“i’ve Got The Ice Cream!” Gojo Announces As He Steps Into The Apartment.

can you calm the fuck down

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will tell @callmemirro

when you and satoru gojo started dating and agreed to take it slow, the first thing that you got used to was the fact that his infinity was up 24/7. though you understood and never brought it up, part of you yearned to feel his skin and not the invisible shield that kept him from the rest of the world.

then, during one beautiful evening after a lovely picnic date, you're comfortably lying against his chest—against that familiar shield, until you realize that you aren't.

as he's adorably rambling about something funny that happened while he was teaching the second years, you notice that you feel the material of his jacket against your cheek. then, you realize that the comforting scent you've been inhaling is his cologne. curious, you gently grasp one of his hands that's closest to you, and your heart practically skips a beat when you feel the warmth of his palm for the first time.

satoru senses your excitement and quietly intertwines your fingers with his. it's also his first time touching you without infinity activated, and he wants to savor it. his thumb brushes soothing patterns on your hand, and you don't even realize how hard you're grinning until you feel the strain in your cheeks.

he chuckles, and you look up to see him staring at you, blindfold raised and his blue eyes soft with adoration. "what's got you cheesin' like that, pretty girl?"

you shrug, your smile unwavering. "just thinking about how perfect my boyfriend is."

satoru stares at you for a little while longer, then tilts his head a bit lower. you feel his lips gently press against your forehead, then against your lips, feather-light and brief. the kiss is short, but it's absolutely perfect for the first time.

you snuggle against satoru, and his other hand strokes your soft face. "that's good," he finally replies, "because i'm always thinking about how lovely my girlfriend is."

✎ curiosity

- gojo satoru x reader

when gojo is found out by his own son during your nighttime activities

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact! crack, fluff, dad!gojo

note: based on a fun suggestion by anon! and it’s been sooo long in my drafts🤧 anyways gojo in phantom parade game is so otome-coded, look at his innocent face!—that's how he's going to be while explaining this to his son

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Nghh—Satoru... ah!" you mewled, breathless, right after the third time he made you cum on his fingers alone.

Gods, even with one kid already running around, Satoru never stopped acting like he desired you like when you were still newlyweds. The glint in his eyes never dulled—always smirking at you as if you were the prey, as he licked his fingers with a wicked smile.

"Ah, sweets, are you ready to take me in now?" he cooed in your ear. Really, he was at his limit, seeing how he brought pleasure to you as you writhed under him made him this close to becoming undone too.

With your nod of approval, he wasted no time. He gripped your hips, and swiftly slid his thick cock between your folds. As he sank into you—making himself fit, you accidentally let out a loud moan.

“So pretty,” Satoru groaned through clenched teeth, marveling at your scrunched face, feeling how your legs wrapped around his waist in compliance. “Still so tight for me...”

And the way you squeezed your eyes shut right before he started to pound into you made him finally lose it, as he hotly grunted in that raw, almost feral voice—

“All mine.”

With each thrust, you quite literally squealed. Seems like you were sensitive at this time of the month, because your senses were heightened and you couldn't help the nasty moans leaving your lips. The sensation of him repeatedly slamming his hips against you turned you into a crying mess, and had you totally forgetting that your toddler was sleeping just next door.

And when his climax exploded within you with one last powerful thrust, his hot cum spurting hard, stuffing you to the brim and painting your womb white— you clawed at him, tugged him closer to your breasts as a mix of scream and moan of his name escaped your lips, trembling at the depth to which he was burying himself inside you.

You were panting, totally spent, sensing the familiar way of his cum trickling down your thighs. And at that moment, you could have sworn you heard the patter of footsteps nearby. Before you could fully register it, Satoru hastily pulled the blanket to cover you both.

Suddenly, your bedroom's door swung open, revealing your precious boy standing there, visibly sleepy but worried. "Mama?"

You muttered your son's name weakly, disoriented, and it only served to worry him further. His little eyes widened, and he took a step—

"No, no, kiddo!" Satoru urged in a panic. "Stay there! Don't move!"

His son eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing? Why are you crushing mama?"

"I—" Satoru collected himself, and put on the most innocent smile. "I'm... helping mama to sleep, you see."

You went pale, now that you realized the situation you were in. Your son had just seen you and your husband in the middle of the act. You were silently grateful for Satoru's quick thinking for covering both of you to spare your son from the indecency.

