Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You like your showers hot. So hot that the surface of your skin can’t decide if it wants your body to run away or stay in the sizzling embrace of the falling waters that shimmer a layer of transparent cover over your curves. You reach for your shampoo pushing the plastic down two pumps before massaging the potion through your scalp, making the entire room flutter with jasmine tea. You hum your favourite tunes and let the water run down your sides. Steam swirls like a ghost set free dancing in the glow of the warm light above so thick like the forest fog on cloudy days, where everything is a blur other than the silhouette of something large coming closer and closer to your translucent curtains.

Wait. Silhouette!?

Your eyes snap open as you witness a large, pale hand grab onto your shower curtain and slide it open, slowly revealing a giant that nearly touches the ceiling of your bathroom. Amidst the hot steam, you freeze like a deer in the headlights about to be crushed by tyres.

Has that crazy delivery man finally figured out you live alone? Did that Tsuki guy who’s been stalking you finally snap and cross the line?

A man, you figure from the shadow. You could barely see who it was, but from the outline of broad shoulders and an inverted triangle body shape, you doubt it's your father who has gotten chubbier with your mother’s cooking.

“Who are you?” The shadow asks.

“AH!”

A hand wraps around your mouth as you struggle to slip away. You’re pushed to the icy tiled walls, and your body leaves the warm waterfall from the shower head. The well-built man’s strength makes you feel like a rabbit under a leopard's claws. He shuts off the water and comes close to your face.

A freaking blindfolded pervert! You think to yourself. Your eyes dash left and right, trying to find something to outsmart brute force. The man holds your face against the wall like you were nothing but a dummy, your hands claw at his wrists, and he only tilts his head in confusion – an absolute insult to your struggling form.

“You have no cursed energy?” He asks. The steam made him seem all the scarier, he is so much taller than you, broader than you and stronger than you. His shoulders were bulked with muscle, and his skin-tight black compression shirt did not fail to flaunt them. His thighs seemed twice your thickness, holding his confident structure that jeopardised your entire living. You could feel the warmth radiating off the man. Just what kind of man is this jacked yet blind?

The person had pale skin and equally snowy hair that suited someone twice his age. He reached for the black cloth over his eye, hooking a finger under it to lift it up, revealing the most beautiful blue gem eyes, which, due to the steam, gave the illusion of a glowing state.

“Mmhmmh” you mumble into the hand shaking your head, pleading him not to do inappropriate things to your shivering naked form with shampoo foamed on top of your head.

“Oh, my apologies!” He chuckles, standing back up straight, shoes probably wet with the remaining shower water that had yet to go down the drain.

“Who are you!? What are you doing in my home?” You muster the courage to yell, hoping your volume can overpower his physical greatness.

“I’m Gojo. Are you the prison realm keeper?” He slouched to get a better look at your face. You could smell danger in him under the metallic, bloody scent he had.

“No… p-please get out.” You stutter.

“Right, sorry dear, you finish your shower I shall wait on the toilet seat outside.” The man who claims his name is Gojo backs away from you, giving an apologetic bow. He leaves the shower area and closes the toilet lid to take a seat there. Your brain buzzes numbly, utterly confused at his actions. It’s like a robber going into a home only to steal the AC remote control.

 Your face flushed red seeing the man’s defined side profile as he respectfully stared straight at the wall and not at you. His nose must have been sculpted, and his hair or wig suited his demeanour well. The sheer power that radiated off him reminds you of a snow leopard, fearsome and lonely.

“Hurry and finish up dear, before I decide to watch you finish your shower.” He smirks, putting his blind fold back on. His tone is like your high school math teacher who’d have the patience of a mother when it came to teaching gifted students but with the firmness of a military commander.

You obediently finish the shower hurriedly rinsing off the foam on your hair, though most of the obedience rooted from fear that the man would consider raping you before you could get your clothes on. Crap the clothes were placed on the mini chair next to the toilet.

“Excuse me.” You whimper.

“What’s the matter?” His smooth voice asks.

“M-my clothes…” you say, hoping he lets you wear some.

“Ah these!” He passes you the stack of clothes, careful not to touch your folded panties, making you wonder if he truly meant any harm.

“Thank you.”

You hastily pat yourself dry with a towel and wear your nightgown you prepared earlier. You step out of the shower, slipping into your fluffy slippers after drying your feet.

You make a run for it.

You swing the door open, feet dashing to the kitchen, hitting the wall at the corner by accident and grab your sharpest sashimi knife. The man calmly stood from the toilet seat and bent down a little while exiting the bathroom door frame, looking at you – the tiny shaking figure with teary eyes holding a knife too big for your small hands. From his view, it was like a baby bunny holding a grade 4 weapon hoping to make him, the special grade, see blood.

“What do you want? How did you get in here?” You yelled.

“I’ve been locked in darkness for the past, hmm, I’d say two weeks. Time works differently in the realm. I got so bored I did some excessive workout. Did I really change that much?” He questions himself “I saw a light, followed it and ended up in your bathroom during your wonderful shower. You have a great voice, I must say.”

“You pervert! I will call the police!” You exclaim, holding your knife a little firmer. Your eyes are tingling with tears you force back in.

“I thought the police system was down in Shibiya unless that’s not where I am?” He walks down the hallway in your direction making you involuntarily step back. “I’m Gojo Satoru, pleasure to meet you. I was locked in the prison realm and it seems like you are in it too. I thought it only catered one soul at a time.”

“G-Gojo?” You stuttered. That name was rather familiar. Gojo. Gojo. Gojo. Where have you heard that before? Shibuya station! The promotion a man with white hair and blue eyes season two of Jujutsu Kaisen, you remember! There was a massive promotion down at Shibuya station for this character and loads of girls gathering around a tall figure stand who was no where as tall as this man in front of you. You felt like a mouse standing next to an eagle.

“Yes that’s my name!” He stops right in front of you while keeping a polite distance.

“You are a crazy cosplayer! That’s it, you’re mad! You’re not Gojo..he’s a character! Argh, you otakus stop with your antics before I call the police and leave!” You step one step closer to him knife nearly touching his abdomen.

“Cosplayer? Character?” He quirks up an eyebrow. “I am Gojo! Is there another Gojo here? With white hair and blue eyes? You don’t believe me, do you?” In a swift motion, the man snakes his arm under your wrist, wrapping around to twist it in an unnatural way causing you to whimper and drop the weapon with a loud clang. He then tugs you harshly by the arm, pulling you into a back hug, locked in his arm.

“Look here.” He holds his hand straight with a red ball of light whirling to life in his fingers growing bigger and bigger about to burst. You’ve seen that before, it’s his cursed technique. You’re no idiot, you’ve watched Jujutsu Kaisen a long while back, not your usual genre but you for sure remember what cursed energy was.

“Wait wait wait! Okay if you’re really Gojo make that cola burst” you use your head to nudge in the direction of the soda on your dining table.

“Sorry I got excited, you’re right, that would be a safer way to demonstrate. Good thinking.” With the crunch of his hand the soda twists, crushes and bursts, exploding soda all over the desk and fizzing onto the ground. The can itself is deformed and broken. There’s no trick or magic behind this, it’s pure cursed power. No street magician could pull off that kind of illusion, and that man, to be honest, looked too much alike to the Gojo you’ve seen once screen once.

“Gojo?”

“That’s my name!” He cheers. “To further prove myself-“ The man bends over to pick up the knife you dropped. He runs the sharp end of the blade across his ivory skin causing your eyes to widen and jaw to drop. The crimson liquid oozes out from the cut, the tall man doesn’t even wince while he watches your reaction with a warm smile. Your fear turns into a frown which eases into surprise when the cut heals itself like a slow motion played backward. Like a reversed curse technique.

“You’re Gojo.” You admit with a certain voice.

“That’s my name.” Gojo lets go of you.

“Wait but, you don’t exist.” You rush to face him bewildered.

“Don’t exist?” he takes off his blind fold once again, taking a seat at your open-plan dining table.

“W-well you’re a manga character.” You stand backward keeping distance to this Gojo. “I..I believe you, though no need to purple me to death.”

“Hmm? You know about purple?” Gojo quirks up an eyebrow. “Am I truly a book character here? I was stuck in the prison realm. How did I turn into a book character?"

You whip out your phone and carefully showed him some images without too many spoilers from pages after the prison realm proving your statement that he was indeed non-existent. Gojo reads over your shoulder with curiosity often staying far too silent for your liking. He skims over the fun facts about him, the images of him when he was just a kid and his journey with Getou.

“So, I’m not even the main character!” He slams his hand down on his lap before rapidly apologizing for the loudness.

“That’s your main concern.” You chuckle while pouring him some tea to calm his nerves. “I suppose this is the prison realm to you then. A place where your techniques are useless because there are no curses here for you to exorcise. They don’t exist. Or I don’t think they exist.” You slow your voice in fear knowing that perhaps you were just a “muggle” in a “Harry Potter” world unknown to the mystical beasts around you.

“No. You're right, this is my prison. A world where I am not the strongest I’ve been known for. A world where I’m useless. I sense no cursed energy within a kilometre radius.” He taps on the table, eyes slowly dropping down, his gleeful smile fading. “A vacation, I suppose. Until whoever decided to break me out of the prison realm, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah, a vacation huh.” You hum in agreement. You weren’t exactly the hugest Jujutsu Kaisen fan, you were more of a manhwa kind of girl, but you knew enough to tell him some things worth noting. Though you’re not sure about telling him anything about his ‘future’, which he seems to accept silently.

 “Um, dinner’s ready if you want any?” it's difficult to view him as a terrorizing intruder anymore, not when he looks like a lost puppy causing your heart to clench.

“Yes, please, I’d never say no to food!” He claps his hand. “Also, you don’t happen to have any clothes that would fit me around here? There’s quite a lot of blood absorbed into my clothes. Well, I found them in the prison realm. This tight shirt was on some skeleton. Fit me better than that old school uniform after I did some muscle building in pitch black.”

“So that’s where the metallic scent is coming from. I’ll see what I have, but I doubt I’ll have anything that big. Worse comes to worst, I’ll buy you one from downstairs. There’s a 24/7 convenience store that sells big shirts there.” You nod before scooping a plate of chicken curry for him and yourself, taking a sneaky spoonful of your own to double-check the spices. It was meant to be a meal for two days, but with the unexpected guest, it’ll only last for one. You rush to your bedroom wardrobe which has shrunk twice since the jewellery store wasn’t doing well post-COVID. You dig out an XL oversize Kuromi shirt, giggling at the thought of a man like Gojo wearing something so ‘Kawaii’.

“Will this do?” You ask him who has already wolfed down the chicken curry so clean the bowel reflected his image. “Well, someone’s hungry!”

“It was delicious! You should be a chef, that was amazing are there any seconds?” He asks mouth still full like the Samoyed at the puppy café you visited who wanted hugs and ate sloppily at the same time.

“No one’s ever said that. I’m glad to be of service.” You do a dramatical butler bow “You can have mine if you don’t mind.”

“Oh no, you should eat too! It’s okay. I’m just a big eater.” He takes the Kuromi shirt from you and heads to the bathroom he cornered you in to change. In the meantime, you hurry to finish off your meal so you can perhaps work out something for Gojo when he comes out.

“PFfft” You feel the liquidy curry go up your nose, the spice and pepper kicking in the back of your throat as you choke and cough.

“What?” Gojo’s powder sugar hair was down, kissing his long snowy eyelashes that would make most women jealous. His icy blue eyes made him like a winter fairy, the paleness making his pink lips pop despite being a little dry from being locked in the prison realm for two weeks. His soft eyes and lips greatly contrasted from his manlier features including that sharp jaw and straight nose along with those predator slit pupils hiding beneath those ocean eyes. And beneath all that beauty was a stained Kuromi shirt that said “YAY” with kuromi’s butt towards you, the black and purple cuteness was an oversize shirt for you but for Gojo it’s an extra small for it wrapped around his pecks, biceps and abs so tightly he seemed like he was ready for a model shoot.

“I look fabulous, okay? I’ll go buy some better taste of clothes tomorrow morning.” He grins at your reaction. You take his black compression shirt from him and place it in a plugged sink to rinse out the blood before it’s washing machine journey.

“Would your phone work since this is technically another world for you?” You question. He digs in his white pants pocket and fishes out a flip phone, quite outdated given that iPhone 16 came out. “Hmm. No signal. I…uh…I doubt my money could be used in transaction in this…other world.”

“So….” You look at him up and down “You’re broke.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re homeless.”

Gojo’s pupils sink to the ground, his head tilting downwards in the same direction as those invisible puppy ears drop.

 “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

“Well that’s no good, the Gojo is broke and homeless!” You laugh pushing on some washing machine buttons creating irregular beeping sounds.

