs and toast.

You blinked. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains. The bed was empty beside you.

Satoru was in the kitchen. Again.

He was wearing the same apron. There was a smear of butter on his sleeve. The eggs were slightly overcooked. The toast was perfectly golden.

He looked up when you walked in.

"You're up," he said.

"You're making breakfast again."

"I messed up yesterday." He slid an egg onto a plate, his movements careful, deliberate. "I wanted to try again."

You walked over to him.

"Satoru..."

"I know I can't fix it with eggs." He set the plate down and finally looked at you. His eyes were soft. Hopeful. Scared. "But I can try. Every day. Until you believe me."

"Believe what?"

"That I'm sorry." His voice was quiet. "That I love you. That I'm going to do better."

You looked at him — at the butter on his sleeve, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands were still shaking just a little.

"Did you sleep?" you asked.

"Not really."

"At all?"

"A little."

"You need to sleep."

He set the spatula down and turned to face you fully.

"I need to take care of you first."

You reached over and took his hand.

"I'm okay," you said.

"Are you?"

"Yeah." You squeezed his fingers. "I am."

He stared at you. His throat moved as he swallowed.

"I don't deserve you," he said.

"Stop saying that."

"But it's true."

"It's not." You stepped closer. "Now sit down. Eat your eggs. And then you're going to sleep."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, softly: "Yes, ma'am."

It wasn't a joke. It wasn't sarcastic. It was quiet and sincere, like a promise he was making to himself as much as to you.

You felt your chest warm.

He sat. He ate. He held your hand across the table.

And when he finally fell asleep on the couch an hour later — his head on the pillow, his breathing slow and even — you covered him with a blanket and kissed his forehead.

He didn't wake up.

But his hand reached for yours in his sleep.

You held it.

A/N. i genuinely cried at this ion wanna talk abt it 😭 i really hope you guys enjoyed this! <3 broke my heart a little writing this bcz of the things im going thru rn 🥹 i hope you guys are all okay and feeling amazing !! 😼💞

Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3

[satorvsslvt]

𓂃 . ❤︎ I'll Come Back to You .

synopsis. You almost died. Gojo Satoru almost lost you. Now he's doing everything he can to keep you safe — reassigning your missions, accompanying you everywhere, never letting you out of his sight. You thinks he sees you as weak. He thinks you don't understand how close he came to breaking. — Or: a story about fear, love, and learning to let someone fight for you.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader

content & warnings. angst, hurt/comfort, injury/hospitalization, emotional vulnerability, healthy communication (eventually), childhood trauma (reader), insecurity, fluff ending, gojo is TERRIFIED but can't say it, reader feels inadequate, soft resolution, happy ending

word count. 2.7k+

A/N. this request came from a very lovely anon!! thank you so much for trusting me with this. i took my time with the pacing, the emotions, the slow burn of hurt and healing. the argument is tense, the communication is messy, but your love shall power thru!!!! 😼💞

The ceiling was white.

That was the first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes. White. Blurry. Too bright. You blinked once, twice, three times, and the world slowly came into focus — the fluorescent lights overhead, the beeping of machines beside you, the thin blanket pulled up to your chest.

You were in a hospital.

The second thing you noticed was the pain.

It hit you all at once — a dull, throbbing ache in your side, a sharper sting across your ribs, a heaviness in your limbs that made it impossible to move. You tried to lift your arm and immediately regretted it.

The third thing you noticed was Satoru.

He was sitting in a chair beside your bed — slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His white hair was a mess, falling over his forehead, hiding his face. His blindfold was pushed up around his neck. His hands were clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white.

He was wearing the same clothes from the mission. There was dirt on his collar. A smudge of something dark — blood? — on his sleeve.

He hadn't changed. He hadn't slept. He'd been here the whole time.

"Satoru," you croaked.

His head snapped up.

His eyes were red. Not from his technique — from crying. The skin underneath was dark, bruised-looking, like he hadn't slept in days. His jaw was tight. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

And then — his expression cracked.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said.

His voice was hoarse. Broken. Like he'd been screaming.

"What happened?" you asked.

He didn't answer right away. He just stared at you — like he was memorizing your face, like he was convincing himself you were real.

"You don't remember?" he finally said.

You tried to think. There was a mission. A curse. Something about a special grade in an abandoned warehouse. You remembered fighting. Remembered pain. Remembered falling.

Then nothing.

"I don't—" You stopped. Your throat was dry. "How long?"

"Three days."

Three days.

"You've been here for three days," he continued. His voice was flat. Empty. Like he was reading a report. "You lost a lot of blood. Your lung collapsed. They had to operate twice."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

"You almost died," he said.

The words hung in the air between you.

"Satoru—"

"I'm going to get the doctor."

He stood up. Walked out of the room. Didn't look back.

You watched him go, your chest aching — from the injury, from the look in his eyes, from the way his hands had been shaking.

He was scared.

You'd never seen him scared before.

The days that followed were a blur.

Doctors came and went. Nurses checked your vitals. Physical therapists made you walk laps around the ward. You learned to breathe without pain, to sleep without nightmares, to exist in a body that felt foreign and fragile.

Satoru was there for all of it.

He was there when you woke up from surgery, holding your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. He was there when the doctors explained your recovery timeline, his jaw tight, his eyes never leaving yours. He was there when you took your first steps after the operation, hovering so close you could feel his breath on your neck.

He didn't leave.

But he didn't talk either.

Not about the mission. Not about what happened. Not about the way his hands shook when he thought you weren't looking.

He made jokes — the same stupid, terrible jokes he always made. He teased the nurses. He complained about the food. He called you "sweetheart" and "baby" and "my love" like nothing had changed.

But something had changed.

You felt it in the way he held you — too tight, like he was afraid you'd disappear. You saw it in the way he watched you — too closely, like he was waiting for you to fall. You heard it in the way he laughed — too loud, too fast, like he was trying to convince himself everything was fine.

He was scared.

And he wouldn't tell you why.

You were discharged after two weeks.

The apartment felt different — smaller, quieter, somehow less like home. You moved slowly, carefully, aware of every ache and twinge. Satoru followed you everywhere — to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to the bedroom. He hovered. He watched. He asked if you were okay every five minutes.

"I'm fine, Satoru."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Because you should sit down. Or lie down. Or—"

"Satoru."

He stopped.

"I'm fine," you said again.

He nodded. Backed away. But his eyes stayed on you.

You went back to work a month later.

Not full missions — not yet. Just reports, briefings, desk work. Anything to feel useful. Anything to feel like yourself again.

Satoru had tried to convince you to take more time off.

"I don't need more time," you said.

"The doctors said—"

"I know what the doctors said."

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm going back."

He didn't argue. He just nodded. But you saw the way his jaw tightened. The way his hands clenched at his sides.

He was scared.

You didn't understand why.

The first sign was the mission roster.

You'd been back for two weeks — cleared for low-grade assignments, easy work, nothing dangerous. You checked the board every morning, looking for your name, looking for something to do.

Your name wasn't there.

Not on Monday. Not on Tuesday. Not on Wednesday.

You asked the receptionist. She shrugged. "You'll have to ask Gojo-sama. He's the one handling mission assignments right now."

The second sign was the accompaniment.

When you finally got a mission — a simple exorcism, grade four, barely a threat — Satoru was there.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"You don't need to."

"I want to."

"I'll be fine."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"I just want to, sweetheart. Is that a problem?"

It wasn't a problem. Not then. Not yet.

The third sign was the pattern.

Every mission you got — every single one — Satoru was there. Or the mission was suspiciously easy. Or it got reassigned at the last minute to someone else.

You started paying attention.

You started asking questions.

And one day, you found the answers.

You found them in Satoru's study.

He'd left his laptop open — unusual for him, but he'd been distracted lately, jumpy, always looking over his shoulder. You didn't mean to snoop. You were just looking for a pen.

And then you saw the emails.

To: Jujutsu Headquarters From: Gojo Satoru Subject: Mission Reassignment

The following missions are to be reassigned to other sorcerers. [Name] is not to be sent on anything above grade three until further notice.

To: Jujutsu Headquarters From: Gojo Satoru Subject: Accompanying Sorcerer

I will be accompanying [Name] on all future missions. This is non-negotiable.

To: Jujutsu Headquarters From: Gojo Satoru Subject: Medical Clearance

[Name] is not to be cleared for active duty until I sign off on her medical evaluation. This is not a request.

Your hands started shaking.

He'd been controlling your assignments. Your missions. Your life.

And he hadn't told you.

You found him in the living room.

He was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall, a cup of cold tea in his hands. He looked up when you walked in — and froze when he saw your face.

"Sweetheart—"

"You've been reassigning my missions."

He didn't deny it.

"You've been accompanying me everywhere. You've been controlling my medical clearance. You've been—"

"I was protecting you."

"Protecting me?" Your voice cracked. "Or controlling me?"

"Satoru—"

"You almost died." He stood up. His voice was louder now — raw, desperate. "You almost died, and I couldn't do anything. I couldn't—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I couldn't lose you."