"Helping?" your son gaped in disbelief. "But she was just crying!"

"Yeah, she cried because she couldn't sleep," Satoru blurted, still smiling benevolently like he hadn't nothing wrong. You felt the urge to facepalm at his terrible excuse and the irony of the situation—how close he was to collapsing beside you, and that he hadn't even pulled out of you yet.

Your intelligent boy wasn't easily convinced, that was what you would expect of him.

"How's you hovering over her will help her sleep?"

“With this position, she'll sleep more comfortably, you know,” he asserted confidently, prompting a subtle twitch in your eye. He turned to you, a stupid grin on his face. “And who knows, it might also help to make your sibling. Isn’t it true, dear?”

Satoru nudged your side, willing you to agree with him. You were in utter shock and shot him a dark glare, before looking at your distraught son in a flurry. “Y-yeah… I’m fine, baby. Go back to your room now.”

“You're not hurting, Mama?” the little boy asked you worriedly. Thank heavens he was more focused on you rather than Satoru's little comment.

“No. Your papa is just… trying to help. I’m okay, yeah?”

“If you say so…” your son pouted reluctantly. He shifted his gaze on his father and 'hmph'-ed in accusation. “You’re weird.”

"Hey!" Satoru exclaimed, comically offended. "What are you doing here, anyway? Can't you sleep?"

“I heard noises... and now I want to go to the bathroom…”

Your husband grunted. "Fine, I'll come with you. Just wait a moment and close the door, please?"

Your son threw one last concerned glance at you before shutting the door. Both of you let out collective sighs of relief.

“I swear, he’s such a brat. He used to be so lovable too,” Satoru grumbled under his breath, finally slipping out of you and rolled to your side. He playfully tapped your lower belly and winked. “I hope it’s a daughter next. She will surely be daddy's girl.”

Your body was still shivering as a result of your high earlier, and yet you still managed to side-eye him, hissing, “I'm going to kill you, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wha—”

“Sleep more comfortably? A sibling?”

“Well, can’t we just say that we’re going to give him—”

“Satoru, don’t you put more weird ideas in our son’s head.”

“But—!”

“The moment you do, and if I catch you, I swear to God, I'm banishing you from our bed.”

Epilogue

“Uncle Nanami… does sleeping in certain position will give me a sibling?”

Nanami almost choked on his own words. “What?”

On this rather fine day, he had agreed to help you keep an eye on your child, as both you and Satoru went on separate missions.

He might not be able to stand his senior, but Nanami couldn’t deny that he had a soft spot for the toddler even if he was a carbon copy of his father, as the boy was sweet and overall more like you in nature.

Your son blinked at him curiously. “Papa said not to tell this to mama, but when I asked, he was actually trying to give me a brother or sister to play with when he squished mama on the bed the other day.”

Nanami felt a vein about to burst at the very implication. In hindsight, he shouldn’t be surprised at Gojo Satoru’s unrefined parenting skills but then again, anything that annoying clown did always managed to surprise him one way or another. He let out a long sigh.

“Kid, forget what your father said.”

“Huh? Is that not true then?”

“Report this to your mother, yeah? Ask her too, she will have better answers for you.”

pick your player ft. chronically online loser!Gojo x nerdy!Reader

chronically online loser!Gojo who throws huge parties just to have a captive audience to discuss whatever latest interest he'd been obsessing over, although most girls only offered vague 'oh's and 'uh-huh's, eyes glazed over while they scanned their surroundings for someone who probably didn't still play digimon in their twenties

chronically online loser!Gojo who still ends up yapping about some tiktok he saw a couple hours ago when he does manage to get a girl back to his bed, some pretty model he'd been flirting with online for months, but he doubts she'll be back for more considering the way her mouth twitched down to a frown mid-thrust, pausing her rough bouncing on his cock to ask him to please be quiet for five seconds

chronically online loser!Gojo who refuses to listen to his best friend's advice, or well, anyone's advice to learn when to shut up, because why should he have to change for someone who should like him as is?