“And lonely!” Gojo adds proudly, “I’ve been stuck in pitch black for what feels like two weeks. If it weren’t for my reversed curse technique, I would’ve died, starving to death while waiting for someone to let me out. You don’t understand how lovely it is to finally see someone”

“I’m guessing you can’t break free yourself, huh?” You sit back down to consume your plate for dinner.

“I have my limitations too.” He sighs, sitting back down in front of you, his head propped on his arm, his cheek squished out and pouring as his posture melts into a slouch. It’s weird seeing someone always depicted as the most confident man on earth act so casually washed out in front of you.

“We’ll find a way.” You encourage him despite having no idea what to do. “Or you can wait until they break you free and enjoy your vacation in a curseless world.”

“Yeah, for the first time, I can see the world without feeling like my eyes are being pierced by acupuncture needles. There’s nothing for me to see here; I don’t need my six eyes. I don’t need a blindfold anymore.” His lips tug up into a warm smile as his eyes relax a long sigh slowly exiting his lips. He is at peace for the first time. In the anime you watched ages ago, he was always perfect, standing strong and tutoring the young. It didn't change if he was a mere teenager, child or adult; he seemed too tense all the damn time. But today, watching the way he thaws onto his arm with hooded eyes, wrinkled lines and small blemishes on his perfect skin, it feels like a breath of fresh air. Even the strongest needs a break.

“Rest well here. You’ll need a break for your upcoming fight.” You bring your spoon to his lips, offering him an extra scoop of curry chicken and rice, which he leans forward to gladly accept. His oceanic eyes not breaking, he stares at you intensely as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with his gulp, his lips almost morphing into a smirk, knowing you’ll be using the same spoon that he just licked clean.

Except to you, he is more like a lost pup than a man. A kid holding onto the hem of your shirt with teary eyes, looking for his mom as you take him to the broadcasting booth to make an announcement. Your eyes sink into your motherly smile. Immediately,  Gojo raised his eyebrows, shooting upright from his slouching form. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He wearily questions your face subtitles. You were practically screaming that he's adorable - in a puppy sense - not something a desirable bachelor like him appreciated. He would've preferred it if you were swooning over his handsome looks or model muscles like the girls he knows how to handle would. 

“Your eyes are like sapphires!” you gasp, the comment slipped your mouth faster than you imagined. Your blood sucks dry, cold of the accidental compliment you just boldly gave. It felt like a drunk you exposing a secret. 

“You know I’m a 28-year-old man, right? Didn’t we establish that when I pinned you naked to the wall?” His icy aquamarine eyes morph into a darker shade of blue quartz as his evil glint is followed with a canine-revealing grin.

“Hey, wait...that’s right, I still haven’t gotten payback for what did to me in that bathroom! You rude perverted guy! That was horrifying! Do you know how scary it is when some hand pulls open your shower curtain, huh?” You raise your spoon as if you were going to use it as a weapon against the man built like a Volvo truck. 

“Pay-back? Would you like me to be naked and you pin me instead?” He drawls, a hint of childish cheekiness tugging at his lips “A young lady like you shouldn’t tease a guy too much when you don’t mean it. You’ll fall prey to me.”

“You only say that. You’re a lot nicer than you seem, aren’t you? Just look at the way you treated Yuuta and Yuji, the way you hugged Megumi even when he-“You halt your words. What you wanted to say was when he turned into Sukuna.

“That’s how I act to students, children and friends. Not women like you, how do you know I’m not a monster?” He chuckles darkly, trying to push your buttons to see your bottomline, to see how much of his true nature you can handle.

“What’s the worst you can do? Kill me? Yeah good luck roaming this ‘Prison Realm’ without a bank and an ID card” your lips quirk up, daring him to challenge you.

“True.” With that answer, Gojo smiles and nods, finally letting an awkward silence set in, allowing you to finish your meal. Given your work, you are used to dealing with all sorts of unique characters. The customer service sector moulded your original sassiness and impatience with people into a much more subtle and soft lady-like nature, like sanding down the spikes of a hedgehog. It's there. Just less painful to prick onto. Though, oddly enough, having a man the size of Gojo chilling in your open-plan dining room makes you feel quite secure. Shinjuku at night was more or less a walking crime scene behind those narrow alleyways where weeds thrive between the spaces where concrete floors meet brick walls. 

Living alone meant you’d constantly fear the presence of anything else in your home, whether the balcony window was left open or someone broke in, whether there were monsters in your loft and whether it would be safe to dash to a pharmacy at night to get some medication to tame your fury fever. You’d place a pair of your dad's old shoes outside the door for the illusion of two. Now there’s a living Godzilla in your room eating your curry and wearing your clothes. It’s nice. It’s safe. Other than the fact that he basically saw you naked.

“Either way, you ought to pay me back for taking such advantage of me” you demand with a sing-song tone, already thinking of all the chores you need someone stronger than you to do. Hmm, your dream to rearrange your entire bedroom loft layout doesn't seem too far from reality. Those bulging biceps, plump thighs and overwhelming testosterone should be put to good use. That wardrobe of yours was real wood, making it too heavy for your frail arms to lift, and your bed frame was too big for you to turn towards the window by yourself.

“I didn’t see anything. I promise! The shower you were having was at boiling temperature and the steam covered everything. I swear!” His eyes widened and his huge hands raised up surrendering a ‘no’ as his fluffy hair fluttered with his head shake.

“Liar.” You exclaim.

“Okay, only a tiny bit.” He admits with a small dust of baby pink on top of his cheekbones as he adverts his gaze from yours.

“You ought to do things for me around the house if you want more food tomorrow. I don’t take freeloaders in this household.” You pick up both your plates.

“Yes, ma’am!” He salutes before snatching the plates. His wall-like figure dashes past you, navigating himself to the sink, planning to hand-wash the dishes for you.

“Wow, so eager are we~ I’ll go lay out an extra futon. you can sleep in the loft with me, it’s warmer up there. Though I’m taking the bed because I’ve got work tomorrow.” You gaze over Gojo’s shoulders to double-check he’s washing it correctly. These were your larger white dishes, yet they seemed tiny in Gojo’s huge palms.   

"I have a nail filler in the hallway table, your index finger is chipped.” You comment making Gojo smile. "You have pretty hands." 

“Just the hands?” He shamelessly urges. He can already see himself growing on you, your small heartwarming gestures remind him of a certain someone who he used to annoy.

“I guess your face qualifies as pretty too” You boldly lock gazes before heading to your wardrobe and mini makeshift living room area that was located underneath your loft area.

“I only have a 190cm futon. Is that big enough?” Your voice is muffled by the large mass of quilt you are holding that squashed into your face.

“I’m 190cm, so I usually buy the 2.5 meter ones, but I can live with 190 for a night.”

“Yikes! They sell 2.5-meter futons! My quilt is not going to cover you.” You giggle, struggling to waddle up the stairs while holding a face full of futon.  “I’ll get you an extra blanket, okay?”

“Or I can snuggle with you on the bed to keep warm?” He mischievously offers, with his voice suddenly shifting into a breathy and airy tone. “I’ll curl up to fit. Acts of service is my love language.” 

Those acts of service are often killing curses. 

“Thank you, but no thanks. My morals say that it's wrong to take advantage of poor lost people.” Years of customer service at a jewellery store meant you were excellent at deflecting flirty or suggestive comments. When men say you’re beautiful, you thank them sincerely, when men try to buy you a necklace bribing you to be their sugar baby, you decline politely. If they persist, then you’ll disappear and ask someone to decline on your behalf. So far, no fights and no complaints, just pure success in sales numbers. That was until COVID came by.

On Gojo’s side, his facial expressions remained calm, but his heart skipped a beat at how swiftly you were able to reject his advances. You remind him of someone who used to be like a close friend. Someone who tore his heart, mended it and came back to tell him that the strings they used to stitch him back were poisoned. You reminded him of what that friend was meant to grow up to be like. What having a friend was like. This prison keeper of his isn't all that bad. 

Chapter Text

Beep Beep

The generic iphone alarm triggers your brain to a drowsy waking much to your eye lid's despise. Almost like a ritual, the sound marks the start of your tiring day. You lift your head, which bore the weight of a bowling ball, and lazily flicked off your thick, warm and inviting blanket.

As you rubbed your eyes, your foot patted around the ground in search for the airy fluffy pinks dn purple slippers. 

“Ah.” A deep male voice groans. At first, you thought you hallucinated that, but then you looked down, eyes adjusting to the morning light before finding out that one of your foot is stepping on something hard, and it wasn’t the ground.

“Ahh, my stomach.” Gojo's strained voice fakes his death with his hand over his forehead like a damsel in distress. He coughs out "You’re the first girl to step on me.”

Your neurons connect, zapping your body to life.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!” Your delayed awareness led to an uncomfortable awkward silence when finally lift your foot off the warm, firm surface of his abs. You kneel to his side and ask “Are you okay? I am so sorry, I forgot I laid your futon next to my bed!” Your hands fly over to the spot you stepped on, looking for a bruise or a dent of some kind on his perfect body. He did a better job than any alarm clock could do at waking you up. 

“It's fine.” He chuckles, propping himself up on one arm. “Gotta say, I don’t think I’m that into being stepped on.”

“Sorry sorry! I wasn’t really awake!” Your hands clapped together in a praying motion as an apology to the poor man whose dark rings evidently showed under the morning sunlight that glittered over his pale complexion. Such a handsome man. You could imagine your mother shoving overly nutritious food down his throat until his abs morph into a healthy layer of fat and his cheeks completely chub out round and plump. You could not let your beloved mother get her paws on this stray cat. 

“I’m okay, I’m not made of sand; I’m not going to melt away from being stepped on by someone as light as you.” He lifts the blanket that barely covered his legs at night, proceeding like nothing happened. “Can't believe you forgot about me though. Very offended.” Gojo's pout doesn't suit his passport age or his humongous size. If your mother had him under her litter, he'd be the most loved of them all. You could imagine your mother ignoring you for a man like Gojo if he were her kid. All the Easter eggs would go to his basket. 

“Sorry” you whine again, eyes looking down at his dirty black pants and tiny Hello Kitty slippers that you pulled out whenever your friends crashed over. “I’ll buy you some clothes to wear after work?”

“Trust redeemed! That would be great. I have a feeling I’ll be here for a while.” He rolls his head back until cracks popped in his neck, he yawns revealing his perfect teeth as your eyes trail down to his prominent Adams apple. It was a bulging moving thing that bobs up and down as he swallows, and something about it was quite sensual. 

“Have you fallen for me?” He smiles widely. You snap out of your fixated stare at his throat, eyes swerving on thin ice, gliding across his face to his sharp jawline trying to find an excuse. 

“I never noticed you had dimples.” You spill out, eyes now targeted on the side of his cheeks as a crimson tide sweeps over his face. He quickly covers his complexion with a large hand before he kindly reminds you that you had work.

“Oh, right!” You gallop down the stairs to fix a quick breakfast for two. “I’ll be at work today, I end at 6 pm. Bread?”

“Where do you work?” He lets out another lazy yawn as he plops down in the dining slouched over the table. “Do you have strawberry jam?”

“I work at a jewellery store as a salesperson, we specialize in colourful gems and luxury stones. Technically, I am part franchise owner. It's owned by three people which two are out of the country and run other businesses, so I’m the one who manages the Shibuya store most.” You set a half-used strawberry jam on the table, along with a vintage butter knife and two azure rimmed plates. It's the first time you actually used two plates, the set finally got some more action than sitting at the back of the cupboard gathering dust; in fact, you almost forgot to grab another plate on your way out.

“Oh, lovely! You must be rich, then. With all those gems.” Gojo doesn’t fail to make himself at home, munching on the bread mouthfuls while talking.

“Haha, no, since COVID, it hasn’t performed well. I don’t get paid much other than my base salary. We’re barely surviving, paying the rent for such a good location in Shibuya and importing all those precious gems then finding designers.” The clock ticks on the wall above your tiny loft home. You decide to change into your work clothes first, leaving the bread with Gojo, trusting him not to devour it all and leaving some for you. You scramble upstairs to wear your stockings first.

”what’s COVID?” He tilts his head like a confused fox. A foreign term to him, a familiar hell to you. 

“uhh, long story short a deadly virus went around for a couple of years making us stay indoors in lockdown and quarantine. You’d be glad you missed it.” You wave your hand dismissing the topic. 

“Where’s the store?” He mutters.

“Last night, before bed, I wrote down a list of things you may need to know. I’ve left on the corridor table the address of my workplace, the nearest grocery store, some cash, extra keys and- AH!” You yelp.

“Is everything okay?” he stands up to check on you. It's nice having someone worry about your clumsy ass.

“I’m okay! There’s also an extra Suica if you want to travel but I hope you can be at home by 6 pm so I can take you clothing shopping. My workplace is a 15-minute walk from here. If you’re bored in the house, you can always help me get some groceries. The list is under the red dot magnet on the – ah!” You trip again.

“What on earth are you doing?” He walks towards the edge of the stairs.