"So you decided to take away my choices?"

"That's not what I—"

"That's exactly what you did." You were shaking now. "You decided what missions I could go on. You decided when I was cleared for duty. You decided— without asking me— what I could and couldn't do."

"I was trying to keep you safe."

"From what?"

"From this!" He gestured at you — at your still-healing body, your tired eyes, the way you held your side when you thought he wasn't looking. "From almost dying again. From—" His voice broke. "From leaving me."

The room was silent.

"You think I'm weak," you said.

"What? No—"

"You think I can't handle myself. You think I'm not good enough. You think—"

The words caught in your throat. You'd heard them before — not from him, never from him, but from everyone else. Your clan, who'd called you a disappointment. Your teachers, who'd said you'd never amount to anything. Your own mind, echoing the same cruel refrain: not good enough. too weak. why can't you be like the others?

You'd spent years trying to prove them wrong. Training until your bones ached. Pushing past every limit. Refusing to be the failure they said you were. And now Satoru was reassigning your missions like you were made of glass. Like he agreed with them.

"You think I'm not good enough for you," you whispered.

"I think I can't live without you." His voice was quiet now. Broken. "I watched you bleed out in my arms and I couldn't do anything. I sat in that hospital for three days waiting for you to wake up and I couldn't breathe."

"Satoru—"

"I think you're the strongest person I know. I think you've always been stronger than me. I think—" He stopped. His eyes were wet. "I think I'm terrified."

You stared at him.

"I'm not trying to control you," he said. "I'm not trying to protect you because I think you're weak. I'm trying to protect you because I can't— I can't do that again. I can't watch you almost die and just— just stand there."

"Then talk to me."

"I don't know how."

"Then learn."

He flinched.

You stepped closer.

"I'm not going anywhere, Satoru. I'm going to fight. I'm going to get hurt. That's what sorcerers do." You took his hands. They were cold. "But I'm also going to come back. Every time. I'll always fight to come back to you."

His hands tightened around yours.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

You sat on the couch together.

He didn't let go of your hands. His thumb traced circles on your palm — a nervous habit, something he did when he didn't know what to say.

"I was weak," he said finally.

"You weren't—"

"I was." He looked at you. "When I saw you fall— when I saw all that blood— I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I couldn't do anything except hold you and hope."

"Satoru..."

"I'm supposed to be the strongest. I'm supposed to protect everyone. But I couldn't protect you." His voice cracked. "And I've been trying to make up for it ever since."

"You don't have to make up for anything."

"I know." He laughed — a hollow, broken sound. "But I don't know how to stop."

You were quiet for a moment. The weight of your childhood pressed against your ribs — all those years of being told you weren't enough, that you'd never be enough, that someone like you didn't deserve someone like him.

"Satoru," you said carefully, "do you... do you ever wish I was stronger?"

He blinked. "What?"

"My technique. My clan. My—" You swallowed. "My status. I'm not from a big family. I'm not special. I'm just... me."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

"I don't love you because of your technique," he said quietly. "I don't love you because of your clan or your status or any of that. I love you because you're you. That's never going to change."

"But—"

"No buts, sweetheart." His voice was firm but gentle. "You could have the weakest technique in the world and I'd still love you. You could come from nothing and I'd still love you. You could—" He stopped. Swallowed. "You could lose everything and I'd still love you. Because it's you. It's always been you."

You pulled his hands to your lips and kissed his knuckles.

"Then let me help you."

He stared at you.

"Let me help you," you said again. "Talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling. Don't just... act. Don't just reassign my missions and hope I don't notice."

"I didn't want you to notice."

"I know."

"I wanted to protect you without you knowing."

"I know."

"I wanted to keep you safe."

"I know." You cupped his face. "But I'm not a glass doll, Satoru. I'm a sorcerer. I'm going to get hurt. I'm going to have close calls. But I'm also going to come back."

"How do you know?"

"Because I have something to come back to."

A tear slipped down his cheek.

You caught it with your thumb.

"I love you," you said.

"I love you too."

"Then trust me."

"I'm trying," he said.

"Then try harder."

He laughed — a real laugh this time, small and watery but real.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

You stayed on the couch until the moon crossed the sky.

He didn't let go of you. His arm was around your shoulders, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For smothering you. For not talking to you. For—" He paused. "For being a coward."

"You're not a coward."

"I am when it comes to you."

You tilted your head up to look at him.

"Then stop."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you," he said.

"I know."

"Say it back."

"I love you too, Satoru."

He smiled — soft and tired and full of love.

"Stay," he whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains.

Satoru was still asleep — his face soft, his hair messy, his hand still wrapped around yours. He looked younger like this. Peaceful. Less burdened.

You watched him for a while.

The argument from last night still echoed in your head. His fear. His desperation. His inability to say what he meant. But he'd tried. He'd opened up. He'd let you in.

That was enough.

That was everything.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He stirred, mumbling something in his sleep — your name, maybe, or something like it.

You smiled.

"I'm still here," you whispered.

He didn't answer.

But his hand tightened around yours.

And that was enough.

Weeks later, you got a new mission.

Grade two. Dangerous but manageable. Far from the city, far from help, far from him.

You read the briefing in silence.

Satoru watched you from across the table.

"When do you leave?" he asked.

"Tomorrow."

He nodded.

"I'm not going to ask you to stay," he said.

"I know."

"I'm not going to reassign it."

"I know."

"I'm not going to follow you."

You looked up at him.

"I'm going to wait," he said. "And I'm going to trust that you'll come back."

Your heart swelled.

"I will," you said.

"I know."

He smiled — soft and scared and full of love.

"Then go, sweetheart. Come back to me."

The mission was hard.

Harder than you'd expected. The curse was stronger than the briefing suggested. You fought for hours, bleeding, breathing, surviving. You thought about him the whole time — his face, his voice, the way he'd said "come back to me."

You came back.

He was waiting at the door.

He didn't say anything. He just pulled you into his arms and held you.

"You're bleeding," he said.

"Just a scratch."

"You're a terrible liar."

"You love me anyway."

He laughed — that bright, beautiful sound — and pressed a kiss to your hair.

"I love you anyway," he agreed.

You stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other, the door still open, the night air cold on your skin.

"I told you I'd come back," you said.

"I know."

"I'll always come back."

"I know."

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For fighting. For surviving. For—" He stopped. Swallowed. "For coming back to me."

You reached up and cupped his face.

"I'll always come back to you, Satoru."

He smiled — soft and tired and full of love.

"I know," he said.

And he kissed you.

A/N. i apologize if this looks like it was half-arsed, i swear i tried my best but i've been really busy since i'm moving houses 😭 thank you again anon !! <3

Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3

[satorvsslvt]

Hello love your work so much!!! Especially the fireworks one!!! Can you write one of Gojo and reader getting into a heated argument could be about him overworking a lot not spending enough time with her or something like that. Reader ends up crying/ angry and walks out to cool off in the rainy night. Gojo feels bad and chases after her. Worried he can’t find her. Ending it with a soft and yearning Gojo to reader. Both of them apologizing to each other more of Gojo though lol. Him being the biggest simp for his girl.😩

࣪ 𝅄⠀I'll Find You (I Always Will)⠀ ۪ ݁ ── ᰍ

synopsis. You're tired of being his second priority. Tired of loving someone who's never there. So you leave — into the cold, into the rain, into the dark. He follows. He always follows. But this time, he's scared he won't find you in time.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader

content & warnings. ANGST with happy ending, hurt/comfort, heated argument, crying, reader walks out in the rain, gojo chases after her, soft and yearning gojo, gojo panicking UGH WHY IS HE SO PRECIOUS, apologies, biggest simp energy, established relationship, pet names

series. part 4 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here!

word count. 2.6k+

A/N. EKEKEK THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON!! this is my first actual inbox ask and i'm tweaking !! i'd absolutely LOVE to write it for you, thank you so much for sending the idea in!! i hope you'll enjoy it ♡

2nd A/N. i decided to add this to the "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" Series!! ^^ you can find the other parts here!

The apartment was quiet when he came home.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet — the kind that settles over a house when everyone is asleep and the world is soft. This was heavier. Stifling. The kind of quiet that meant something was wrong.

Satoru noticed it immediately.

The lights were dim — only the small lamp by the couch was on, casting long shadows across the floor. The kitchen was dark. The bedroom door was closed.

And you were sitting on the couch with your back to him, your shoulders stiff, your hands folded in your lap.

He should have known something was wrong.

He should have asked.

Instead, he toed off his shoes and called out, "Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I'm late. There was a—"

"A curse. I know."

Your voice was flat. Cold. Nothing like the warm greeting he was used to.

He paused mid-step, his hand still on the wall. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

You didn't answer. You just sat there, unmoving, your back still turned.