chronically online loser!Gojo who never believed in love at first sight until he sees you, knees folded to your chest in the corner of the couch at another party, playing some game on your phone like you were in your own home instead of his, probably dragged here by some friend who wanted you to get out more often

chronically online loser!Gojo who slinks over, kicking the guy out of the spot next to (an oblivious) you, your head not even turning to spare so much as a glance at him when he offers you a drink

chronically online loser!Gojo who only captures your attention when he asks what you're playing, watching a cute smile curl up on your face as you lean into him, a warm arm pressed against his own as you start to explain the lore behind your game, only stopping when someone came up to say hi to him as tonight's host

chronically online loser!Gojo who's so wrapped up in your words, he unknowingly sets a new record for the longest he's ever gone without speaking in a conversation before he shoos the interruption away, his attention superglued to the soft lines of your face and the nervous bite of your lip before asking you to keep going

chronically online loser!Gojo who brings you up to his bedroom just to pull out his card collection he kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser, fuzzy feelings stirring in his chest seeing you sprawled out in his sheets fully-dressed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you carefully flip through the pages

chronically online loser!Gojo who forgets about the party downstairs and spends half the night talking your ear off, stuck on the soft glimmer in your eyes when you actually listen to him

chronically online loser!Gojo who hangs onto every word you say, hoping to hear a yes next when he finally works up the courage to ask you on a date

next>> | divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !!

“take your kid to work” day

gojo satoru and you who agreed on not letting his baby daughter be forced into the world of jujutsu and tried to shield her from it

but gojo satoru who had to take his daughter with him to teach the first years because he booked you a surprise spa day and apparently doesn’t trust anyone alone with his daughter

gojo satoru who shows his daughter around to everyone mainly nanami in the teacher’s room—nanami enjoys seeing your little ball of sunshine although considering her gojo’s spawn

gojo satoru who lets his students hold his precious daughter—they all adore her

gojo satoru who also has to take her on a mission along with the first years

gojo satoru who couldn’t help but show off to his precious girl blasting a curse away with blue

gojo satoru’s little baby girl who claps happily every time he uses his technique—she’s officially his important ego booster

gojo satoru’s precious baby girl who gets fussy if the mission took too long

gojo satoru who of course didn’t let his toddler’s fussy behavior slide, promises her on getting ice cream after the mission

gojo satoru and his daughter who had a father-daughter bonding moment none other family could ever have (he literally took her sightseeing while he fights curses on missions)

The sukuna with a shy daughter was sooo good. I loved it! Can we have more of them where its just sukuna and his baby girl in different situations and theres a lot of people and he has to deal with his brat?

peasant food — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: i am a big fan of sukuna with a shy daughter so i am super glad you like it too

right now, you’re standing beside your dear husband sukuna who stands with his arms crossed, watching with a frown as your daughter hands out food to the poor.

you almost let out a giggle, but then you feel his hand squeeze your hip in warning.

you huff in protest; however, he doesn’t let you dwell on it for long, as he hands you a necklace he just…acquired from somebody.

your little girl, on the other hand, with her wide eyes and gentle smile, kneels by a villager, offering him a bowl of rice.

“here you go,” she says sweetly, her tiny voice almost drowned out by the village noise. “you must be hungry.”

sukuna’s brow twitches as he clenches his jaw. “what in the hell are you doing?” his deep voice rumbles, earning a few fearful glances from nearby villagers. they recognize him, of course. the king of curses himself.

nobody dares to approach.

d/n looks up, flustered by her father’s glare. “I’m giving them food, papa. they’re hungry,” she answers, trying to keep eye contact, but she gives up half-way through and looks away.

sukuna’s eye twitches. “you’re supposed to cause pain,” he growls, leaning down with his arms crossed, looming over her tiny form. “not make people happy.”

you stifle a chuckle, placing a gentle hand on sukuna’s arm. “she’s just being kind,” you murmur, amused by his growing frustration.

sukuna throws you an incredulous look before turning back to his daughter. “kind? they don’t need kindness. they need fear, suffering. let them be hungry.”

“but… papa, that’s mean,” she protests, her little face scrunching up, and her lips wobble a bit. “they’re sad because they’re hungry. don’t you want them to be happy?”

sukuna steps back, his face twisting in disgust. “no. I don’t want them to be happy,” he replies right away. the coldness in his tone is enough for the nearby villagers to flinch.

you shake your head, eyes flitting and watching some of the villagers finally scramble away.

he looks at you with a small click of his tongue. your daughter, however, just looks up at him with innocent eyes, blinking slowly like she doesn’t understand why he’s so upset.

“b-but I like it when people smile,” she insists softly, handing another bowl of rice to a small child who hesitantly approaches. “it feels… nice.”

sukuna groans, running a hand down his face in sheer exasperation. “you’re supposed to be a curse, not some…do-gooder.”

he looks at you as with a quick side-eye.