“Stockings are- argh, hard! They’re a size small, argh I got chubby.” You pout, trying your best to squeeze into your old stockings. There's a tiny, unnoticeable tear near the crotch area, though no one needs to know that. 

“Haha, with cooking as good as yours, I’m going to lose my abs soon.” He poked his head from downstairs, getting a glimpse of your upside-down form. Your legs were shooting up to the ceiling, your two fingers pinching the delicate material careful not to rip the thin stocking while wearing it, your back hunched on the bed as you pulled. The sight was like a cockroach flipped upside down, struggling to get up as all its 6 limbs flare in the air. A laugh rang out, soft at first like the flicker of a match, but it grew into a blaze. Pure and unrestrained, as if he was rediscovering the joy of being alive.

“What are you laughing at?” You get up to glare at him playfully on the top of the stairs.

“You look great, very sexy in that. Not chubby at all.” He throws you a wink before returning to the desk, knowing you’re fine.

“Anyways, I didn’t have a lot of cash on my hand, but that should be enough to haul at Lawson, buy some grocery and cute gacha if that’s something you like.” You were like a mother leaving some pizza money for a kid.

“Yes, ma’am. This is the first time I am so useless; it's going to take some time to get accustomed to this.” He chuckles. Your eyes land on his cascade of silver threads, soft as moonlight, like a crown of midnight frost. Then there were those sapphire eyes you would never miss. Maybe this is what your mom felt like whenever she left for work, leaving a tiny 5-year-old you at home sitting on the small light green IKEA chair. You couldn't help but imagine the scenarios of how this huge idiot could get himself killed, photographed or if he burns down your house. 

“I can see it. You’re falling in love with me; admit it!” He grins.

“If you go out, I think you should wear a hat. There are some intense fans of yours here. They’re everywhere.” You frown “Unless you want to be hoarded by girls and teenagers in sailor uniforms who would definitely faint at the sight of you and call you the most realistic cosplay of Gojo Satoru. You’ll go viral for sure.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure if I want to be recognisable.” He sinks into his chair to ponder the scenario, eyes unfocused and brain flipping through memories. “Should I get plastic surgery? What if that makes me hotter?”

You couldn’t help but facepalm at his unhealthy dose of narcissism, even if it was blaringly obvious it was his coping method “I can always dye your hair and buy you contacts, but I think that will take away your natural charm. Black hair doesn’t suit you.”

“Hat and sunglasses it is then! Also, I don’t think I can leave with this Kuromi shirt saying YAY. It’s a bit much for a 28-year-old guy like me.” He lifts the hem of the Kuromi shirt as you slap your hand over your mouth trying not to laugh.

“Yes, your hot as fuck compression shirt should be done in the dryer.” You chuckle. “I think I got most of the blood out. It wasn’t obvious in the first place since it’s a black shirt.”

“Thank you!” He sings as he slides to the washing area, leaving you at the dining table. You walk towards your seat, finding a lovely surprise. A piece of bread already glistering with red strawberry jam and another piece with peanut butter placed neatly on your plate.

“I think you might gain more attention with that compression shirt than being Gojo Satoru with white hair.” You mumble a mouthful of the fluffiest Hokkaido bread smothered in too much strawberry jam as a sly laugh escapes your lips.

The last time someone put jam on your breakfast bread was you dad when you were rushing to high school, something you used to take for granted. 

“Yes, we do pre-orders for custom designs, however, those usually take 4-8 weeks. When’s the proposal?” Your posture was impeccable, shoulders square and gaze unwavering with confidence. Each word was practiced, and every movement was deliberate and precise. You carefully take out the demo rings with your gloved hands and flip colour palettes for gems available for customization. Gojo couldn’t help but stand outside the high-end luxury gem store you worked at, his gaze unblinking, locked on you as he leaned forward, nearly hitting the glass, unconsciously drawn closer by sheer fascination. He rarely had the chance to see an ordinary person doing an ordinary job. He rarely saw a job that wasn't all bloody and explosive. 

The blushing man whose hands were running sweaty down his suit pants pointed to the left and right, his mouth running wild of nervousness.

“But what if she doesn’t like it? She’s picky. I mean she’s got high-end taste and I really love her but as you know I’m not exactly a fashionable man and I don’t know what ladies like these days. She says she doesn’t want the traditional diamond, but she hates lab diamonds, which are in trend right now. Then she hates green, especially emerald- She likes pink! Pink; she loves light pink coloured necklaces.“ The amount of sweat on that man from sheer nerves would take Gojo four marathons that weren't done with curse reinforcement. 

“Sir, I understand your worries. It's always nerve-wracking, and I’m sure whatever you choose will be full of your love for her. Follow your heart when it comes to this kind of purchase. If she likes pink, we have a newly expanded pink diamond collection, which are rarer than typical diamonds. They’re over here.” You disappear under the royal blue velvet counter using a key to unlock a lower level shelf where beautiful glimmering pink gems iridescently danced and reflected on the ceiling. Pink diamonds were 20-30 times more per carat. They are new to your store and the one thing you wanted to sell in this quarter. If sales for pink diamonds go well, it could become your store’s specialty. The way the subtle colour refracted onto your smiling face, clean minimal makeup up and your customer service smile felt tingly warm to everyone who steps through the door.

“Oh yes…Oh, that one is beautiful. She’ll love this one.” He points to the centrepiece, mouth gaping in awe, eyes hypnotised by the fantastical design and the soft blush hue evoking flower petals of a blooming rose. “Can I get this one today?”

“I believe we have a JP size 10 available in stock, but please allow me to double-check that for you.” You place a glass box over the diamonds to ensure their conservation, taking off your delicate gloves, your clean well well-maintained nails dance across the iPad.

Your collected demeanour drapes over you like a silk cloak, untouched by the storm around her. Gojo watches you spellbound. How can you move with such unhurried grace? In his entire life, he has been surrounded by people panicking. On missions, at school, during training and sometimes even himself when he was stuck in a metro line full of undead zombies. You just seem so unfazed by the anxiety of customers. It's as if no one in this world could taint your quiet rhythm of peace. Your soft voice carries the exact note of calm assurance the customer needed, you don’t demand attention but its evident that the customers gravitate towards you whether it’s the way younger girls in school uniforms spare you a glance through the glass window, or the way nervous salary men in suits search for your nod, and the way you have Gojo smiling like a young boy again.

“Hello, Sir!” A cheery voice breaks Gojo out of his stare at you.

“H-hi.” He stutters, surprised that another staff member of your store managed to sneak up on him.

“Hello, Sir, Would you like to come in or would you perhaps need any help looking for a specific item?” She had cherry lipstick and dense fluttering eyelashes, the epitome of kawaii beauty in Japan. With the contrast, Gojo seems to prefer your elegance, professionalism and your secretly rebellious nature in your teasing manner that only he has seen.

“Uh, yes, I am looking for that lady.” He points towards you.

“Hmm? Our manager? She’s pretty, isn’t she? Unfortunately, she has told everyone never to fall for our clients. After all, most people come to our store for our unique engagement rings.” Of course, you would hire a person similar to your nature, all sugary sweet yet so cruel with your rejections to flirtatious advances. Though she was no match for your elegance.

“Oh no, I live with her.” Gojo nods to the staff member.

“Is that so? She lives alone. Are you Tsuki? Well, I tell you now, Mr Tsuki, if you knock on her door one more time, I will make sure these diamonds end up in your-“

“Mika Chan. You can’t be so rude to our potential clients, okay? I am terribly sorry about her behaviour, Mr Takami.” You smile at him, pretending not to recognise your black cap that says “Peace”. He definitely rummaged your closet deep if he found that old thing in your wardrobe, hiding his white hair. Though, it was a poor choice of sunglasses, those reflective ones on him just make him look like a Yakuza. 

“T-takami?” Gojo points to himself. “I..I’m Go-“

“This is my temporary roommate, don’t worry. I promised to show him around in Tokyo later, he came from Nagoya.” You pat Mika, directing her relieved face to the man looking for the pink diamond ring in JP size 10.

“Gojo” You aggressively whisper with your teeth clenched, hoping no one reads your lips and figures out that this man is a fictional character. “What are you doing here?” You pull him by hooking your arm in his, dragging him to the side pretending that he’s a customer here as you fake point towards the collection of sapphire necklaces.

“You gave me your workplace address.” He mimics your aggressive whisper with a grin, words coated with a teasing edge. “You said you were going to take me out on a date.”

“What? Since when did I say that?” Your eyes widen in shock.

“You were going to take me shopping after work, right?” He looks at his empty wrist as if there were a watch. “It's 5:40pm”

“Oh dear, I am sorry, there are more customers than I thought. My bad! Why don’t you wait at the back? “ You ghost your hand on the small of Gojo’s back as he is shuffled towards the staff room. On your way, you both walk past a young female customer in a long white skirt wearing a knitted pink top, quite an adorable lady who fits the Japanese beauty standards well with doll-like eyes and long lashes, pretty pink lips and perfect airy fringe.

A small needle of jealousy threads through your heart as Gojo’s gaze lingers on the beauty.

“Hello, Ms,” Gojo swiftly turns right out of your push and flutters towards the lady. “That looks very ugly on you.”

“Gojo- I mean Tamaki! You can’t just say that.” Just when you thought he was going to flirt with the girl, he throws such a poisoned dagger at your customer. You hurriedly hobble yourself in between the two figures, trying to push them apart. Surprisingly, the lady doesn’t frown nor sadden from his comment; instead, she says with her soft, sweet voice, so quiet and demure.

“Does it not?” She simply asks.

“Sapphire is too strong for your color palette. I suggest the pink diamonds over there, they have a small dove shaped necklace. Something as tenderly colored will suit your naturally soft features.” Pink diamonds are the most expensive product in your market. The colour was not as attractive to the traditional Japanese market, given that white diamonds were more associated with the classical elegance desired in a wedding.

“I’d like to see those.” The lady says to you, despite her chocolate eyes never breaking contact with Gojo’s sunglasses where his very own pair of sapphires hide.

“Ms (Y/N) is the most professional employee here, I’m sure she can guide you.” Gojo doesn’t shy from touch, his large palm flattens completely at your waist as you are pushed in front of him.

“I, um. Yes, please follow me to the counter by the left.” You take a step forward, holding your arm out to guide the lady who was stuck in a trance, staring at Gojo’s model-like features.

“Why don’t you show me them?” She asks Gojo. “I didn’t know such a handsome man worked at this jewellery store. I’m Akiko. Well, that’s what I’m known for online. I’m a cosplayer. Has anyone told you that your height would be perfect for cosplayin-“

“This way please, Ms Akiko. There’s only one left of the pink dove in stock; the other three are on hold for birthday gifts. We’ll have to order in soon and get them made in store later this month.” Your soft smile covers your act of rudely cutting her sentence while promoting its scarcity. You could not let that cosplayer know that this was the freaking Gojo Satoru. White hair isn’t something most people can pull off naturally. Even though Gojo is wearing a cap, those small snowy strands were still peaking out from the edges enough to leave not much to the imagination. He truly is the best Gojo cosplay. That muscle, that eye colour, that shade of hair.

I wonder if his leg hair is also white. You think to yourself.  

“I suggest you follow the lady. It’s a pity that neck of yours is quite empty.” Gojo’s wink was visible behind those blue glasses. What a flirt.

“Yes. You’re right. Please lead the way.”

“Ladies first.”

Tring Ding

That is the sound of a notification. The notification of money arriving in the bank account paid in full amount 157, 054 Yen after tax – the dainty dove-shaped pink diamond necklace featuring 18k white gold chain with 30 diamonds totalling 0.35 carats. You bite your lips trying to control your excited smile only to break past your own bite and spread your plush lips until your weak dimples could be seen.

“Someone’s happy.” A cheeky voice trails from behind.

“What do you mean?” You take a small breath to return to your original emotions. One pink diamond engagement ring, one pink dove diamond necklace, a tiny emerald peacock bracelet and a white gold ring band. Today was a good day. Usually, a jewellery store would 3-4 items a day for simple pieces, peaking up to 30 on Valentine's day. Today is Monday! Two pink diamond sales! Your lips sneakily rise up again.

“That’s what I mean.” Gojo pinches your cheek only for you to slap his hand away easily. His eyebrows raised significantly, he’s still not entirely used to skin contact.

“Oh, would you look at that.” Gojo’s honeyed voice dripped with mischief. He walks past the round counter before you could grab onto his wrist and confidently strides up to a lady in a blouse. She must’ve just left work.

“Hello, Ms, I must say that Loro Piana blouse is beautiful. But it's missing something.” Gojo puts his hand to his chin, leaning back to boldly glance up and down at the lady. A faint blush brushed across the lady’s cheeks.

“Ah!” Gojo claps, scaring Mika, who was diligently introducing an emerald pendant to a wealthy old lady. “This.” Gojo walks to the counter next to yours and points at yet another pink diamond necklace.