Satoru felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He walked closer — slowly, carefully, like he was approaching something fragile. "Did something happen? Did I—"

"When was the last time we had dinner together?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Dinner. Together." You stood up slowly, finally turning to face him. Your eyes were red; like you'd been crying. Or holding back tears. He couldn't tell. "Sitting at the same table. Eating the same meal. When, Satoru?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His mind was blank.

"That's what I thought," you said, your voice cracking. "You don't remember. Because it's been weeks. Weeks, Satoru. I've been eating alone every night, saving you a plate that just ends up in the fridge, watching the clock tick past midnight wondering if you're even coming home."

"That's not— I've been busy—"

"You're always busy." You laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just exhaustion. Just pain. "There's always a curse. Always a mission. Always something more important than me."

"That's not fair." His jaw tightened. "You know I don't have a choice. You know what happens if I—"

"Don't you?" You stepped closer, and he saw your hands were shaking. "You're Gojo Satoru. The strongest. You could say no. You could set boundaries. You could— you could choose me for once."

"I am choosing you." His voice rose, not in anger, but in desperation. "Everything I do — every mission, every curse I exorcise; I do it to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe. Do you think I want to spend my nights fighting when I could be here with you?"

"I don't know what you want anymore." Tears spilled down your cheeks. "Because you never tell me. You never tell me anything. You just— you disappear. For days. And I'm left here, alone, wondering if you're okay, if you're hurt, if you're even thinking about me."

"Of course I'm thinking about you." His voice cracked. "I'm always thinking about you."

"Then act like it."

The words hung in the air between them — sharp and painful and true.

Satoru didn't have an answer.

He stood there, frozen, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to say something — anything — that would make this better. But every word he thought of felt wrong. Inadequate. Like trying to stop a flood with his bare hands.

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand. "I can't do this anymore."

His heart stopped. "What?"

"I can't keep waiting for you." Your voice was barely a whisper now — broken in a way he'd never heard before. "I can't keep loving someone who's never there."

"You think I want to be away from you?" He stepped closer, reaching for you. "You think I like coming home to an empty apartment? To seeing you asleep and knowing I can't wake you up because you need the rest?"

"Then stay."

"I can't!"

The words echoed through the room.

You flinched like he'd hit you.

Satoru's hands flew to his hair, tugging in frustration. He paced to the window, then back, his breath coming fast and uneven. "I can't," he said again, quieter this time. Broken. "I wish I could. God, I wish I could. But I can't. There are people counting on me. There are— there are things only I can do. And if I stop — if I take a break — people die, sweetheart. People die."

"Then maybe I'm not strong enough for this." Your voice was hollow. "Maybe I'm not strong enough to love someone who's always halfway out the door."

He turned to look at you.

You were crying — silent tears streaming down your face, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold yourself together.

"Satoru," you said, "I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me. But I can't keep being your second priority. I can't keep feeling like I'm competing with the whole world for a few minutes of your time."

"You're not my second priority." His voice cracked. "You've never been my second priority."

"Then why does it feel that way?"

He didn't have an answer.

You waited.

The silence stretched between you — thick, painful, unbearable.

And then you walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

You didn't answer.

"Sweetheart—"

You opened the door.

"Please—"

You stepped into the cold.

And you let the door close behind you.

It was pouring outside.

You hadn't noticed when you walked out — too numb, too angry, too sad to feel anything. But the rain soaked through your clothes within seconds, plastering your hair to your face, making you shiver violently.

You didn't go back.

You couldn't.

Your legs carried you forward — past the building, past the streetlamp that flickered in the storm, past the corner store where you and Satoru had bought ice cream at midnight three months ago. Everything looked different in the rain. Blurred. Forgotten.

You didn't know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn't stay.

The tears came again — hot against your cold cheeks, mixing with the rain until you couldn't tell the difference. You wiped at your face furiously, but they wouldn't stop.

How did we get here?

You thought about the beginning — when he would text you constantly, send you blurry selfies from missions, show up at your door with takeout and that stupid grin. When he would hold your hand like he was afraid you'd disappear. When he looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

When did that change?

Or did it never change — and you just stopped noticing?

You walked until your legs ached. Until your shoes were soaked through. Until you found yourself at a small bus stop; the kind with a cracked plastic awning and a single wooden bench.

You sat down.

You hugged your knees to your chest.

And you let yourself cry.

Satoru stood in the doorway for exactly thirty seconds after you left.

He stared at the closed door. At the space where you'd been. At the faint imprint of your hand on the handle.

She left.

You made her leave.

You pushed her away and now she's gone.

His chest felt like it was caving in.

He grabbed his coat and ran.

The stairs were a blur. The front door slammed behind him. The rain was falling hard, but he didn't notice. He didn't care.

"Sweetheart!" he called out, his voice swallowed by the storm. "Sweetheart, where are you?"

No answer.

He ran faster. Down the street. Past the corner store. Past the café where you'd had your first date — he remembered the way you'd laughed at him for ordering the sweetest thing on the menu. Past the park where you'd kissed for the first time — his heart had been pounding so hard he was sure you could hear it.

Where would you go?

He thought about your favorite places. The bookstore two blocks away. The bridge overlooking the river. The little bakery you loved.

But it was past midnight. It was raining. You wouldn't go far.

Would you?

A new fear gripped him — colder than the rain, sharper than any curse he'd ever faced.

What if he couldn't find you?

What if you didn't want to be found?

"Please," he whispered into the storm. "Please, just— just let me find you."

He kept running.

You heard him before you saw him.

"Satoru?" you whispered, lifting your head.

His voice was hoarse — raw from calling your name over and over, from the cold, from the desperation clawing at his throat. He sounded broken in a way you'd never heard before.

You stood up slowly, peering into the rain.

And then you saw him.

He was running — coat flapping, hair plastered to his face. He looked nothing like the confident, untouchable Gojo Satoru. He looked scared. He looked human.

When his eyes landed on you, he stopped.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The rain fell between you — a curtain of water that blurred the edges of everything. You could see his chest rising and falling, his hands trembling at his sides, his lips moving like he was trying to speak but couldn't find the words.

Then he crossed the distance between you.

He stumbled. Slipped. Caught himself just before he fell. And when he reached you, he didn't say anything at first. He just pulled you into his arms.

He was cold. He was shaking. But he held you like he'd never let go.

And then — you felt it.

A shift in the air around you. A stillness. The rain was still falling, you could see it out of the corner of your eye, but it wasn't touching you anymore. None of it was.

His Infinity.

He'd wrapped it around you without a word. Without asking. Without even thinking, probably.

Your throat tightened.

"I'm sorry," he said into your hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, 'm so sorry."

You stood there, frozen, as he held you like you might disappear.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered. "I couldn't find you. I looked everywhere. I ran— I ran for blocks— and I couldn't— I thought—"

"I'm here," you said softly. "I'm here, Satoru."

He pulled back just enough to look at you — really look at you. His eyes were red, his cheeks wet, his lips trembling.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "For everything. For being late. For not being there. For making you feel like you're not the most important thing in my life; because you are. You are. You're everything, sweetheart. Everything."

Your heart cracked.

"I know I'm not— I know I don't say it enough. I know I don't show it enough. But you—" He swallowed hard. "You're the reason I come home. You're the reason I fight. You're the reason I'm still—" His voice caught. "You're the reason I'm still here."

"Satoru—"

"Let me finish." His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away tears. "I've been so focused on protecting you that I forgot to be with you. I've been so scared of losing you that I pushed you away. And that's— that's not fair to you. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who's here. Who stays."

"I just want you," you whispered. "I don't care about the missions. I don't care about the curses. I just— I just want to know that you're coming back. That you're thinking about me. That I'm not— that I'm not invisible to you."

"You're not invisible." His voice was fierce despite the tremor. "You've never been invisible. You're the only thing I see, sweetheart. The only thing that matters."

You stared at him — at the man who had everything, who could have anything, who was standing in the rain holding you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

"Then stay," you said. "When you can. Just— just stay."

"I will." He pressed his forehead against yours. "I'll do better. I'll be better. I don't know how yet, but I'll figure it out. For you. For us."

You closed your eyes.

The rain fell around you — but not on you. Not anymore. His Infinity was still there, wrapped around you like a second skin. Keeping you dry. Keeping you safe.

He was still taking care of you. Even now. Even after everything.

You walked home together, hand in hand.

The rain was still falling, but you couldn't feel it anymore. His Infinity had expanded — covering both of you now. The water slid off an invisible barrier inches from your skin, leaving you warm and dry.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn't need to.

His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. His shoulder pressed against yours. He was warm. He was here.

When you reached the apartment, he opened the door for you — something he always did, something you'd stopped noticing until now.

"I'll make tea," he said.

You moved around each other in the kitchen — a quiet rhythm that felt like coming home. He filled the kettle. You pulled out two mugs. He measured the tea leaves. You grabbed the honey.

"I'm still sorry," he said, his voice soft.

"I know." You paused, setting down the honey. "I'm sorry too."

He looked up at you, surprised.