“I think it’s sweet,” you say, shrugging lightly. “she’s got your stubbornness, you know.”

sukuna glares at you, then back at his daughter, who continues to hand out food, humming happily.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, watching her with narrowed eyes. “you’re lucky you’re my daughter,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms again.

your daughter stands up after giving away the last of the food, her face glowing prideful but still timid, as she tries to convince her father with her point of view. “see, papa? they’re happy now.”

“you’re impossible,” he grunts, reaching down to ruffle her hair, though he tries to hide the fondness in his movements. the sharpness of his look returns a little as he says, “this doesn’t mean I approve.”

your daughter nods cautiously, before fidgeting with her fingers. ultimately, she decides on something. “do you want some rice, papa?” she asks softly, holding up an empty bowl.

sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t eat peasant food.” he straightens up, glaring at the remaining villagers who are brave enough to linger nearby.

with just one look, they scatter, leaving the streets eerily quiet.

“but it’s nice!” your daughter insists, her voice earnest as she pouts slightly, her cheeks puffing out in frustration. “please, papa?”

you can’t help but chuckle at the sight of her trying to negotiate with him, and you lean in closer, nudging sukuna with your shoulder. “maybe just a taste? for her sake? please, honey.”

sukuna’s brows furrow in thought, and he glances between you and your daughter, who is practically bouncing on her toes with hope.

he crosses his arms again, acting indifferent. “fine. just a small bite. but I’m not doing this because I want to. understand?”

“okay!” your daughter replies, earnestly, her face lighting up as she dashes to a nearby vendor who is still watching with cautious interest.

sukuna watches her go, shaking his head. “unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice now. it’s more of a begrudging acceptance.

“who would’ve thought you’d have such a kind-hearted little girl?” you tease, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“she’s a curse’s daughter, not a saint,” he replies, but there’s a softness in his tone that you recognize.

his gaze follows your daughter, who is now engaged in a small conversation with the vendor about the best rice. “she should be causing chaos, not handing out food like some charity.”

you laugh lightly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “maybe this is her form of chaos. besides, look how happy she is.”

sukuna’s expression shifts, and you can see the conflicting emotions playing out on his face. he wants to be frustrated, to be the fearsome king of curses that everyone knows him as, yet here he is, watching his daughter bring joy to others.

your daughter returns, bowl in hand, and holds it up proudly. “here, papa! just a taste!”

he takes the bowl and raises it to his lips, taking a small, measured taste of the rice.

“well?” your daughter prompts, her eyes wide with anticipation.

he chews slowly, contemplating the flavor as if he’s analyzing a potent curse. you can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the taste against his own expectations.

“it’s... not terrible,” he finally admits, and your daughter squeals with delight, jumping up and down.

“see? I told you!” she exclaims, surprising sukuna as it is the first time he has seen her so excited. “it’s good, isn’t it?”

sukuna shoots you a look that says he’s still not convinced, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly, revealing a hint of amusement. “you’ve successfully managed to corrupt my child,” he mutters to you.

“awesome,” you grin, “do I get a reward for being able to corrupt like you do, my husband?”

he rolls his eyes then presses a firm—borderline aggressive—kiss to the top of your head. you pull away and frown, “you tryna squish my head or something?”

“you ask for affection, but can’t handle it?” he tilts his head, a slight smirk on his unfairly handsome face.

“🤏🤏🤏🤏🤏”

“huh?”

“mama, how did you speak in drawings?”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize

check out my buy me a coffee!

Satoru being swarmed and fawned over by girls isn’t an uncommon occurrence. “I’m just a likeable man!” he replies to anyone who asks him about it. Despite all the attention he receives—from girls and boys alike—he has eyes for just one person.

“He’s so hot! Oh my god!” one girl exclaims, glancing at Satoru and Suguru, who are leaning casually against the school lockers.

“Which one? Dibs on the guy with the bun!” one of her friends chimes in.

“The white-haired guy! Imagine how good-looking our kids would be if they had his eyes and hair but my face,” the girl says, clearly on cloud nine as she fantasizes about their impossible future together.

While organizing your things from your locker, you bite your tongue, not wanting to intervene in the loud conversation of the three girls beside you, even if one of them is already fantasizing about your boyfriend.