“Gojo, we don’t have stock for that.” You whisper, eyes screaming for help. You meant to take down the necklace after the pink dove purchase, but it has slipped your mind since the sound of money coming into the bank. The one on display was a fake demo used to prevent theft. 

“And you’re so confident about that?” The lady teasingly challenges, almost enjoying Gojo’s not-so-subtle advances.

“Of course, Loro Piana silk blouse, Jil Sander’s A-Line skirt, and to contrast the simple colours, a Chloe suit in your hand for when you need a bit more of a feminine touch to work. Am I right?” He winks yet again. As if his wink were a bait, she immediately leaned over to take a look at the pink diamond shaped in a small Sakura flower, a single piece carved. It was tiny, but it was delicately beautiful, reminiscent of how Japan’s national flower Sakura, symbolises the need to cherish our fast-paced life.

“It’s beautiful. I’ll take it.” She smiles dearly at Gojo.

“Ah, that you’ll have to speak with the manager here. After all, important people, important purchases require important managers. (Y/N) if you’ll please check the waitlist on this necklace.” What waitlist? Your brain is placed in loading mode. Your store doesn’t have enough popularity for your small local designs to have a waitlist. Your brain finishes buffering. Oh yes, you don’t have stock. A waitlist lie from a person not of your store would help.

“Unfortunately, the earliest we can get this beautiful necklace in your hands would be in one weeks time, it's difficult to get such a large pink diamond. Scarcity is its beauty.” You smile despite wanting to glare and punch at Gojo.

“Oh, how unfortunate. I really wanted to help a defined lady like you put on such an equally beautiful necklace. I guess you’ll have to come by next time. We could, however…”

“I’ll leave my card. Please call me the second you have it for me to collect.” She hands you her business card with both hands as you bow to accept. “Make sure to call me first. I’m happy to pay extra for it.”

Damn, she was the Purchaser director of Isetan the high-end shopping mall. Mikaela Suzuki had a sweet, elegant ring to it, especially with the fancy English name attached at the front.

“Thank you, though we are an official business with official prices. I will make sure to call you as soon as possible with the ordinary retail price.”

Her perfect silhouette treads a little jumpier on her way out.

“BAM! Another sale. Now, surely you’ve hit your daily sales goal. Let's go shopping for me now~” Gojo intertwines his fingers with yours, gently caressing your hand before you roughly pull him, violently dragging him to the back into the staff-only door's abyss.

“Ah! Wait, hold on. Where are we going?” He stumbles in his walk. You gently close the door and slam him against the wall, cornering the giant man with your mighty glare.

“What trick are you pulling here?” You point to him. Your nose scrunches with your narrowed eyes like a bunny's. From Gojo’s view, it was a small prey animal thumping angrily when the panther messes with the layout of its den. How adorable, you, trying to pin him to a wall? He’s only in this position because he lets you.

“What? I made two sales! Pink diamonds as well. I know they’re the expensive ones in this store. You sell coloured gems and diamonds, right?” His smirk grows wider, seeing the way your collar gives him a slight peek at your collarbones. He mentally slaps himself to look back at your eyes. He’s seen you naked! Why is your neck looking so enticing?

“You’re right. You have an eye for who’s wealthy. All my employees here are trained to catch wealthy people. If they hold a single Chanel bag but the rest of their clothes are ordinary online ones, then they’re fake wealthy. Sometimes, it’s in the simplest of clothes that you catch the richest ones.” You cross your arms, eyeing Gojo down. “You’re so rich, aren’t you? You must be a better niffler than Mika is! It's always those rich ladies that become repeat purchasers.”

“I know. I’m rich.” Gojo leans closer to you, sculpture nose almost touching yours.

“You’re smart, too.” Your angry face morphs into a sneaky smile, alarming the tall man. “The cute girl with the dainty dove necklace, the elegant lady with the designer’s choice. We made good sales today. I work on commission, being the store manager for this franchise; others like Mika are on salary.”

Your finger points to the center of Gojo’s pecks, where his heart would’ve been. “As much as the compression shirt looks sexy on you, it’s a little cold for this weather. Let’s get you all fluffy and warmed up!”

“You sound like you’re going to fatten me up to eat me!” He jokingly responds. Your innocent face was no match for your flirty words.

“No, why would I? Are you edible?” You cheer before reaching for a key hanging on the wall adjacent to the one Gojo is cornered at. “Let’s go close the store.”

“(Y/n) I packed everything!” A cheery voice flutters from outside.

“Come on! We close early on Wednesdays.”

Gojo couldn’t help but be led by you like an obedient snow leopard on a leash with canines hidden as growls morphed into purrs and claws retracted. All that’s left is his exposed belly hoping you’d give him some attention. Predator tamed to a house pet. The strongest sorcerer with generations of wealth, the Gojo hypnotised by the little customer service manager of a small franchise jewellery store who was half his size.

You truly are going to become his prison keeper since he’s jailed to your sweet smile. 

Chapter Text

One week of Gojo later…

“A warm green tea before breakfast is better than freezing water.” He hands you a Japanese-style cup you’ve kept in the back of your cupboard for years.

“Thanks.”

“Your posture is like a prawn! Don’t make me force you to do wall squats.”

“Wall squats?”

“Sorry… habit.”  

“That’s not how you should match your bracelets! This looks better together.”

“Thanks” you mumble in agreement.

“You’re brushing your teeth wrong!”

“Argh Gojo! You make me feel like everything I do is wrong.” You spit out the foam in your mouth down the sink which contained red traces of blood.

“You’re overbrushing, too harsh!” His large hand wraps around your smaller one, completely engulfing you. You lose control of your own movements, especially since he stands behind you abs flush against your back controlling your movements like a puppet on a string. He uses your hand to circle the toothbrush in a gentle motion around each tooth.

“There, that’s better.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” You whine.

“Ah, must be because I’m a teacher, usually when I say something my students just listen and do it.” Gojo’s sapphire gems trailed up towards the ceiling as if he were genuinely considering the motivation behind his recent actions. 

“Well, I’m not your student, I’m your…”You pause for a hot second lowering your toothbrush, gaze locked with Gojo's through the mirror.

“My what?” You can feel his hot breath on your earlobes. This man is going to be the death of you.

“Your guardian!” You conclude, “You live off me, I’m your guide to this realm, and you live here rent-free! I’m the one in power in this relationship. You should be doing things my way, you freeloader!”

“Hey, I’ve been doing all the chores for days. Who mopped the floor? Who cleaned the stove top? Who did the laundry? Who folded your panties?” Your face heats up like a sudden El Niño weather change.

“I..I I told you to...to leave those alone!” You stomp the ground out of embarrassment and your face feels like a hot potato. 

“Oh please, by the time you arrive home you’re beat and you have to make dinner from the groceries I bought. It’ll take at least two days for those blue, dark blue, pink and light yellow pieces of fabric to leave the hanging rack.” His hand wraps around your hips, giving you a lopsided smile knowing he’s got you trapped. "They were standing space on the rack, what was I meant to do? Leave them to hang for another three days?" 

“Y-you… “

“Don’t we act like a married couple?” In the mirror's reflection, he loiters like a shadow with a smirk - foxy eyes gleaming at your sunburst blush, daring you to turn around and catch him in the act of being delightfully insufferable.

“Married? I’ve known you for less than a month!” You exclaim, your blood running cold as if your dignity had just slipped on a banana peel and landed flat in full view. You elbow him in the chest before trying to rush out of the bathroom away from his grasp. Great failure, to get out of Gojo Satoru's grip, you'll have to try a lot harder. He's the one who caught Jogo with a mere hand lock. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here for a few days, shouldn’t I get more than just a SIM card shoved into my flip phone? I want a smartphone so I can play games.”

“I’ll give you my old iPhone.”

“Ooh got any secrets in there like your incognito tab search history?” His hold on your hips gets a little tighter, eyes lowered to a hooded state.

“No, I don’t have any dirty secrets.” You push him away, dismissing him like a kid asking for candy. You pick up your toothbrush again, circling softly around each tooth. Gojo finally lets you go now that you were brushing your teeth the right way.

“Fine. Let me go to your workplace again? I made two sales in an hour, just how many can I make in a day?” He asks himself while placing black contacts like a storm cloud covering his sky eyes. 

“You work out from 5 am to 7 am every morning, then do all the chores and buy the groceries. How do you have energy left?” Your voice is a pitch higher in disbelief, you shove the toothbrush back to its original seat.

“Oh, darling, it’s sorcerer stamina. Even if I wipe out an entire Shibuya of curses," Gojo steps a little closer

"do the chores all over again three times," you can feel his breath.

"Then do terrible things to you for four days straight, I will probably still have the energy to replace you as store manager.” His confident stance and devious glint that lingers on your slightly exposed back, from the oversized shirt falling to the side, intimidates you. He was not very subtle with what he hinted. 

“Wait, why am I part of your example?” You try to play it cool even though the deer in your heart was bashing its head against the walls, pounding in nervousness. Gosh, four days straight? You’d die. 

“Because I’ve been thinking about it.” He boldly remarks. Immediately, you step to the side, so far that you leave the bathroom, go past the short hallway and fade behind the kitchen counter.

A simple insulting sound effect leaves your tongue. 

 “Ew.”

“What do you mean ew?” Gojo’s classical chuckle makes you feel inferior. “I’m a lonely adult male, I’ve been sleeping on the ground next to a single girl who’s all pretty and oblivious.”

“Well then, don’t think about it.” You demand with a frown on your face, clearly worried about what a man the size of a standing black bear could do to you. “I’ll kick you out.”

“Yes, yes, don’t you worry, I won’t do anything to you.” Gojo raises both hands to surrender.

“You better not! When is Itadori opening the prison realm, for goodness sake, you should go home and fight Sukuna.” You grumble in annoyance, rushing upstairs to change into your work clothes.

“Keep me with you!” Gojo dramatically falls onto the hallway wall like a kicked puppy.

“The old iPhone is in the second drawer of the living room table.”  Before you can even finish the sentence Gojo is already rummaging through your oak drawer excited to see what old photos he can find in your 2020 phone.

“Crap! Wait, let me delete those apps!” You rush down the steps with half a shirt buttoned, your legs moving faster than an octopus’ tentacles gliding over the stairs. 

“What app?” Gojo smiles ever so innocently, holding the phone up in the air.

“My argh god, you can’t see my old Pinterest page.” You use your dormant volleyball skills to spring up to Gojo's height, successfully snatching the phone from the tall man. You can’t let him search up anything in Pinterest about himself. He’s agreed not to Google himself nor his entire manga to save his life from spoilers, but Pinterest was out of range! The amount of thirsty, sweat-dripping down abs, half-naked, V-line exposed fanarts of him available at the touch of the man himself's fingers is something you'd rather not engage in a conversation about. 

“Sneaky girl. I’ll dig out all your dirty secrets.”

“I’m wiping the phone”

“Nothing that I can’t retrieve.”

“I’m child locking it.”

“Hey! That’s insulting!”

—

“Thank you for your purchase. Come again soon!” Gojo sends a flying kiss to the blushing girl who stumbles at the doorway from staring at the ivory-haired man for too long.

Gojo makes a dramatic turn to face you as he holds out the receipts and cheers, “20 sales, baby girl. You should retire and be my housewife.”

“Hey, you’re seducing customers, not selling gems to them!” You exclaim, holding your small stack of receipts in your pocket.

“Yeah, well, how many sales did you make?” He peers at your hand. “4 if I’m not mistaken? Mika is sick today. Would she have made this many sales? No.”

The way Gojo holds out the recipes in your face and flutters the papers makes you so mad that you want to shred them apart out of the sour jealousy boiling in your veins. His white shirt was unbuttoned a few knocks down revealing a sneak peek of his perfect muscles, the way his biceps unforgivingly pop from the way he rolls up his sleeves, and somehow he pulls off that stupid hat with the black colored contacts. 

“You seduced them into purchasing that’s immoral!” You angrily turn away from him to fix the cashier box that wasn’t actually broken.

Gojo audibly sighs, though you couldn’t see, his gaze was soft, and his lips formed a loving smile. “Here.” He hands you the receipts. “Put these sales under your name.”

“What?” You look at him, confused. “No, no, they’re your sales. I’ll add them to your name, and I’ll pay you Mika's salary.”

“I’m not meant to exist, am I?” His words are like a drop of salt water in your freshwater lake, rippling a bitterness in your heart.

“No, you’re not meant to.” You quietly hush out.

“If these are under your name, at least the CEO will be paying you commission, extra money for us, hey?” He nudges you gently.

“Yeah, and I’ll just say Mika was here and I’ll give you her day's salary in cash.” You took the receipts and began typing in the details. Even though you’ve won the sales game with this term, even if you might even be positioned for a raise with this amount of sales, it feels like a slap of reality to your face that still stings after his words.

“I wish you were just a normal guy.” The words leave your mouth faster than you could apologise for it.