"I said some things I didn't mean," you continued, your voice quiet. "About not being strong enough to love you. That wasn't— I didn't—" You swallowed. "I'm sorry, Satoru."

He crossed the kitchen and pulled you into his arms, his chin resting on top of your head. "You don't have to apologize."

"Yes, I do." Your voice was muffled against his chest. "I hurt you too. I walked out. I made you chase me in the rain." You looked up at him. "That wasn't fair."

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "You were right, though. About some of it."

"That doesn't mean I should have left."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "We're both idiots."

"Yeah," you agreed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "We are."

He pulled back just enough to look at you — really look at you. His eyes were tired, but soft. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too, Satoru."

"Thank you for letting me find you."

You looked up at him — at his tired eyes, his soft smile, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world.

"You always do," you said.

He smiled — that real smile, the one he only gave you.

"Always will, sweetheart. Always will."

You woke up to the smell of pancakes.

For a moment, you were disoriented — the sheets were warm, the pillow was soft, and there was an empty space beside you where Satoru usually slept. But the kitchen light was on. And the smell was coming from there.

You padded out of the bedroom, still in your pajamas, your hair a mess.

Satoru was standing at the stove — still in his sweatpants, his hair still damp from a shower, flipping pancakes like he'd been doing it his whole life.

"You're awake," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "I was trying to be quiet."

"You're never quiet."

"I'm always quiet. You're just a light sleeper."

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him. The way he moved — careful, deliberate, like he was trying to get everything right.

"What's all this?" you asked.

He set the spatula down and turned to face you. "I wanted to do something nice. For you." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. "I know it doesn't fix everything. I know I have a long way to go. But I wanted to— I don't know— start somewhere."

Your heart swelled.

You crossed the kitchen and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his back.

"This is perfect," you said.

"It's just pancakes."

"It's you. Staying. Trying." You looked up at him. "That's all I ever wanted."

He turned in his arms, pulling you close.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"I know."

"Neither are you."

"No," you agreed. "I'm not."

He kissed your forehead — soft, lingering, full of promise.

"Good," he said. "Because I'd chase you again. Every time."

You smiled.

"I know, Satoru. I know."

A/N. hes so cute and precious AWSHWSH TvT hes adorable !! i love writing worried, hurt, or comfort gojo cz hes so bad at explaining his feelings but he always does his best 🥹

Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3

[satorvsslvt]

﹒⭔⠀Right Infront of You⠀丶

synopsis. You've just gone through a breakup. Satoru — your nerdy, glasses-wearing, ramen-eating, painfully awkward best friend — shows up at your dorm with snacks and a terrible movie. He's been in love with you for years. Everyone knows. Except you. (Until tonight.)

mini series. part 1 of "From The Library to Your Heart) series. all parts will be found here!

pairing. bsf nerd!gojo satoru x f!reader

content & warnings. breakups, comfort fluff, pining gojo, college au, nerd gojo, bossy-at-first gojo (because he cares), shy-during-confession gojo, jealous gojo, oblivious reader, best friends to lovers, soft angst, happy ending

word count. 2.5k+

A/N. this is part one of a short mini-series (best friends to lovers). glasses, sweaters, ramen, library study dates, and him being completely down bad for reader!! 😼 (please ignore any mistakes, i did not proofread this TvT)

P.S, this is a req by @uiuiuaa !! i loved the idea sm i'm going to make it a mini series HIHI

You were on your bed.

The dorm room was dark except for the blue glow of your laptop screen. Some sad playlist was on shuffle — the one you'd made after your last breakup, the one you swore you'd never use again. The blanket was pulled up to your chin. The tissues were scattered on your desk.

A week.

A week since your ex — a finance bro named something-you'd-already-forgotten — had told you he "needed space" and "wasn't ready for something serious" and "it's not you, it's me."

The usual.

You'd cried. You'd eaten instant ramen. You'd re-watched old movies and pretended you weren't sad. But tonight, you were just... empty.

Someone knocked on the door.

You didn't move.

Another knock. Louder this time. More insistent.

"I know you're in there."

Satoru. His voice was firm — not angry, just... bossy. The tone he used when he was done letting you wallow.

"I can see your light on," he continued. "And I can hear your sad playlist. And I know you're ignoring me because you think you're being subtle, but you're not. Open the door."

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head.

"I'm coming in," he announced. "You have three seconds."

The lock clicked. You'd given him a key months ago — for emergencies, you'd said. He'd never used it without announcing himself first.

He stepped inside, and the first thing you noticed was that he was wearing his favorite sweater — the oversized grey one with the elbow patches. His glasses were slightly crooked, like he'd been running his hands over his face. His hair was messier than usual.

His arms were full. A bag of takeout from your favorite ramen place. A six-pack of your favorite soda. Another bag that crinkled — more snacks, probably. And tucked under his arm, a DVD case.

He set everything down on your desk, then walked over to the bed. He stood there, hands on his hips, looking down at you with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and concerned.

"You look terrible," he said.

"Thanks."

"I mean it in the nicest way possible."

"You're terrible at compliments."

"I'm not here to compliment you." He reached down and pulled the blanket off your face. "I'm here to make sure you eat something that isn't instant ramen."

"You don't know that I've been eating instant ramen."

"There are three empty cups on your desk."

You looked. There were, in fact, three empty cups on your desk.

"Get up," he said.

"No."

"Yes."

"Satoru—"

"Get up, or I'll carry you."

"You wouldn't."

He bent down and scooped you up like you weighed nothing.

"SATORU—"

"You had your chance." He carried you toward the small couch under your window, ignoring your protests. "You're going to eat real food. You're going to drink something that isn't crying fuel. And you're going to watch a movie so bad you forget your own name."

"This is kidnapping."

"This is friendship."

You stopped struggling. "You're impossible."

"I'm efficient." He set you down on the couch and pointed a finger at you. "Stay."

"I'm not a dog."

"Could've fooled me."

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it.

He made you change into comfortable clothes while he set up the room.

When you came out of the bathroom, he'd turned on your fairy lights — soft, warm, easy on your puffy eyes. He'd fluffed the pillows. He'd laid out the takeout containers on the tiny coffee table. He'd even opened your soda can for you.

"Sit," he said, pointing at the couch.

"You're very bossy tonight."

"You've been sad for a week now. Someone has to be bossy."

You sat down.

He sat down on the other side of the couch — close, but not too close. He handed you a container of ramen and a pair of chopsticks.

"Eat."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't be sarcastic."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He shot you a look, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The movie was, as promised, terrible. A low-budget sci-fi film from the 90s that Satoru had found in the library's free bin. The acting was bad. The special effects were worse. The plot made no sense.

You both made fun of it — you more than him, because he kept stealing glances at you instead of watching the screen. Every time you caught him, he looked away quickly, his ears turning pink.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing."

"You keep looking at me."

"I'm making sure you're eating."

"I'm eating."

"You're pushing your noodles around."

"I'm eating strategically."

He snorted. "That's not a thing."

"It is now."

He shook his head, but he was smiling.

The movie ended. The credits rolled. The food was gone. The soda cans were empty.

You were lying on your side, facing away from him, curled up on the couch. Your head was on a pillow. Your knees were pulled up to your chest.

Satoru was still sitting up, his back against the armrest, his hands in his lap.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No."

"Okay."

He didn't push. He never pushed. He just sat there, waiting, his presence warm and steady.

After a while, you spoke.

"He said I was too much."

Satoru went still.

"Too emotional. Too needy. Too—" You shrugged. "Too me."

"That's not true."

"I know. But sometimes I wonder."

"He's an idiot."

"Satoru—"

"He's an idiot," he repeated. His voice was firm. "He didn't deserve you. He never did."

You turned to look at him.

"How do you know?"

He looked at you. His eyes — soft, brown, magnified behind his glasses — were intense.

"Because I know you," he said. "I know what you deserve. And it's not someone who makes you feel like you're too much."

"Then what do I deserve?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away.

"Someone who shows up," he said finally. "Someone who stays."

"Satoru..."

"Someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved."

The room was quiet.

Your phone buzzed.

You reached for it on the coffee table. A text from your ex.

"Hey. Can we talk?"

Your heart dropped.

Satoru must have seen your expression, because he leaned over and looked at the screen. His jaw tightened.

"Don't reply," he said.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good." He took the phone from your hand and set it face-down. "He doesn't get to do this."

"Satoru—"

"He doesn't get to break up with you, ignore you for three days, and then text you like nothing happened." His voice was low. "He doesn't deserve you."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"How do you know?"

He looked at you. His eyes were soft, but there was something underneath — something he was holding back.

"Because I've been watching you date the wrong people for years," he said. "And I'm tired of it."

"Satoru..."

"He's not the right guy for you."

"Then who is?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

"The right guy might be right in front of you," he said quietly.

The room was silent.

His face was red. His hands were shaking. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he didn't push them up.

"Satoru?" you said.