“I heard he has a girlfriend,” her friend with ribbons in her hair blurts out.

“Things can be stolen if left unattended,” the raven-haired girl smirks while twirling her hair.

“But he isn’t a thing, is he?” you counter, causing all three girls to turn their heads toward you. The girl eager to steal your boyfriend glares at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. You stifle a laugh at her “tough” demeanor, knowing it could easily be broken down with just a few words.

“I’m just saying he isn’t an object. Clearly, you can't seem to see that,” you assert, which only angers her and her minions further.

“Maybe she just wants him for herself, Yumi,” the girl with ribbons suggests, prompting their “leader” to smirk and appraise you from head to toe.

“He would never want her. Why would Satoru Gojo choose someone like her when he has better options?” Yumi states smugly.

“Better options that keep thinking he’s some object to be stolen? What a beautiful array of options that is,” you retort sarcastically, pulling books from your locker. “If you want to take him away, go ahead. But from what I’ve heard, he’s completely too wide-eyed for his girlfriend to even notice anyone else.”

You smile and walk away to your class, leaving them fuming behind you.

As soon as the bell rings, students rush to the door and exit the school. The rain pours heavily outside, causing water to drip through the windows of the classrooms.

“Goodbye, Miss Cawas,” you bid your teacher before stepping out of the classroom. The corridors are nearly deserted, with everyone clearly wanting to stay dry as they dash for the exit.

“Mind giving me a ride?” you hear Yumi’s faint voice ask as you approach the school exit.

“Can’t, I’m waiting for someone,” comes the familiar voice of your boyfriend, declining her request. You chuckle softly, placing one of your earbuds in its case.

As you come into view, Satoru’s smile widens as he waves. A warm feeling surges through you, and you wave back. Your smile quickly morphs into a smirk when you see the color drain from Yumi’s face as you approach them both.

“Hi, my love. Had a good day?” Satoru asks, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your lips. You catch Yumi’s jaw dropping from the corner of your eye as you reciprocate Satoru’s kiss.

“Oh, hi, Yumi,” you greet her with a saccharine smile. Her eyes drop to Satoru’s arm wrapped securely around your waist.

“Y-you’re—”

“Toru’s girlfriend, yeah,” you interject.

“Y-you’re very lucky,” she says, struggling to swallow the mean and crude comments she clearly wants to unleash.

“Actually, I’m the lucky one,” Satoru laughs, turning to you. “Let’s go before the rain gets stronger.”

“Okay, love,” you reply, caressing his cheek. You step aside as he opens the car door, Yumi still staring at you both, watching your every move.

“Oh, Yumi!” you call out just before getting in, and her eyes snap to you. “Satoru’s eyes do look really pretty, don’t they? Too bad only my kids will inherit them. Have a good day!” You smile sweetly at her before slipping into the car with Satoru.

You watch Yumi’s figure fade from the side mirror as the car pulls away.

“You okay?” Satoru asks, concern etched on his face.

“Mhm, all good,” you say, closing your eyes and letting the warmth envelop you.

The ride is spent in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the car roof.

“I think our kids will look even better with your eyes than with mine,” Satoru muses, glancing at you with a soft smile.

“Then with your hair,” you reply, making him nod and smile even more. He takes your hand in his and kisses it, never tearing his eyes away from the road.

You don’t mind that Satoru is fawned over by countless admirers every day. You know very well that he has eyes for you and you alone. And you only have your eyes on him.

spotify is raising prices again here's the apk that gives you premium for free

FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater. 

it was nothing but a lucky draw, really. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching on to the chair in the very back, right by the window, right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes. 

so there you sit. a warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap, on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, spinning like a planet in orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones covering your ears, safe and snug, muffling all noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. meeting his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one one of the heavy ear cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper. 

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more. 

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats. 

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street. 

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams. 

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod. 

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him. 

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing. 

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour. 

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions. that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world. 

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?” 

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to the situation he finds himself in. a chameleon.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering. ”i’ll try. thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw. 

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence. 

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers. 

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing. 

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again. 

”… i can buy some for you, though.” 

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out. 

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does. 

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks. 

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be. 

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so. 

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway. 

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him. 

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down. 

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side. 

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.  

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter. 

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay. 

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing. 

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders. 

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe. 

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks. 

as if sensing your thoughts, geto laughs, soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

(spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in. 

but you aren’t worried.)