“I do too.” His hand snakes around your back, giving you a soft squeeze of assurance that he is alive and truly next to you. “I’m not as useless here as I thought!” He laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah. Not the strongest sorcerer, but definitely the strongest sales.” You chuckle to yourself.

“Yeah, guess all that bulking up paid off, huh?” His hands wander to your armpits, and you get lifted off the floor head almost hitting the ceiling lights that hang down.

“Ahhh! GOJO!” You slap his hands, flaying around.

“Geez, okay okay, Tsumiki liked it when I did it to her!” He drops you back on the ground. The name of another girl is ringing in your ears with foreignness. Gojo rarely states another girl's name so tenderly.

“By strongest sales, I meant skill, not physically.” You glare at his shenanigans.

“But I am the strongest in physically, right?” His anticipatory eyes forced you to nod.

“Knew it! I’ll show you all of it if you want!” His hand pulls on his collar just to tease you. Much to his unexpected disappointment you immediately turned around facing the other way uninterested in seeing more of him. His metaphorical puppy ears drooped knowing your eyes were glued to the pieces of cash you were counting and not him. 

“Here's your salary for the day.” You hand him an envelope. “It’s legal to do this because you don’t exist, but don't worry I've got this covered.”

 “Ohh money! Let’s go eat some dessert! My treat.” He happily rushes off with the envelope to the back of the room, getting ready leave.

“We have to close the store first! It’s nearly 7pm.” You laugh. Having Gojo around was like having a younger brother constantly bickering about things, pushing you to your frustration limits, yet always sweetly waiting for you. Though Gojo is probably older, not that he act it in the anime nor real life.

“Who’s Tsumiki?” You wonder out loud.

“You jealous?” you could hear the sprinkled triumph in his voice.

“No I’m curious.” You correct him.

“Megumi’s sister.” He sighs, it's surprising to see him reply so easily rather than opting to squeeze all the challenge out of you. You hum in response as you kneel down to lock the tables and put away the glittering luxuries. Wait, Megumi? Toji? Oh god, you probably have some kind of fan art of him in your phone.

“Do you know how many people simp for Megumi’s dad!” Your head darts up like a wack-a-mole from under the table, extra excited to tell him this shocking news.

“WHAT!? That old guy! I killed him!” His face washes full of annoyance.

You put your finger to your lips shushing him while hurriedly looking right and left, smiling in apology to those bystanders who turned their heads in surprise at what they heard. “Shhh, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Um, hi.” A soft female voice trails from the entrance.

“Hello there, sorry about the commotion. How may we help you, Ms Suzuki?”

“You remember me!” A smile graces her face. How could you not? She was the one that Gojo called out and named all the brands she was wearing the first day he decided to wreck the store.

“You called me earlier today to say that the necklace is ready? Sorry, I said I wouldn’t be able to make it over, but we just failed a store negotiation, so we wrapped up early.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope this necklace could at least put a smile on your face for the day.” You unlock the cabinet and carefully take out the graceful white paper bag with a black ribbon engraved with golden letters of the store name tied to its cross-section. “Here. The receipt copy, product and an extra velvet box for storing the necklace are all packed in this bag. I hope you wear it lots.”

“I appreciate it.” She gives the packaging a good look, lifting it up, turning it around to inspect the details of how it was glued together. “It's very simple yet something about it seems so…proud.”

“I’m not entirely sure about proud, but I suppose that would stem from our confidence in our gem qualities.” You look at Gojo, who was surprisingly quiet for this conversation.

“How popular would you say this store is?” Mikaela diverts her gaze from the bag to you. The question was like a surprise attack. As if in the commercial war, Mikaela buries spikes in the war horses’ food. She doesn’t question your professionalism, she doesn’t approach you as a competitor. She asks you as a customer regarding your popularity when you know she’s looking for your sales count. How dangerous.  You were too stunned to speak, eyes blinking innocently and head slightly tilted.

“More popular now.” Gojo immediately grasped your paused state. He stepped in behind you, his presence like a reassuring safety net, always there to catch you.

Mikaela’s knowing smile acknowledges that Gojo redirected the question. “Well, today we failed to come to an agreement with Tiffany, a large luxury jewellery store. It's because Isetan is looking for some smaller brands to enter our B1 to L2s. Its crucial to our designer sector to constantly look for underdogs. Tiffany doesn't meet that requirement, especially since their major flagship store is nearby, and we don’t see traffic. But this store, it’s a small franchise, isn’t it? Tell your boss about this. We would like to make an offer.”

Mikaela hands you a black folder, and her eyes hike up to meet Gojo’s behind you. “We believe your store will help attract the younger generation with its design and price range, and especially with such a handsome staff member.”

Her heels echo upon her departure, leaving the two of you in silence.

“Ahhh!! " You throw yourself onto Gojo, holding him in a python-crushing hug, face completely squished on his chest, nuzzling. “You’re the best!” your muffled voice says. You’re like my lucky star!” You giggle, looking up at him.

“You arrive, and suddenly, I make more sales. You decide to be a store salesman, and we get 20+ on a normal day. Then you decide to appear, and Isetan wants us in there! Hahaa.” You hold up the black folder, jumping around even though you had no idea what deal was in there. Like a streak of sunlight after weeks of sullen cloudy days, the warm golden joyful rays that fluttered in his heart were undeniable. For the first time, he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer; he was just your lucky star. Somehow, his years of aching solitude melted like a snowflake on warm skin with your hug. For the first time, he felt successful without all the blood.

“Let's go get dessert. Dessert is on me!” You cheer.

“Yes, let's go I know a place!” Gojo hurried to grab the keys to close the shop. His tall arms grab the top of the roll down gate without the help of the metal hook stick you usually use.

“It's already 7:10 pm. Dessert stores are pretty much closed in this area.” You sigh, mentally running through all the cake stores you knew.

“Well, we better make it in time then.” His arm snakes around your waist and within that split second you feel a soft gush of wind, by the time your eyes have finished one round of a blink, your entire scenery has changed. There was no sense of nausea from the inertia of moving to a new place so fast, there was minimal discomfort and Gojo’s hands were still on your waist gently holding you.

“What?” You look around the alley that seems to be a hotspot for drunkards and potential crime especially given the lack of CCTV.

“What happened?” You frown at Gojo.

“It’s magic.” He winks at you. “Teleportation, baby.”

“Holy-“ your eyes were staring at Gojo’s in disbelief. “Looks like I can oversleep from now on.”

“Yes, you should love me.” Gojo throws you a flying kiss.

—

“To be honest, I think …” You mumble with your head leaning on the wall your table was placed against, body hunched over the wood, unable to shove that spoonful of cake down your throat anymore. “If you were a girl, the entire series would be a lot easier.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gojo says with white fluffy cream next to his lips, which soon disappears as his tongue licks it clean.

“Well, first of all Getou would probably date you and like not lobotomy, then Sukuna will probably want to make an heir with you so no war, then you probably wouldn’t have di-“ a fated hiccup perfectly timed by the gods stop your sugar high drunk self from exposing him of his future. You’ve taken measures of keeping him away from googling himself, afraid that he’ll see into his destiny and break down your apartment. You wouldn’t know how to handle him.

“Hmm so in short.” He licks his spoon clean “You just want me to get railed.”

“What? No…. I’m just thinking of a solution.” You stab the last strawberry on the cake. “I don’t know…maybe if Sukuna didn’t exist, it would’ve been easier. But that’s harder than if you were born female.”

“Yeah, like that’s a better solution: to give me a pussy.” He glares at you, his spoon trying to snatch the strawberry off yours.

“Hey, that’s mine. I took it first.” You try to glide the strawberry back onto your plate. “I mean you’d make a pretty girl.”

“I bought the cake.” He demands shoving the strawberry into his mouth and bulging out his cheek like a hamster. You couldn’t help but click your tongue out of annoyance. “Not so pretty attitude.”

“You said you knew a place, alcohol cake huh? I thought you were extra lightweight.” You laughed at him scraping the remaining cream from the bottom of the 8-inch alcohol tiramisu strawberry cake you both had for dinner.

“Let’s not call in tomorrow. I think I’m going to throw up?” You hold your stomach like a pregnant lady with a food baby.

“Yeah.” Gojo holds his mouth about to throw up too. “I usually eat the 4-inch square ones.”

“Your face is red.” He points at your blushing cheeks. “You’re even more lightweight than me!”

There’s no one left at the rustic-designed underground store, a cake shop tucked away in a thin alley between houses. A tiny vintage light lit up with a candle, a wooden door frame with black swirl designs and a door knob in the middle of the wood instead of the side. The store Gojo loved visiting for a quick sweet tooth break existed in your realm. "The hobbit's house" it was called, a place where they use too much sugar that it must’ve been free when they sourced it. The cakes here were fantastical: they had cakes as tall as the mad hatter's top hat, they had chocolate poker cards and even cake made of just icing. It’s a child’s dream candy land and gosh their heated red wines inspired by Germany's Christmas market is just divine.

“That’s a lie. I had this entire glass of red wine.” You hold up your empty wine glass where your lipstick stain decorates the edge.

“Oh yeah.” He finally places his spoon down. “Forgot about that.” Gojo taps on the surface of your 2020 phone as the screen lights up with your old screen saver of…

“Oh my god. Balance unlimited was so 2020.” You spin the phone to face you, there they were, the two anime characters sitting on a luxury car. “That guy's very sweet.” You point towards Daisuke Kambe.

“So you like rich guys?” Gojo asks nonchalantly.

“No I like guys with a secret side.” You point to Daisuke again “he’s all “I’m so rich I buy everything” arrogant, but when he’s drunk he sits there like a puppy it’s so cute.”

“Mmhmm.” Gojo’s eyes narrow clearly judging your tastes. “So, you said I’m a character, right? Who do you like in Jujutsu Kaisen most?”

“Oh easy! Maki, she’s too cool.” You bring your hand to support your head.

“Okay, but male characters?” He urges.

“Male characters?” Your drunk slur repeats.

“Male characters.” Gojo confirms as your eyes wander to the ceiling, digging your old JJK tier list in the back of your brain.

“It doesn’t matter, the daddy vibe characters are all dead.” You sigh as you drop your head to the table with a bang.

“Daddy vibe characters?” Gojo laughs. “Is that your kink?”

“No no that’s how the entire internet categorises these characters, the hottest ones all give daddy vibes.” You slap your mouth, knowing what you just said, “don’t google it okay? You don’t wanna see that side of the internet.”

“Is that why you still haven’t told me your laptop, iPad and phone's password. You even deleted Pinterest, Instagram, Google heck I didn’t know you could delete Safari on this 2020 phone of yours.” Gojo lifts the mobile device, waving it in your face. “It’s like I’m being kidnapped by you.” He put his wrists together, showing them to you as if he’s being forcefully tied to you against his will.

“Oh please, you’ll regret seeing those fan arts of you.” You try to drink the remaining drop of red from your empty glass.

“I’m on the top of the daddy list at least right?” His confident smile is about to be shattered.

“Well,” you started “you were… until MAPPA produced that Nanami scene” Your voice grows higher and higher into a squeal as your brain replays the way Nanami fully grabbed onto that pony tail, full muscle bulging, revenge-seeking protective mode. Your palms hide your face as you giggle, squirming left and right, thinking about that one scene.

Gojo is speechless. He has lost to Nanami.

“We’re going home.”

“Okay.” You squeak, still not recovered from your sudden giddy fan girl session.

“You’re sleeping on the futon tonight, I’m taking your bed.”

“Oka- what no!”

Chapter Text

“Argh” You groan, rolling your neck to the sides as a loud popping sound travels to your ear. The light from the curtains filtered through from the dining room downstairs to the loft up high. It was quite small, but still your sweet cozy home. You wobble a bit as you sit up, eyes adjusting to the morning light, and you reach for your phone that was typically under your pillow. However, instead of feeling the cold block of metal, you feel a large, warm, long, bony and calloused hand. Your entire body shoots awake. When you turn to your left, you see a horrifying corpse! Never mind, it was a body. A body!? The blue blanket was rising up and down rhythmically. Before your brain could fully process the massive figure next to you, your leg reflexively kicked the mass as hard as you could causing the man to flail awake before his face kissed the ground.

“Ahh!” You scream. “Get out of my house!”

“Ow.” A deep and husky morning voice whines. “What did I do this time?”

The blanket has been taken by the man who rolled off your bed, revealing a red spot in the middle. A bright red cherry coloured spot staring back at you from the light blue sheets.

“Ahhhh!” You scream again.

“What’s wrong?” A fluff of ivory white and aquamarine eyes looks up to you from the ground. Your face was frozen like a movie that hit pause, Gojo follows the trail of your eyes and lands on the red spot.

You blink.

He blinks.

You blink again. 

He blinks again.