"I've been in love with you since freshman orientation." The words came out rushed, like he was afraid he'd lose his nerve. "You were sitting in the back of the lecture hall, and you had this look on your face like you'd rather be anywhere else, and I just — I couldn't look away."

"Satoru..."

"I know I'm not — I mean, I'm not the kind of guy who —" He swallowed. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to say it without sounding —" He stopped. "I just... I wanted you to know. You don't have to say anything. I just — I couldn't keep pretending anymore."

The room was quiet.

He still wasn't looking at you.

"Satoru," you said.

He flinched. "Yeah?"

"Look at me."

He looked up. His eyes were wet. His glasses were crooked. His lower lip was trembling.

"Hey," you said softly.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Come here."

He didn't move.

"Satoru. Come here."

He scooted closer, his movements hesitant, like he was afraid of being pushed away.

You reached up and fixed his glasses for him. Your fingers brushed his cheek. He held his breath.

"I've been in love with you too," you said.

He froze.

"What?"

"I've been in love with you too."

"You're not —" He swallowed. "You're not just saying that?"

"I'm not just saying that."

"You're not going to wake up tomorrow and pretend this didn't happen?"

"I'm not."

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then he pulled you into his arms — tight, desperate, like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"I've been waiting for this for so long," he whispered into your hair.

"I know."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner."

"I know."

"I was scared."

"I know."

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wet. His face was red. His glasses were crooked again.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

"You're asking?"

"I don't want to mess this up."

"You won't."

He leaned in — slow, hesitant, like he was giving you time to change his mind.

He kissed you.

It was soft. Gentle. His lips were warm. His hands were shaking. His glasses bumped your nose, and he pulled back, embarrassed.

"Sorry —"

You kissed him again.

He made a small, surprised sound. Then his hands cupped your face, and he kissed you back — deeper this time, but still soft, still careful.

When you finally pulled apart, he was smiling like he couldn't believe this was real.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he whispered.

"Why didn't you?"

"I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of losing you." He pressed his forehead to yours. "You're my best friend. I couldn't lose that."

"You won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced small circles on your cheek.

"You know," he said, his voice still soft, still a little shaky, "I practiced what I was going to say. Like, a lot. I rehearsed in front of the mirror. I wrote it down. I had a whole speech."

You blinked. "You wrote a speech?"

"Multiple drafts." He laughed — a small, embarrassed sound. "Shoko found one. She made fun of me for a week."

"What was in the speech?"

His face went red again. "I'm not telling you."

"Satoru."

"It's embarrassing."

"I just told you I love you. You can tell me the speech."

He hesitated. Then he took a breath.

"I was going to say —" He stopped. Swallowed. "I was going to say that I've been in love with you for so long I don't remember what it felt like before. And that you're the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. And that I know I'm not — I'm not smooth or cool or any of that. But I'd spend the rest of my life trying to be the person you deserve."

Your heart stopped.

"Satoru..."

"And then I was going to say something about how your smile makes me forget how to breathe." His voice got smaller. "And how I've been saving up to take you to that ramen place you like because I know you've been wanting to go. And how I already picked out a spot in my apartment for your books because I thought — I hoped — maybe someday you'd want to move in with me."

"You thought about me moving in with you?"

"I thought about everything." His ears were bright red. "I thought about what our wedding would look like. I thought about what kind of dog we'd get. I thought about —" He stopped. "This is so embarrassing."

"It's not."

"It is."

"It's cute."

"It's pathetic."

"It's romantic."

He looked at her like she'd just said the most absurd thing in the world.

"How is any of that romantic?"

"Because you thought about our future." You cupped his face. "You thought about a life with me."

He stared at you.

"Of course I did," he said quietly. "I couldn't stop myself."

You kissed him again — soft, slow, full of everything you couldn't say.

When you pulled back, he was smiling.

"So," he said, "does this mean I can stop pretending I don't stare at you during study sessions?"

"You stared at me during study sessions?"

"I'm not confirming anything."

"You literally just confirmed it."

"I'm a bad liar."

"You're a terrible liar."

He grinned. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

"Yeah," you said. "I do."

You woke up to sunlight streaming through your window.

Satoru was still asleep — his face soft, his hair messy, his hand still wrapped around yours. His glasses were on the coffee table. He looked younger like this. Peaceful.

You watched him for a while.

Everything had changed.

Nothing had changed.

He was still your best friend. Still the person who bossed you into eating real food and made you watch terrible movies and showed up when you needed him most.

But now, he was also yours.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He stirred, pulling you closer without waking up, his arm tightening around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear even in his sleep.

You smiled.

Then he stirred again.

"Mmm," he mumbled, his eyes still closed. "If you're staring at me, that's embarrassing."

"I'm not staring."

"You're totally staring."

"I'm admiring. There's a difference."

He opened one eye. "That's the same thing."

"It's not."

"You're impossible."

"You love me."

He smiled — soft and sleepy and full of love.

"Yeah," he said. "I really do."

He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair.

"I love you," he murmured.

You reached up and brushed his hair from his forehead. "I love you too."

His eyes fluttered shut. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru."

"One more time?"

"You're greedy."

"I know."

You laughed, and he smiled against your hair.

"

"Hey," he whispered after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"I meant everything I said last night. About the future. About the dog. About—" He stopped. "About you moving in with me. I wasn't just saying that."

"I know."

"I have a spare toothbrush. I bought it months ago. Just in case."

"Satoru."

"I also have your favorite tea. And an extra blanket. And—"

"Satoru."

He looked at you.

"I'd love to move in with you."

He stared at you.

"Really?"

"Really."

His face broke into the biggest smile you'd ever seen.

"Okay," he said, his voice a little wobbly. "Okay. Good. That's—" He took a breath. "That's good."

"You're crying."

"I'm not crying."

"You're literally crying."

"These are happy tears. There's a difference."

You laughed, and he pulled you closer, and the sunlight streamed through the window, and everything felt right.

A/N. I LOVEVEEE COLLEGE AU NERD GOJO !!!!!! i love nerds sm why cant nerdjo be real 😭 now that part 1 is done, part 2's coming !! stay tuned for it 😼💞 and also, why are all my fics 2.5k+ words most of the time!?

Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3

[satorvsslvt]

—⠀FROM THE LIBRARY TO YOUR HEART

ʚ synopsis. Gojo Satoru was your best friend. He was the one who showed up with ramen and terrible movies. He was the one who'd been in love with you since freshman orientation. You didn't know. Not until he confessed in your dorm room, voice shaking, glasses crooked, telling you he'd already picked out a spot for your books in his apartment. This is the story of how Satoru stopped pretending — and how you finally saw what was right in front of you.

ʚ pairing. nerd!gojo satoru x f!reader

ʚ cw. fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, mild language, mild suggestive themes (kissing, tension), touch-starved gojo, confession (he practiced in front of the mirror), shoko and geto being menaces (affectionate), soft gojo, height difference, established friendship, oblivious reader (just a little), gojo is down BAD, pet names, forehead kisses, cheek kisses, real kisses (finally), clingy gojo, tooth-rotting fluff, college setting, ramen and terrible movies agenda, observatory date, library study sessions, gojo has a speech and he's not afraid to use it, more tags to be added, will update when inspiration strikes . . .

ʚ taglist (OPEN). @tiffi26 , @winniethepoohjusttookapooh , @meanderingthru

ʚ A/N. I ABSOLUTELY ADOREEE NERD!GOJO !!! as a nerd myself (if i may) I LOVE WATCHING PPL SOLVE MATH HNGH i swear i come everytime i see them solving it so easily like GHGHJKSDJFKJKJSJDJ anyways... that's enough on my part! feel free to tell me if you want to be tagged on future parts <3

ʚ credits. div: @kurcmia and @my1003soda | art: xiaoshy_ot on twt.

01. RIGHT INFRONT OF YOU

You've just gone through a breakup. Satoru — your nerdy, glasses-wearing, ramen-eating, painfully awkward best friend — shows up at your dorm with snacks and a terrible movie. He's been in love with you for years. Everyone knows. Except you. (Until tonight.)

02. BETWEEN THE PAGES

You've been dating for a few weeks now. Satoru is still figuring out how to be a boyfriend — but he's trying. (A study date. A walk through campus. And a confession under the stars.)

MORE COMING SOON . . .

© 2026 satoruvsslvt. do not repost, translate, or feed to ai. this is a work of fanfiction created for entertainment purposes only. i do not own jujutsu kaisen or its characters—i am simply borrowing them with love (and a lot of sexual tension). if you see this fic on any platform other than tumblr (where it's posted), it has been stolen. please let me know.