“GOJO!” You yell. You're taking the pillow that was still warm and slamming it down on the man who is lying on the ground like a wack-a-mole. Your aggressive hits induce an electric current so much that Gojo's fuzzy cowlick hair gets zapped and stuck on the pillow. 

“GOJO”

Smack

“YOU”

Smack

“ASSHOLE!”

“Hold on, hold on. We didn’t do anyt-“

“Didn’t do anything? Huh didn’t do anything?” You’re by the edge of the bed, pillow raised high, ready to initiate the second wave of attacks onto the poor man who lay on the ground surrendering.

“Argh. I should've kept you homeless!”

You could almost see the steam whistling from your ears as you frown angrily like a kettle with fury bubbling just beneath a forced, twitching smile. You get off the bed and sit on Gojo’s stomach holding the pillow to his face in attempts to suffocate him.

“How dare you! I give you a place to sleep, I let you live here rent-free, I entertain you during your time in the ‘Prison realm’ and this is how you treat me?” Your eyes were already getting blurry from the hormone-driven emotions as your hands held onto the pillow tight against Gojo’s face hoping it will seal his life away. You'll figure out how to get rid of his body easily. Maybe you'll dice it up and make it into stew. 

“MMhmm mmh hmm.” Mumbles trail from underneath his cotton. His large hands grab onto your thinner wrists and forcefully lift your arms up.

“You’re a virgin?” He asks.

“You asshole!” You slip past his large hands to shove the matching pillow set back onto his perfect sculpture face. You've decided, diced into stew is not enough. He needs to be skinned alive. Gojo gives up, he doesn’t even bother moving. Technically, he’s still breathing from your terrible suffocation technique. It was clear that out of the two of you, he was the professionally trained assassin. His body lies unmoving underneath yours as he lets you erupt until no anger is left. To him, you felt like a warm weighted blanket on top. To you, oh, you were ready to throw knives. 

After a hot minute of suffocating him with the pillow, your body’s sleepy numbness regains its nerve's consciousness and a fluttering wave of intense cramp stabs your stomach. Like a tight, cruel grip twisted around your insides, as if the very core of your insides were being squeezed by invisible hands, you hunch over. 

“Ow.” You immediately knit together and your hand shoots to your belly. A hot, wet, and gooey fluid exits your lower lips onto your underwear and potentially through your thin pyjama pants. Gojo takes this chance to flick the pillow out of his face.

“What’s wrong?” He smirks, enjoying the view of you sitting legs open on his stomach, hunched over, bedroom eyes lowered and messy hair as if you were a feisty kitten whose claws were held back after tiring morning sex. 

How does this Gojo not have a double chin when looking down?

“I think…I…I think” without finishing your sentence, you quickly get off Gojo standing up straight. With that action, you feel another gush of hot liquid ooze out. Your eyes slide down from Gojo’s azure eyes to the small bright red spot on his white t-shirt he wore to bed. Shit. Your period has leaked past your underwear and pyjama pants and onto his white shirt. Gojo mimics you looking down at his white shirt, his eyebrows raised and mouth shaped into an “o”.

“I…I’m so sorry.” You blurt out before running to the bathroom with teary eyes. God, you’re so embarrassed. From Gojo’s view, he could see your ears turning bright pink, flushed from the raised blood pressure. He could just imagine how scarlet your cheeks must be.

“Cute.” He laughs lifting the white shirt a little to get a better view of the artwork you made. The blood spot was coincidentally morphed into a tiny heart shape, a shade of red no ordinary print could replicate, the vermilion vibrant colour of your period stain.  

You, however, were in the bathroom with your hands covering your face, brows high-fiving each other after your world's most embarrassing moment, and a pad finally placed on your underwear. This is terrible. You’re never going to forget this moment. This is the type of event that will haunt you at midnight.

'God, please make me disappear' you think to yourself.

 Knock knock

“Are you okay?” Gojo knocks on the translucent bathroom door.

“No. Go away.” You whine and sniffle, unable to recover from the social suicide you just committed.

“It’s fine. I always get blood on me when fighting. This tiny bit is no problem.” You could hear his grin from the other side.

“No, it's not fine.” You groan, unable to face him, unable to open the door.

“It's just blood.”

“No it’s not just-“ you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Though it seems shameless Mr Gojo would.

“it’s just that the blood came from your ahem vagina?”

“If you don’t have shame, I do!” You blow your nose into the conveniently located toilet paper, tears welling in your eyes until the threshold of your eyelids could no longer act as a dam preventing the waterworks from flowing down your cheek.

The door slides open, you jolt from your seat on the closed toilet lid as you see Gojo trot in like he owns the place. He kneels down in front of you and takes the tissue out of your hands.

“Its okay. No need to be embarrassed. I have to teach the entire reproductive system to students. I’m a teacher, I know these kinds of things happen.” He dabs the tissue gently across your face. Being one of the few teachers at Jujutsu High, he had to undergo national Japanese educational training. He had to be an all-rounder teacher from maths to history to science. The experience as a teacher assistant at an ordinary boys' school, then two years at an all-girls middle school as a full-time teacher he has plenty of experience.

“No.” You turn your upper body to face away from him. His intense stare of pity and understanding was too much for you.

“Why not? Look.” He stretches out his white shirt showing you the blood stain. “It’s a heart shape. How cute!”

“C-Cute? That’s not cute, it's disgusting. Take it off, I’ll wash it off for you.” You whip your head to your piece of DNA you left on his white shirt.

“No! It’s adorable, I’m keeping it.” He proudly states.

“K-keeping it? No way, no way that’s disgusting! It's… it's period blood.” You whisper the last part, face flaring up like a firework of embarrassment that it stretches from your chin to your forehead, ear to ear like a painting of pink. This is so much worse than when you confessed to the wrong boy in front of the entire preschool when you were 5. 

Gojo’s arms snake under your armpits, you’re lifted up to his 190cm height as he holds you like a baby, legs wrapped around his torso, your head resting on his broad shoulders, belly to belly. Well, belly to abs. “Put me down.” You groan, hanging onto him like a koala cub. Your cramps have taken the fight out of you.

“No, you need to come out of the bathroom. It’s been 10 minutes. Breakfast first.” He puts you down slowly onto the soft couch, letting you sink down and curl up to the floral design display pillow in the corner. “Come on, no need to be so shy. I’m a 29-year-old guy who’s a teacher. I have female students who have crushes on me. This is nowhere as embarrassing as the girl whose condom fell out of her bag in class by accident. Plus, I’ve taught year 7s in the past where girls who got their period for the first time and didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, don’t you sound experienced.” Your voice is muffled by the pillow as you’re curled up like a kitten.

“Whether you like it or not, I’m keeping it. It's fate that this stain is heart-shaped.” You hear his footsteps go upstairs to the loft area, giving you some space to breathe. You’ll never be able to face him. God, you even misjudged him for taking advantage of you while you were slightly intoxicated because of the cherry spot on the bed. You even tried suffocating him.

“I should just jump off a cliff. Better yet, lock me in a prison realm so I don’t need to come out.” You moan in pain.

“If you jump off a cliff, who’s going to negotiate the contract with Isetan tomorrow?” Gojo is back, his slippers made no sound as he approached you. You feel a soft weight fall on top, a warm blanket covering your body.

“It’s autumn, it’s too cold to be wearing this little.” You hear a light plop sound on the ground. “And wear your slippers you big baby.”

“You’re the man-child in the manga.” You snap back.

“There she is. From my knowledge, I am a responsible single father who adopts all my students. I am also greatly loved.” He winks at you before setting down two plates of bread and jam. A classic combo when you're both too lazy to cook.

“How do you like your eggs?” he asks. “Scrambled again?”

“Burnt.” You mumble.

“Burn them.” You confirm. 

Gojo replies with a gentle chuckle completely ignoring your little tantrum. You were like a bunny thumping because you're angry at something you did yourself.

“So…You’re a virgin, huh?” He goes back to teasing as fast as flipping a page on a book. He was so nice a second ago.

“Ah!” You toss a flying pillow that lands right on the back of his head. Goal! The pang of impact made you wonder if he has always had his infinity off in this realm around you? A true official break. A world where there's nothing to hide from, nothing to see with his six eyes and nothing to protect. 

“I have the day off today. I need to go grocery shopping.” You comment finally sitting up. The blanket is wrapped around your body as if you were the hazelnut in a Ferrero Rocher.

“Soy milk, rice, cake flour, flour, celery, broccoli, your favourite sauce, pasta and extra virgin olive oil?” Gojo’s velvety voice wickedly emphasises.

“Go to prison!” You glare daggers at the back of his head.

"I'm in prison."

Your eyes finally meet his figure and you notice that his white strands reached the middle of his neck, tickling his collar. “Yes. That’s the list.”

“I already got them” he exclaims, turning over to check you from the kitchen. His eyes glitters, asking for a praise. 

“Really? Thanks. Gojo why don’t I trim your hair today? It looks a little long. Do you want that?” You mumble. It was the most appropriate apology you could imagine to give him. You lean on the edge of the sofa, back curved inward in an innocently seductive pose that made Gojo turn his head back at the pots.

“Sure.”

Knock knock knock

Three soft knocks sliced through your conversation like a sharpened sushi knife, silencing the room. No one ordered take out this early in the morning. You have no friends who visit unexpected. Gojo has no guests, that’s for sure. Your neighbours aren’t at home at 9 am on your typical day off.

Oh no.

It’s that man.

Your eyes hollow to the back of your head, your legs retract towards your body, hands holding the blanket to force the warmth to hug you tighter, and your skin rains cold goosebumps all over.

Its him.

He’s here.

Why is he here now? He hasn’t shown up in months. Why now? Just when you thought he finally lost interest in you. You made sure to put male shoes out the door. You have kept your doors and windows closed.

Gojo’s eyes are locked on your shivering form, his six eyes and infinity activated the second he felt your body language shift from its comfortable state into a doe shivering from whatever predator lies past that door. Gojo turns off the electric stove and grabs the high-quality knife from your drawer. He walks towards your direction with a palm open hand out in a protective stance. His large figure covers you from anyone trying to steal a look from that peephole you forgot to cover.

“Here.” He hands you the knife for self-defence. For some reason, there is a foreign anxious pump in his chest that grows stranger to him.  Fear. Something he hasn’t felt in years since birth, something he only got a wince of when he was faced with Getou. He’s a confident man with powers that overthrow people. There’s nothing for the strongest to be scared of. Or so he thought all these years.

Yet right now he feels it. That blood pumping in his veins towards his fists. He feels the tension in the air as he becomes highly aware of his surroundings. He senses not an ounce of cursed energy in front of that door, yet he feels it. Fear. For you.

Gojo turns his back to you, taking a step towards the door, your hand hurriedly latches onto his wrist, shaking your head no. Being quiet is better than approaching a man like that outside the door. Relentlessly bugging you until the cops came. Even now, whenever someone orders takeout groceries or Uber Eats horror trembles within your heart, alarms drumming in the background, making you stare out the open window contemplating taking the earthquake safety path out of the building.

A warm hand covers yours, and a strong nod from Gojo reassures you that he is about to handle this once and for all. With your demeanour, he can guess what kind of person is standing there.

Knock knock knock

Gojo’s hands travel underneath your knees and neck, carrying you up as if you weigh nothing. Your hands slap onto his chest for stability while the other holds the knife limply.

“Shh. Let’s hide you, " he says in a hushed tone. He doesn’t bother hiding his heavy footsteps, which bring you up the loft area and tuck you on his Futon, it’s located behind a half wall that goes up to his hips. “Stay here,” he says.

The knife is no longer tightly wrapped in your hands, your shoulders drop and your back slouches.

“I know you’re in there.” A familiar muffled voice trails past the living room, open plan kitchen and down the hallway.

Gojo teleports straight to the metal door that had 3 locks and a sliding chain. He looks through the peephole finding a black cap lowered on a shadowy figure, the sound-controlled lights have gone dim from the long wait. Gojo opens the door.

“(Y/N)! I’ve missed yo-“ the man in black gasps, finding not the delicate young lady with a mesmerising blush and beautiful lashes, such a polite tone and gentle hands. Instead, there he stood, a massive, tall man who yawns rudely in his face, arms leaning on the door frame, making him seem larger than the door itself, broad shoulders with muscle bulging. His eyes were sharp like those of a python’s, blue pupils radiating an eerily dangerous atmosphere, like he was waiting for this prey to knock on his door.

“(Y/N)? who’s that?” He growls deep voiced and scrunched nose.

“Ah…S-sorry. I must’ve gotten the wrong house?” The man with a black cap steps back to check the number on the door. “809. That’s correct. This is her home.”

“This has been my home for ages. I live here. What do you want?” Gojo sneers at the bold man with arms that he could break without using any cursed technique. That neck seems so snappable too. This scrawny, cowardly man knows where you live?

The man with a black cap looks to the side, between Gojo’s waist, he peeks into the house. “That floral pillow! That’s hers. This is her home! Who are you and what are you doing here?” His voice hardened with confidence as if he was finally going to get his black knight saving the damsel in distress moment.