[satorvsslvt]

♡⃕⠀ ⠀Out of Love with Me ۪ ׄ

synopsis. He's been waiting for you to leave. Every day. Every silence. Every time you look at him a little too long. He's waiting for the moment you finally realize — he's not worth staying for. (You never do.)

pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader

content & warnings. post-unsealing, major angst, emotional hurt/comfort, gojo is BROKEN but hides it, reader sees through him, talks of self-doubt and worthlessness, crying, soft ending (hopeful), inspired by laufey's "i wait, i wait, i wait"

word count. 2k+

A/N. this request came from our very lovely @ressyshi — thank you so much for trusting me with this!! i listened to laufey on loop while writing. i'm not okay. you're not okay. we're not okay TvT

P.S, also, this is really embarrassing to admit, but i forgot the plot of jjk 〒▽〒 so i hope this still somehow follows the plot !! oh and, it's a mix of gojo and reader's POV ^^

Three years.

That's how long he'd been trapped. Three years of nothing — no light, no sound, no time. Just darkness pressing in from all sides, suffocating, endless. He'd counted every day. Every hour. Every second. That was the worst part — he'd kept track. He'd known exactly how long he'd been in there. One thousand one hundred eighty-eight days. He'd marked every single one.

The world outside had only waited nineteen days.

They told him that when he got out. "It's only been nineteen days, Satoru. You're fine. Everything's fine."

He smiled. Nodded. Made a joke about losing track of time.

They believed him.

They always believed him.

Because he was Gojo Satoru. The strongest. Untouchable. Invincible.

Nothing could break him.

A/N. i'm so sorry i keep butting in, but rn this is Satoru's POV !!

He'd been back for three weeks.

Nineteen days for the world. Three years for him.

He'd gotten good at pretending. The first day, he'd cracked a joke — something stupid about the Prison Realm being "bad for his complexion." Shoko had rolled her eyes. Suguru had sighed. You'd laughed.

You'd laughed.

He'd held onto that sound for days.

He acted normal. He went back to teaching. He teased his students. He annoyed Shoko. He bickered with Suguru. He smiled, he joked, he pretended.

But at night — when the apartment was dark and you were asleep beside him — the mask slipped.

He'd lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of three years pressing down on his chest. He'd listen to your breathing — soft, even, peaceful — and wonder how long it would last.

How long until you saw through him?

How long until you realized he wasn't the same?

How long until you left?

A/N. below is reader's POV!

You knew something was wrong.

You couldn't prove it. There was no evidence, no confession, no moment where he slipped. On the surface, he was fine. He smiled. He joked. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed kisses to your neck and called you sweetheart like nothing had changed.

But something had changed.

You saw it in the small things. The way his hands shook when he thought you weren't looking. The way he stared at nothing — at walls, at windows, at the dark — like he was somewhere else entirely. The way he flinched when you touched him without warning.

He always covered it quickly. A laugh. A joke. A kiss.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Just tired."

But you'd known him for years. You'd loved him for years. You knew the difference between his real smile and the one he wore like armor.

This was armor.

And you didn't know how to take it off.

A/N. gojo's POV below!1

You were sitting on the couch together.

It was late — too late to be awake, too late for anything good to happen. The TV was on, some movie neither of you were watching. The volume was low, just background noise, just something to fill the silence.

He was pretending to watch.

His eyes were on the screen, but his mind was elsewhere — back in the dark, back in the quiet, back in the place where no one could hear him scream.

"Stop it," he told himself. "You're out. You're free. She's right here. Focus."

But he couldn't focus. He couldn't stop the memories. He couldn't stop the fear.

"She's going to leave," whispered a voice in his head. "She's going to realize you're broken. She's going to find someone better. Someone who isn't—"

You reached over and took his hand.

He flinched.

It was small — barely noticeable. But you felt it. The way his fingers tensed, the way his whole body went still, like he wasn't sure what to do with your touch.

"Satoru," you said softly.

He didn't answer.

"Satoru, look at me."

He turned his head. His eyes met yours. He forced a smile.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend."

His smile faltered.

"I'm not pretending."

"You are." You squeezed his hand. "You've been pretending since you came back. And I've been waiting for you to stop."

He looked away.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do."

He was quiet for a long time.

The movie played on. The light from the screen flickered across his face, casting shadows that made him look older, wearier, more like the person he'd become in the dark.

"You should leave," he said finally.

You blinked. "What?"

"You should leave." His voice was flat. Empty. The same voice he'd used in the Prison Realm, talking to no one, talking to himself. "Find someone better. Someone who isn't... this."

"Satoru—"

"I'm not the same." He pulled his hand from yours. The absence of your warmth was immediate, sharp, painful. He didn't reach for it again. "I'm never going to be the same. And I can't—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I can't give you what you deserve."

"Who says I want someone else?"

"I do."

"That's not your choice."

He looked at you. His eyes were wet. "I spent three years in there. Three years, sweetheart. Nineteen days for you. Three years for me." His voice cracked. "Do you know what that's like? To be alone in the dark for three years?"

"No."

"To have no one to talk to. No one to touch. No one to—" He stopped. His jaw trembled. "I thought about you every day. Every hour. Every second. You were the only thing that kept me from losing my mind."

"Satoru..."

"I thought about coming back to you. I thought about holding you. I thought about—" He laughed — a broken, hollow sound. "I thought about how I didn't deserve you."

"That's not true."

"It is." He looked at you. "I've been waiting for you to realize it. Every day. Every silence. Every time you look at me a little too long. I've been waiting for you to finally see what I see."

"And what's that?"

He looked at you. His eyes were wet.

"Someone not worth staying for."

A/N. reader's POV below!1

Your heart cracked.

Not broke — cracked. The kind of crack that hurt but didn't shatter. The kind that could be fixed, if only he'd let you.

You'd watched him pretend for three weeks. Watched him smile when he wanted to cry. Watched him joke when he wanted to scream. Watched him hold you when he was terrified you'd leave.

You'd waited. Patiently. Quietly. Giving him space when he needed it, touching him when he didn't pull away, leaving food on the counter that he never ate.

But tonight — sitting on the couch, his hand cold in yours, his voice flat and empty — you realized something.

He wasn't waiting for you to leave because he wanted you to.

He was waiting for you to leave because he thought he deserved it.

"Satoru," you said.

"I'm serious." His voice was thick. "You should go. Find someone who can make you laugh. Someone who isn't broken. Someone who—"

"Stop."

He stopped.

You moved closer. Took his face in your hands. His skin was cold. His jaw was tight. His eyes were red-rimmed and wet, and he was looking at you like you were the last good thing in his life.

"I'm not going anywhere," you said.

"You don't understand."

"Then make me understand."

He stared at you. His throat moved as he swallowed.

"I waited for you," you said. "Every day. Every night. Nineteen days. I didn't know if you were alive. I didn't know if you'd ever come back. But I waited."

"I know."

"Do you?" You brushed your thumb across his cheek. "I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. I didn't do anything except sit by the window and watch for you."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not leaving now." You held his gaze. "Not ever. Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime."

His face crumpled.

He didn't cry — not yet — but you could see him fighting it. The way his jaw trembled. The way his hands clenched in his lap. The way his breath hitched, just once, before he got it under control.

"You should hate me," he whispered.

"I don't."

"I left you."

"You were sealed."

"I wasn't there."

"You're here now."

"I'm broken."

"Then let me help you fix it."

He closed his eyes.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

You caught it with your thumb, gently brushing it away.

"Stay," you whispered. "Just stay. Let me love you. That's all I'm asking."

He didn't speak for a long time.

The movie ended. The screen went dark. The only light came from the window — the moon, pale and silver, casting shadows on the floor.

You didn't let go of his face.

He didn't pull away.

"I've been waiting," he said finally. His voice was raw. "For you to leave. For you to wake up one day and realize I'm not worth the effort. For you to look at me and see what I see in the mirror."

"And what's that?"

"Nothing."

Your heart cracked again.

"Satoru..."

"I waited for it every day." His eyes opened. They were wet, glassy, full of a fear he'd never shown anyone. "Every time you touched me. Every time you said my name. I waited for the moment you'd finally see."

"See what?"

"That I'm not him anymore." His voice broke. "That the person you loved— the one who laughed and teased and made you roll your eyes— he's still in there somewhere. But I don't know how to find him. And I'm scared that when I do... he won't be enough."

You pulled him into your arms.

He didn't resist. He just — collapsed. His forehead dropped to your shoulder. His hands fisted in your shirt. His body shook — not with sobs, not yet, but with something close.

"Listen to me," you said.

"I can't—"

"Listen."

He went still.

"I loved you before the Prison Realm," you said, your voice steady, certain, unwavering. "I loved you during the Prison Realm. I love you now. I'll love you tomorrow. I'll love you when we're old and grey and you're still stealing my blankets."

He laughed — a broken, breathless sound.

"I'm not leaving," you continued. "Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime. You're stuck with me, Satoru. Forever."

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

"You mean that?"

"I mean it."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then — slowly, hesitantly — he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered.

"Too bad." You smiled. "You're stuck with me anyway."

You stayed on the couch until the moon crossed the sky.

He didn't let go of you. His hand stayed in yours. His head stayed on your shoulder. His breathing was slow and even, but you knew he wasn't asleep.

"Satoru?"

"Mm."

"I'm not going to leave."

"I know."

"You keep saying you're waiting for me to leave. But I need you to stop."