“Argh. You just don’t get it do you?” Gojo’s brows knit tightly together, shadowing his piercing glare while his clenched jaw and sharp cheekbones amplify the menace in his expression. His presence alone radiates an intensity that makes him seem larger than usual.

“No. What are you doing here? (Y/N)! It’s me! Tsuki! Knock something over if this man is dangerous! I’ll save you.” He exclaims, crossing the line again. A persistent stalker it seems, a weak one at that. Psychological threatening, guilt tripping and consistent midnight knocks must be the techniques he uses Gojo supposes. That makes things easier for him.

“Look, out of two of us isn’t it obvious who’s more dangerous?” Gojo makes sure that each of his words doesn’t suggest your existence. “A small guy like you, what can you do? Scare girls with midnight knocks. Yeah, that doesn’t work on me because I’m not a girl can’t you see.”

“That’s (Y/N)’s skirt hanging outside! You can’t lie to me, you’re kidnapping her, she’s in there!” he yells, trying to get through the door to you, only to be roughly slammed into the hallway wall.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? Can’t you tell (Y/N) hates you. So fuck off.” Gojo’s voice is sharp and biting despite dripping with an edge of bitterness. Beneath Gojo’s anger there’s a tremble of raw simmering jealousy. A man has been spying on you for long enough to recognise your clothes. The clothes he folds whenever you’re at work? The adorable pyjamas with teddy bears and strawberries? The sweet little bow on the middle of your secretly favourite blue panties? This man has seen it all hasn’t he, while spying on you. How dare he?

“I’m saving her, she’s an innocent girl I won’t stand here and let her be preyed on by a violent man like you! It’s me Tsuki, I’m here to help you!” His voice carries the steady and firm weight of conviction.

“I’m her husband.” Gojo’s unshakeable voice draws a long string of shock in Tsuki.

“Haha, you can’t lie to me.” Tsuki’s eyes search Gojo’s handsome face and albino hair. “That can’t be true. She…Where’s your ring?” Tsuki states triumphantly.

“It’s with her. She wants to do some jewellery polishing.”

“Liar.”

“She’s got my child.”

That halts the conversation. Tsuki stands there frozen, shoulders slumped and arms hanging limply by their sides. The weight of Gojo’s hands has finally dug into his shoulders, his wide, unblinking eyes stare at Gojo with a mixture of disbelief and helplessness. Gojo lets go of Tsuki, standing tall, chest puffed out in success and face glowing with pride as a triumphant smirk spreads wide. Like a buck who won the mating fight he finishes off with a cold tone.

“So…Leave. And never come back. Afterall. She likes men with white hair, blue eyes, tall, broad, and most of all not a stalker.”

The door bangs closed in Tsuki’s face, his eyes sink to the ground.

“All done!” Gojo goes back to his cheery voice.

Bang!

A pillow smashes right into Gojo's face bypassing the infinity as he turned it off knowing the threat was a man like that. He catches the falling pillow and uses his sickening sweet voice to pry you out of your hiding spot “What~ Don’t I deserve a reward?”

“Great! Now he thinks I’m pregnant! I’m not pregnant, though! You could’ve just scared him off, why did you say that?” You bleat like a shy lamb poking your head out from the half-wall with an adorable frown and pout.

“Well, that’s not hard. I personally would love to have a son and a daughter-”

“No, thank you. I’m going to go home hunting. I can’t believe cops don’t scare Tsuki guy.” You walk downstairs with your sushi knife pointing at the door. “Thanks for talking to him for me. I owe you one. Hopefully, he gives up this time.”

“How did this Tsuki guy thing start? Seems like your Mika-chan also knows about him.”

Your gaze darts away, lips press into a tight reluctant line. With a forced smile and a quick, almost eager tone, you steer Gojo away “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone for today, and I’m moving. Also, your eggs are burning.”

“Ahh my eggs!”

Moving is probably your best course of action for now. Afterall, Gojo won’t be here everyday preventing Tsuki from his deepening level of insanity. He can’t be here to protect you all the time. You will soon be alone again.

Chapter Text

The Tsuki conversation was parked in the lowest levels of your “oh let’s bring that up” topic parking lot for the rest of that day. However, there was a convo you desperately wanted to share so much that you rushed up to your floor by the stairs as you've grown tired waiting for the lift. You raise your knees as you skip two steps at a time eagerly rushing to your floor. 

“GOJO! Let me tell you about this-“ You rush into the door, not bothering to change your outside shoes as you return home, causing the metal to slam close.

“Oh, you’re home, welcome home dear.”

“You won’t believe it, we’re getting rich.” You throw your bag across the room onto the couch and waddle in to face Gojo who held a basket of your laundry.

“Isetan?” Gojo raises a knowing eyebrow.

“Second floor!”

“Good rent?”

“Of course!”

“Good pay?”

“I’m getting paid 10% of sales as a founder fee. The owner of our jewellery brand wants to run the Isetan franchise store herself.”

“You’re going to be rich.”

“Ahhh! I’m going to be rich.”

With a burst of uncontainable excitement, you leap into Gojo’s arms so fast he drops the basket on the ground, spilling your dirty laundry laughing as you’re spun around in the air. Your plush body squeezed into his firm one as your face nuzzles into his neck, tickling his chin with your soft hair. His strong arms wrapped around your body make him wonder…were you always this soft to touch?
As the moment slows, you both freeze mid-spin in silence. A flicker of stun in your face – this hug was definitely too much for your casual friendship.

“Ahah…” You awkwardly laugh as you're placed down on the ground. “um…sorry.” You help Gojo pick up your shirt into the basket.

“I uhh…bought a lottery ticket for the weekend draw. Let’s see if our luck is going to persist.” You take out the scrunched receipt with jumbled numbers. Out of all those random symbols, you can find one that ends with 1207. Though you’ll never tell Gojo you deliberately picked that one out. The sound of a crisp click echoed in the room when you placed a takoyaki magnet you got years ago visiting Asakusa temple. There it is, the life you’ve always wanted to have on a piece of paper, if you win the lottery, you’ll finally get your dream of living in a heavily guarded apartment where that Tsuki guy can’t pass security! Then you’ll never need to hide an old chef's knife in your drawer. Hopefully, Gojo hasn’t found that yet.

“I wish you good luck. Maybe then we can live in my old penthouse. I saw it the other day, I went grocery shopping, it exists in your realm, but it's occupied by some grubby old man who has too many girls over.” He chuckles, continuing in the direction of the washroom.

“Yeah? You sure that wasn’t just you? I mean, you also have white hair and a bunch of girls drooling over you.” You laugh, easing the awkward tension from before.

“Well, today I am reduced to a useless person. I can’t even make money without an ID card because I don’t exist here.” A domestic life has always been out of reach for the Gojo Satoru: slow mornings with a warm cup of tea, occasionally baking his favourite pastry and grocery shopping. For someone of that level of success, common days were a luxury. Something that he wouldn’t dare wish for because he was always needed.

He’s needed in special cases, he’s needed as a teacher, he’s needed in Africa, he’s needed at war, he’s needed in Italy, he’s needed in Japan, he’s needed in Shibuya…he’s not needed here. He's useless.

“Yup, you’re just my househusband now.” Your laugh was like fairy dust, a glitter of innocent joy in his dark days, something no jujutsu sorcerer has. But now, he has it. At least he’ll have it until he’s forced back to his world.

“Yes, I am.” He loads his pants and your blouse of the same colour into the washing machine hooked on the wall. The basket is nearly empty with just a singlet and a certain baby blue article of clothing lying messily at the end of the pile. “Now if you don’t want your dashingly lovely househusband hand washing your underwear, you should-“

“Ahh! How many times have I told you to leave that alone! I can manage!” Your skin turns a delicate shade of crimson, clearly flustered by the unexpected attention to your panties. You panic and snatch them out of the laundry basket bottom rushing to the bathroom. Rather than a cute blush, it was more like an explosion aftermath on your face.

“You know it's fine! I used to wash Tsumiki and Megumi’s underwear too.” He couldn’t contain his laugh.

“Y-you’ve gotten too comfortable in this household!” You trot away.

“That’s not true, I don’t even have a bed. You should let me sleep in your bed.”

“Nice try, pretty boy!”

Gojo’s smile still hasn’t melted. The sound of an open faucet in the bathroom and the shining lottery ticket stuck in the fridge with a magnet is a sight he’ll daydream about for the rest of his life. It was nice to have someone he wanted to guard at the gates of his heart again.  

“Okay. I have a vision. Trust me.” You crouch awkwardly with one knee on the chair, your torso twisted at an unnatural angle on the back of the glass table as you hold the camera just at eye level. Your free hand hovers in the air for balance while jingling the cat toy. It’s a contortion that would look absurd if they didn’t know what you were doing.

The store’s doors were closed, mechanical curtains shut tight, and the dark atmosphere in the room made the shot extra creepy.

“A little higher, Mika Chan.” You exclaim. “Perfect stop!”

Mika Chan is on her tip toes holding her torch as high as it goes while your other lady in waiting is bent on the ground with her camera torch on. 4 staff members plus you trying to get the perfect shot is bound to succeed. Gojo sits there calmly with a cat in his hand. 

"No, no, don't move" You jingle the cat toy in front of the sweet lady who's paws kept trying to reach for it rather than stay still. 

"Argh" Gojo groans at the perfect posture. 

"A little more. Don't smile, look serious. Wait, don't drop the cat, hold her a little higher." You directed as you watched everything through the Canon camera. 

“Are we done yet-“ Gojo couldn’t contain another yawn. “It’s 11 pm.”

“Yes, yes, I know it’s the midnight vibes from the back window.” You mutter, “look here.” You drop the cat toy and snap your fingers towards the camera you borrowed from your photography friend. To be honest, Gojo’s not sure if you snapped your fingers for him to focus or the cat.

Since his six eyes are dormant, Gojo’s intense sapphire eyes glow like the precious gems on his fingers, the same shade of deep royal blue rather than his usual translucent aquamarine gleam.  The monochromatic black suit he was wearing seemed tailored to perfection, a rental but now a canvas designed to draw attention to the brilliance of his sapphire rings – the latest designs that will launch in Isetan’s new storefront. His long, flawless, pale fingers cradled a white Persian cat whose silken fur was as pristine as snowfall. The cat had the same crystalline blue eyes that mirror his own, creating a captivating and surreal vision.

The scene was a study of contrast and allure—white against black, radiance against shadow. Gojo’s hair, pale as moonlight, framed his face with an ethereal beauty while the cat nestled against him. A fleeting flash of a camera torch illuminated both their beauty. The faint reflection from the display diamonds next to them launched a subtle iridescent glimmer that whispered luxury and power.  

Snap

“Got it!”

Everyone, including the cat, let out a large sigh as their postures melted. Gojo hunched his back, petting the cat, whispering "good job" to the female, who nuzzled her head into his black suit, leaving white fur all over.

Flick

Mika turns on the light before rushing to your side.

“Show me the photo!” She squeals excitedly, patting your back. You plop yourself on the chair you previously prepared for yourself only to be too close to take a shot. Your finger rolls on the control scroll and view the pictures from the little hole at the top for a clearer sight.

You take a deep breath in.

He was beautiful. The way Gojo intensely stares straight at the camera and the cat gazes up at him. The way your eyes travel from his eyes down to the cat’s, then to the rings on his hands was celestial. It's as if the very man who strolls around your home is meant to be someone so much bigger than you. He’s someone meant for the runway, the camera, the posters on NYC billboards. He’s perfect. A flawless face – a topographic map free from bumps of pimples, scars, or any irregular texture.

“Show me, show me.”

Mika’s smile and wide eyes drop down to awe, the words that flowed out of her mouth so easily came to a halt upon seeing the image. She closes her lips as her eyelids could muster nothing but a blink. A loud gulp going down her throat has Yuki curious.

“What is it?” The owner of the cat slides behind you.

A loud gasp draws from her mouth, and a slap of her hand to cover it. You three slowly pan your head back to see the man still sitting cross-legged in his original seat baby-talking to the cat.

“Holy shit.” Yuki whispers.

“What have we done? We should hide this. People are going to faint at this.” Gradually, one chuckle turns into a flutter of them that morph into a wide smile, all teeth and gum.

“What’s wrong?” Gojo couldn’t help but be curious.

“Your photo. That’s what's wrong!” He takes the camera from your hand, surprised at its weight before sneaking a peek.

“God, I knew it. I should retire and be a model.” The photo was a masterpiece – every detail captured perfectly, exuding luxury and allure. You all knew, without a doubt, it was destined to be a hit. Excitement bubbles over as the team erupts in laughter, their shared joy filling the room like a burst of light, each smile proof of your triumph.