He was quiet for a moment.

"I'll try," he said.

"That's all I ask."

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder — soft, almost unconscious, like he didn't even realize he was doing it.

"I love you," he said.

"I know."

"Say it back."

"I love you too, Satoru."

He closed his eyes.

And for the first time since he'd come back — since the Prison Realm, since the darkness — he stopped waiting.

Just for a moment.

Just for a night.

But it was a start.

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains.

Satoru was still asleep — his face soft, his hair messy, his hand still wrapped around yours. The lines around his eyes were still there. The shadows under them were still dark.

But he looked peaceful. Younger. Less burdened.

You watched him for a while.

He'd been waiting for you to leave. Every day. Every silence. Every time you looked at him a little too long.

But you weren't going anywhere.

Not in this lifetime.

Not ever.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He stirred, mumbling something in his sleep — your name, maybe, or something like it.

You smiled.

"I'm still here," you whispered.

He didn't answer.

But his hand tightened around yours.

And that was enough.

A/N. HES SO PRECIOUS I CANT AWHWSHWDSHHD (┬┬﹏┬┬) YOU'RE PERFECT BB U DONT HAVE TO CHANGE ANYTHING I'LL NEVER FIND SM1 BETTER THAN YOU

Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3

[satorvsslvt]

◡◡ ﹒ I'm Finally Home⠀ᰔ

synopsis. He's been gone for weeks. Missions, meetings, responsibilities — always something. You miss him. He misses you. And then one Saturday, you come home to find a dress you've never seen before, and a man who's been trying to find his way back to you.

pairing. bf!gojo satoru x f!reader

content & warnings. fluff, established relationship, mutual pining (but they're together!), soft gojo, beach date, polaroid, chasing, tag, happy ending!!

series. part 7 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here!

word count. 2.2k+

A/N. this is a sequel to "i'll find you (i always will)" — part of the "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! he's been trying. he's been working on himself. and now he's surprising you with a dress and a beach date. soft, fresh, and full of love!! 🫶 this was requested by @uiuiuaa!! <3

The apartment was too quiet.

Not in a sad way. Just... quiet. The kind of quiet that made you notice how loud he usually was — his humming in the kitchen, his commentary during movies, his laughter echoing off the walls.

He'd been gone for seventeen days.

Seventeen days of texting "good morning" and "good night" and "i miss you, sweetheart" with no one to say it to in person. Seventeen days of sleeping diagonally across the bed just because you could. Seventeen days of coming home to an empty apartment that felt less like home without him in it.

You missed him.

You really, really missed him.

Today was Saturday. You'd worked late, grabbed takeout on the way home, and trudged up the stairs with your bag dragging on your shoulder. The plan was simple: eat, shower, sleep, repeat.

You unlocked the door.

The apartment was dark. The curtains were still drawn from last night. The TV was off. Everything was exactly where you'd left it.

Except for the box on the coffee table.

You stopped.

It was a gift box — cream-colored, tied with a silk ribbon the color of the sky at dawn. No note. No tag. Just... sitting there.

You looked around. Still dark. Still quiet.

"Satoru?" you called out.

No answer.

You walked toward the box slowly, like it might disappear if you moved too fast.

You untied the ribbon.

The paper inside was soft, crinkling as you pushed it aside. And then you saw it.

A dress.

The dress.

The one you'd pointed at in a store window three months ago. The one you'd said "maybe someday" about, your voice small because you knew it was too expensive, too impractical, too much. The one Satoru had tugged you away from with a grin and a "come on, sweetheart, let's keep walking."

But he'd looked back at the window. You'd seen him.

And now the dress was here.

You pulled it out of the box, holding it up to the light. It was even prettier than you remembered — soft fabric, delicate straps, the kind of dress that made you feel like a main character in a movie.

Your heart was pounding.

"Satoru?" you said again.

Still no answer.

And then — arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

You yelped.

He laughed — that bright, beautiful sound you'd been missing for seventeen days — and pulled you against his chest.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"SATORU."

"Hey."

"You scared me."

"I know." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"You're supposed to be on a mission."

"I finished early."

"You finished early?"

"I've been trying to get back to you for days." He turned you around to face him. His hair was messier than usual. His rectangular glasses were slightly crooked. There were dark circles under his eyes. He was wearing the button-up you liked — the one that made him look soft and warm.

"You look exhausted," you said.

"I've been traveling."

"You look beautiful," you said.

His ears turned pink. "That's supposed to be my line."

"I'm saying it anyway."

He grinned — tired but real.

"I missed you," he said.

The words hit you right in the chest.

"I missed you too," you whispered.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I brought you a dress," he said.

"I see that."

"And reservations. Or no reservations — we can just go. There's a beach. And a sunset. And I thought —" He stopped. Swallowed. "I thought maybe we could have tonight."

"Just tonight?"

He shook his head. "Tonight and tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. I'm not going anywhere for a while."

You looked at the dress in your hands. Then at him.

"You bought me a dress," you said.

"I did."

"And you planned a beach date."

"I did."

"And you finished your mission early just to surprise me."

"I did."

"You're ridiculous."

He grinned. "And yet, here you are."

Your heart did a little flip.

"Help me put it on," you said.

He kissed your forehead.

"Okay, sweetheart."

The beach was empty.

Not just any beach. The beach. The one you'd come to months ago, for the sunrise. The one where he'd taken your picture, where you'd eaten breakfast on a towel, where he'd held your hand and promised to love you forever.

He'd brought you back.

"You remembered," you said.

He smiled. "Of course I did. It's your favorite."

"How do you know?"

"Because you talk in your sleep."

"I do not—"

"You said 'the beach was pretty' three times."

You stared at him. "That's creepy."

"That's attentive. There's a difference."

The sun was low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink and orange. The waves were gentle, lapping at the shore. The sand was cool beneath your bare feet.

You were wearing the dress.

He was wearing a smile.

He'd held your hand the whole drive here, his thumb tracing circles on your palm, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds like he couldn't believe you were real.

"You're staring," you said.

"I'm looking."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is," he said, "I'm not just looking at you. I'm memorizing you."

"You're so cheesy."

"You love it."

"I love you."

He stopped walking.

The waves washed over his feet. He didn't seem to notice.

"Say that again," he said.

"I love you, Satoru."

He pulled you into his arms.

"I've been waiting seventeen days to hear that," he whispered into your hair.

"You heard it every night on the phone."

"It's not the same."

"How is it different?"

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

"Because now I can do this."

He kissed you.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Slow and soft and full of everything he couldn't say over the phone — the I miss you's, the I'm sorry's, the I love you's. His hands cupped your face. Your fingers fisted in his shirt.

When he finally pulled back, he was smiling.

"Okay," he said. "Now we can watch the sunset."

"You interrupted the sunset for that?"

"It was worth it."

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky of deep blues and purples. The first stars were just starting to appear. The waves were gentle, and the sand was cool beneath your feet.

Satoru was still sitting on the picnic blanket, watching you with soft eyes.

"You're staring again," you said.

"I'm admiring."

"That's the same thing."

"It's not."

You grinned. Then, without warning, you reached down, tapped his shoulder, and took off running.

"TAG, YOU'RE IT!"

He blinked. "What—"

You were already halfway to the water, your bare feet kicking up sand, the dress billowing behind you. His laugh echoed across the beach.

"SWEETHEART!"

"CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!!"

He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the picnic blanket. "You're going to regret this!"

"I NEVER REGRET ANYTHING!"

He was faster than you. Obviously. He was Gojo Satoru. But you had a head start, and you were determined.

You ran along the shoreline, the waves washing over your ankles, your laughter mixing with his. The stars were coming out. The wind was in your hair. And behind you, he was gaining.

"SATORU, NO—"

"YES—"

He caught you around the waist, spinning you around once before pulling you against his chest. You were both breathless, both laughing, both grinning like fools.

"Caught you," he said.

"You cheated."

"I didn't cheat."

"You're literally the strongest sorcerer in the world."

"That's not cheating. That's genetics."

"That's not how genetics work."

He dipped you low, his face inches from yours.

"I caught you," he said again, softer this time.

"You did," you admitted.

He kissed you.

The waves washed over your feet. The stars watched from above. And somewhere behind you, the picnic blanket sat forgotten in the sand.

When he pulled back, he was smiling.

"Best game of tag ever," he said.

"You've only played one game today."

"Doesn't matter. Still the best."

You laughed, and he set you back on your feet, keeping one arm around your waist.

After the tag game, you were both breathless and grinning. Satoru had somehow produced a polaroid camera from the picnic basket — because of course he had.

"You brought a camera?" you asked.

"I brought the camera." He held it up, turning it over in his hands. "I wanted to remember tonight."

"It's just a beach date."

"It's our beach date." He looked at you. "The first of many."

Your heart did a little flip.

"Come here," he said, holding the camera out at arm's length. "Smile."

You leaned into him, your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest.

"Wait," you said.

"What?"

"Let me whisper something to you first."

He raised an eyebrow but lowered the camera. "Okay?"

You leaned up, your lips brushing his ear.

"I'm really, really happy right now," you whispered.

He went still.

"I've missed this," you continued, soft. "I've missed you. And tonight... you've made me feel like the luckiest person in the world."

He didn't move.

"Satoru?"

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were bright. His ears were pink.

"You can't just say things like that," he said, his voice a little unsteady.

"Why not?"

"Because—" He swallowed. "Because now I'm going to be thinking about it for the next week."

"Good."

He stared at you. Then he shook his head, laughing softly.

"You're going to be the death of me."

"Probably."

He kissed your forehead.

"Okay," he said, holding up the camera again. "Now smile. For real this time."

You smiled.

He pressed the button.

The camera whirred, spitting out a small white square. He caught it, watching as the colors slowly bled into focus — the blue of the sky, the gold of the sunset, the soft pink of your dress. Your head on his shoulder. His arm around your waist. Both of you grinning like idiots.

He stared at it for a long moment.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing." His voice was soft. "Just... looking."

"At what?"

"At us."

You looked at the photo. At the two of you, frozen in a moment of pure happiness.

"Keep it," you said.

"I was going to."

"On your nightstand?"

"In my pocket." He slipped it carefully into his chest pocket, right over his heart. "So I can look at it whenever I miss you."

"You're going to miss me when I'm right here?"

"All the time."

You laughed, and he pulled you into his arms.

"Okay," he said. "Now let's eat. I'm starving."

"You already said that."

"I'm saying it again."

He'd packed a picnic.

You sat on a blanket in the sand, watching the stars appear one by one. The food was simple — bread and cheese and fruit, the kind of picnic you'd talked about having "someday."

"You remembered," you said.

"I remember everything." He handed you a strawberry. "You said you wanted to do this. Months ago. After that movie we watched."

"The one with the picnic scene?"

"That's the one."

"You were half asleep during that movie."

"I was resting my eyes."

"You were snoring."

"I was meditating."

You laughed, and his whole face lit up.

"There she is," he said softly.

"There who is?"

"My girl. The one I've been missing."

Your heart swelled.

"I'm right here," you said.

"I know." He reached over and took your hand. "I'm not letting go."

"Not even for more strawberries?"

He looked down at the strawberries. Then at your hand. Then back at the strawberries.

"...I'll let go for strawberries. But only for a second."

"You're ridiculous."

"You love me."

"I do."

He squeezed your hand.

"I missed you," he said again.

"I know."

"I'm going to make it up to you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." He looked at the ocean. "I want to be here more. I want to wake up next to you. I want to make you coffee and burn the toast and listen to you laugh at me."

"I don't laugh at you."

"You do. I love it."

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

"Just come home," you said. "That's all I want."

He pressed a kiss to your hair.

"Okay, sweetheart."

You fell asleep in the car.

When you woke up, you were in your driveway. The engine was off. Satoru was watching you, his head resting on his hand, his eyes soft.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he said.

"Hey."

"You drooled."

"I did not."

He showed you the polaroid. You had, in fact, drooled.

"...Get rid of that."

"Never."

"Satoru."

"This is blackmail material. I'm keeping it forever."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. He laughed — that bright, beautiful sound — and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

"I love you," he said.

"I know."

"Say it back."

"I love you too."

He smiled.

"Let's go inside," he said. "I want to sleep in my own bed."

"Our bed."

"Our bed."

He took your hand and led you inside.

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains.

Satoru was still asleep beside you — his face soft, his hair messy, his hand still wrapped around yours. The dress was hanging on the closet door. The picnic blanket was folded on the chair.

He stirred, pulling you closer without waking up, his arm tightening around your waist.

You smiled.

"Hey," you whispered.

He mumbled something unintelligible.

"I love you," you said.

He pulled you closer.

You stayed there, wrapped in each other, until the sun rose higher and the world woke up around you.

He was home.

Finally.

A/N. i beg u to PLEASE ignore any grammatical errors, i wrote this at 1am so i'm pretty sure i'm going insane 😭

Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3

[satorvsslvt]

୨୧﹒ᰍ﹒Between The Pages﹒

synopsis. You've been dating for a few weeks now. Satoru is still figuring out how to be a boyfriend — but he's trying. (A study date. A walk through campus. A confession under the stars.)

pairing. nerd!gojo satoru x f!reader (college au)

content & warnings. fluff, established relationship, nerd gojo, college au, library date, hand holding, stargazing, soft confession, kisses!!

mini series. part 2 of "From The Library to Your Heart) series. all parts will be found here!

word count. 0.8k+ (does not include txt msgs!)

A/N. HES SO CHEESY HIHIHI !! hes precious 🥹🥹

He was already there when you arrived.

Same spot. Same table. Same stack of books. He was wearing a dark blue sweater, his hair messier than usual, his glasses slightly crooked. He was tapping his pen against his notebook — a nervous habit.

He looked up when you sat down.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You came."

"I said I would."

He pushed his glasses up. "I know. I just —" He stopped. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

"To studying?"

"To seeing you."

You felt your face warm.

"That's —" you started.

"Smooth?" he offered. "Romantic? Completely out of character?"

"I was going to say unexpected."

He shrugged. "I'm full of surprises."

You studied for an hour.

Well, you tried to. He kept stealing glances at you.

"You're not reading," you said.

"I'm appreciating the view."

"The view of my textbook?"

"The view of you."

You snorted. "That was terrible."

"I'm out of practice."

"You've never been in practice."

He laughed — a real laugh, bright and unguarded.

"Yeah," he said. "Fair point."

You got up to find a book.

When you came back, there was a piece of paper on your notebook.

You wrinkle your nose when you're concentrating. It's adorable. — S

You looked up at him. He was staring very hard at his textbook.

"You wrote this?"

"No."

"You're the only one here."

"Could be a ghost."

"A ghost wrote me a compliment?"

"Friendly ghost."

You folded the note and tucked it into your bag.

"I'm keeping this," you said.

"For evidence?"

"Because it's cute."

He went very still. "You think I'm cute?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late."

The library closed at nine.

You walked out together into the cold night air. He held the door for you. You didn't expect it.

"Thanks," you said.

"My mom raised me right."

"Did she also raise you to stare at people?"

"I'm not staring. I'm observing."

"What's the difference?"

"Staring is creepy. Observing is scientific."

You laughed. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you're still walking with me."

You ended up at the campus observatory.

He knew the code to get in — something about an astronomy club he'd joined freshman year. The dome was cold and dark. Above you, the sky was visible through the open roof.

"I used to come here when I couldn't sleep," he said.

"Does it help?"

"Sometimes." He pointed up. "See that cluster? Pleiades. And that bright one? Jupiter."

"You're such a nerd."

"I prefer 'enthusiastic learner.'"

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

He was quiet for a while.

Then: "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

He looked up at the stars.

"I've been thinking about you a lot. Like — a lot a lot. To the point where it's kind of embarrassing."

"How embarrassing?"

"I almost walked into a door yesterday because I was thinking about the way you said my name."

You stared at him.

"Satoru, that's —"

"Pathetic? Yeah, I know."

"I was going to say sweet."

He turned to look at you.

"You're not supposed to agree with me when I insult myself."

"Then stop insulting yourself."

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

"That's —" He stopped. "I don't know what to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything."

He reached for your hand.

"I'm glad you texted me," he said. "That first time. I almost didn't."

"Why not?"

"I was scared you'd say no."

"And now?"

"Now I'm scared you'll realize I'm not worth the trouble."

You squeezed his hand.

"Too late," you said.

"For what?"

"I already think you're worth it."

He stared at her.

"Can I —" He stopped. Swallowed. "Can I kiss you?"

"Here?"

"Here."

"In the observatory?"

"I panicked and chose the place. You can choose the next one."

You laughed. "That's not how this works."

"I'm new to this."

He leaned in. His lips were soft. His hand was warm on your cheek. His glasses bumped your nose.

He pulled back.

"Sorry —"

You kissed him again.

He made a small, surprised sound. Then he kissed you back — deeper this time, but still gentle, still careful.

When you finally pulled apart, he was smiling.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," he said.

"Then why didn't you?"

"I was waiting for the right moment."

"And the observatory was it?"

"The stars felt right."

"That's very romantic for someone who called himself 'out of practice.'"

"I have my moments."

He walked you to your door.

"So," he said.

"So."

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Same place?"

"Same place."

He was still holding your hand.

"Satoru?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for tonight."

He smiled — soft and warm.

"Thanks for coming."

He kissed your forehead.

"Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight."

He turned and walked away — but he looked back once. Just once. And then he was gone.

You woke up to a text.

You smiled at your phone.

You laughed and got out of bed.

A/N. part three will be their first actual date !! (not a study date, not a walk) — stay tuned. heh. 😼😼

P.S, this is js a quick work i made, sorry if its short!! 😭 i'm still moving houses ill make it up to u guys <3

Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3