“You’re a genius to dye Mr Tamaki’s hair white! If it were his normal black hair, then it’d be boring!” Mika pats your shoulder in admiration. “Though I must say doesn’t he look like Gojo Satoru with those blue contact lenses! Ahhh Mr Tamaki have you ever seen this character?” Mika hurriedly types into Google before you and Gojo lock nervous eyes.

“Ahaha, why don’t we chat tomorrow, it’s getting late and these contact lenses are starting to hurt.” Gojo otherwise known as Mr Tamaki returns the sweet kitty whose claws dug into the rental suit, not wanting to leave the man.

“Ah, right. Good night, Mr Tamaki! Visit our store often!” Mika shoves her phone back into her pocket.

“Just how did you meet such a hot man and not pounce at him?” Yuki stares at you, impressed. “Is he really just a temporary roommate?”

“Maybe because he burns my pans every time he tries to cook something.” You chuckle to yourself. Thank goodness you told them you dyed his hair.

You and Gojo wave goodbye to everyone, closing the store for the midweek public holiday. A bittersweet smile creeps onto your face, you couldn’t help but marvel at the effortless beauty Gojo seems to be born with. Quite otherworldly. He has the kind of elegance and power destined for bright lights and distant stages. Some days you couldn’t help but feel that his presence was borrowed by your world. A fleeting gift. Something that will inevitably drift away like a comet – too radiant and extraordinary to remain within your reach forever.

He won’t be by your side forever.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, holding the rental suit in the plastic bag you gave him. Just like the suit, one day, Gojo will be returned to where he needs to be to meet his fate.

“Nothing, it’s just a bit cold. Do you want chicken curry tonight?” You smile.

“The one you were making when we first met? Of course! You gotta teach me the recipe not that I’ll make it when I have you.”

“Yeah right, I’ll teach it to you when you can actually cook. Cook, I said, not bake a dessert or mix a salad.” You ease the mood and skip along. “Just you wait till I edit your photo. It's going to look so handsome. I’m so proud of my son.”

“Son!?” His face is baffled. “Son? You see me as a son? Am I not your rightful househusband? Did I just get a demotion? Blasphemy, give my position back, otherwise I’ll take back that photo.”

—

Two days later

“Just how did this happen?” Gojo stands by your bed with one of his hands on his hips and the other holding the thermometer. “I’ve been taking care of everything so you can rest up.”

“It… “you couldn’t help but cough “it happens. The weather is getting colder, and I haven’t been wearing my layers properly.” Another soft string of coughs follows your voice from under your sheets.

“Yeah? Sometimes I keep forgetting how weak non-sorcerers are. Why didn’t you tell me you weren't feeling well earlier?” Gojo puts the thermometer away, holding his hand towards his hips, looking like a disappointed mother. “You should be glad I’ve dealt with a sick Megumi. He gets a bad stomach ache all the time, and his sister gets fevers at least once a year when they were kids.”

“So you’ve never been sick?” You weakly ask.

“Not really,” Gojo looks at your pale lips with flushed red cheeks from the fever. “I mostly get bloody injuries instead, but even those heal within the day.”

“Must be nice-“your dry coughs lead Gojo to step away downstairs. Just when you thought he was disgusted by your germs, he comes back with a cup of water.

You shakily sit up from your dazed position, and Gojo, instead of giving you the cup, places the water to your lips, wetting them.

“Drink your fluids.” He commands, you don’t bother rejecting and begin to gulp down the liquid until it is empty and a thin stream has already leaked down into your shirt. Gojo quickly snatches a tissue and traps the leak at your collarbone, gently dabbing the softness up your throat to your chin.

“Are the sheets warmer now that I’ve changed them to winter blankets?” He pulls up the fluffy goodness up to your chin, tucking the sitting you in.

You nod in response.

“Not too hot, right? Can’t have your fever baking higher than this!” His voice was firm like that of a teacher’s despite hiding behind the joke.

You shake your head in response.

“Look at you,” his large hand pinches your cheek, making your lips pout out comfortably being squeezed like a squashed dumpling. “You’re not going to isetan to check the whole operation. You’re not going to work, and you’re not cooking. Focus on getting well first.”

“I’m fine.” You mumble past his hands, making you do a weird face.

“I’ve already texted your work group chat, and the boss is running the Isetan operation. They told you to get well soon. It’s not like they’ll die without you right now.”

“The photo.”

“Ahh, still thinking of my hotness?” He finally lets go of your cheeks to narcissistically push his hair backwards. “Don’t worry, they’ve already printed it out in 4K for the store advertisement. It’s the first time I’m going to be on such a billboard!”

Your relieved smile cut Gojo out of his moment.

“We still have some curry leftover. I’ll be having those. I’ll ask the old lady downstairs to help make some soup or porridge. The curry is too spicy for your sick self to have.”  He tosses your phone into your lap. “Here, doom scroll. That’s all you can do. No work.”

While your face displayed a cold pout, deep inside you felt bubbling warmth. Though you can’t be too sure if it’s from the subtle love you’re shown or the fever.

“How’d you know the old lady from downstairs?” You ask. There was an old lady, Ms Tezuki, who used to be an optometrist, so her retirement money was enough to keep her in Shibuya. The lovely place is enough for her to not feel too lonely when her children don’t visit her for 5 years in a row, and still counting. Funnily enough, she doesn’t have the best eyes when things are close. She’s also old enough to have never watched Jujutsu Kaisen to accuse someone like Gojo as a mortifying perverted cosplayer.

“Who do you think helps me with grocery shopping? You think someone like me knows how to pick the best apples out of a pile that looks the same to me.” Gojo proudly smiles at you. “Even your neighbours know there’s a man in your home now. That weird delivery guy shouldn’t bother you anymore.”

“Thanks, Gojo.” You shimmy yourself back under the thick blankets like a caterpillar.

“Satoru would suit us a bit better.”

“Ha, you like desserts yet your name ironically has sugar in it. Sato.” Sato is the Japanese word for sugar, and it wouldn’t be Gojo without Sato in his name, would it? Not with that expensive sweet tooth that has cost you around 10,000 yen for a week. He’s very persuasive. Your eyes flutter, unable to maintain open.

“Sato?” His facial features relax, the muscles no longer pulling a smile. Eyes dimming as he scatters his infinity shield and releases his six-eye hold. Since Riko, he’s trained himself to the point where six eyes and infinity were habit, like a model who never slouches, like a basketball player's muscle memory.

“Yes, I’m your Sato.” His hand gently rests on your hair, petting your sleeping form.

The way your loose strands flow on the pillow, the way your face is snuggled into the blankets, the way your lashes have a tiny tilt at the end, the way your cheek has some tiny acne scars, the way your lips were red and full yet slightly chapped at the corners. Everything. Everything about you is desirable. Gojo’s long fingers travel around your face, tickling your skin as his eyes drown in a darker shade of blue.

Chapter Text

In the past few days, you've slept like a stuffed toy, drowsy after being fed your pink liquid medication and delicious albeit repetitive meals of the few things Gojo cooks. In contrast, Mr Gojo, who has taken over all the housework, has been very busy and not in the way you imagined. 

As of now, Gojo hovers on top of a set of abandoned train tracks, floating like an unworldly divine being, shoes nearly touching but never making contact with the ground. The rusting metal of the tracks stretched into the dense forest, swallowed by creeping vines and the relentless grasp of time. The rails were corroding, coloured toffee and melted brown, leading to nowhere. Under the harsh glare of the midday sun, the jagged nails dangerously glinted.

 Gojo wasn't interested in the beautiful fantasy novel view, nor the historical tracks most teenage boys would be glued to. He was interested in the subtle cursed energy that’s barely detectable in the noise-filled central Tokyo. It was so subtle its as if you're trying to listen for a nail drop amidst a loud airport.

In fact, Gojo wouldn't even have detected this whispering cursed energy if he hadn't paid a visit to your stalker's home. It’s been quite some time since he needed to use any cursed technique.

“What’s this?” He raises an eyebrow. His brows furrow as he leans towards the subtle yet dark and suffocating presence that pulsed just below the surface. The air above it shivered, a silent scream trapped in the soil.

Almost 90km from central Tokyo, yet this place felt worlds away. It’s disconnected, forgotten and perhaps…not quite dead. Gojo flicks his fingers in the direction, releasing a familiar energy he hasn't used since Shibuya. 

BOOM

The soil flung into the sky, dancing in front of his eyes, each fleeing to their own safety after a soft burst of his “red” targeted the metal and ground underneath, revealing an oak box with rough surfaces warped in the years of damp isolation. It’s cracked and splintered from the impact, darkened with rot and streaked with veins of mould. The faint, illegible carvings traced on what used to be yellow ribbons of seals used by a jujutsu sorcerer.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see this here?” A smile grew on Gojo’s face. He bends down to take a closer look before lifting the box to his face, trying to read the written words. In his world, they’d call this an ancient artifact of the Jujutsu society. However, here it’d probably just count as witchcraft. A successful “witchcraft”.  For this box was steaming with cursed energy. Whoever sealed it here had special grade potential. Though judging by the age of this box, they’re long dead.

Gojo peels the oddly written seals like a Christmas gift, simply littering them to the side as it slowly flutters in the wind before settling down on the rusted rail track that has now been busted. The box was raw in his hands. He pried the lid open, the wood groaning as if a warning for him to stop. Inside, untouched by time or decay, lay a pair of pristine cuffs – sleek and polished, eerily perfect. To anyone else, this might just be some voodoo witchcraft game. However, under the right eyes, they will know that this was more than mere monster witchcraft.

The cuffs pulsed, almost waiting for a wrist to lock on to. The tiny little grey key sat patiently next to it.

“The Abyss Shackles.” Gojo chuckles in triumph. “How fitting for the prison realm.”

These cuffs were meant to bind someone’s very soul to the ground. To have them enslaved by their own strength. They were a mere rumour. The ultimate weapon in the jujutsu society, the one thing that can make a special grade look like a fly head, it will drain their powers, lock them to their own body, stealing strength and cursed energy. That is, until the Key of forgiveness is used.

“Is this real?” Gojo lifts up the cuffs under the rays that filtered through the canopy. “What better way to know than to try it out!”

His cheerful voice would soon be drained. 

Krr Click

The cuffs are locked on.

Krrrr

The cuffs have adjusted size exactly to his wrist and…cling…they have locked on. At first, Gojo felt nothing but a gush of wind. It started as a faint prickling on the top of his fingers, barely noticeable, but quickly it grew into an overwhelming emptiness. His strength, once vibrant and prominent, felt like a distant echo slipping through his grasp and poured into the cuffs. The warm layer of infinity that covers him sucked away leaving him shivering in the cold.  His eyes were no longer strained by the six eyes technique that fed him an overdrive of information. In fact, when he clicks his fingers, all there is…is well, a click. No red, no blue, no purple.

Nothing.

He reaches for the keys in the box in hopes his wrist flexibility could open the cuffs, yet there he feels an intense metal digging into his bones each time he goes closer to the keys.

“Shit.” His eyebrows furrowed from the pain. There’s no reverse-cursed energy to heal him now. He hurriedly shoves the key into his pocket before the cuffs punish him for trying to reach it. “How do I get home?”

Your eyes blink open in slow motion, each flutter more tired than the previous. The world around you is blurry and muffled with the noise of passing by traffic. The soft evening sun filters through your window and the loud sirens travel by. A dull ache throbs at the back of your skull.

“Argh.” You groggily sit up. “Sato..ru?”

No answer. You look over your bed to the ground where a futon lays empty.

“He’s probably grocery shopping again.” Your eyes drift to the clock hanging opposite your wall. 4:50 pm

“Wait. He should’ve been back hours ago!” You flick your blanket off and reach for your phone to call before you hear a loud knock. He had the keys, he knew the passcode. Why would Satoru knock? Maybe his groceries were so heavy he had to knock. That’s not possible, he’s too strong for that.

“It’s not Tsuki, right?” You breathe in.

“(Y/N)” A tired, muffled groan of your voice rumbles from across the door.

“Sato?” You frown in disbelief. Your legs and fluffy shoes bring you to the front door, opening to reveal a very interesting sight.

Gojo stood there, chest heaving with each breath. His face is flushed red from over-exercise, with a tired smirk that was never wiped off his face. There’s a streak of dampness near his hair, his muscles bulging from use, and a small layer of sweat making his white shirt cling to his skin. As your eyes trail lower, you find the most horrific metal around his wrists.  

“SATORU! What happened?" Your eyes widened with shock, mouth open in worry. Your brain slowly turns its gears, creaking against each other before piecing together the situation. Cuffs in broad daylight? There weren't any police behind Gojo, and he doesn't seem like the type to get into trouble, knowing he doesn't have a passport or any sort of valid ID. His face is blushing fiercely, he's huffing and puffing like he just ran a marathon and oh god. This is Shibuya. This fucker...was he at a love hotel!?

"I’m sick..." you pinch your nose bridge before exploding in anger "and you… you’re sicker! You pervert! Is that what you’ve been up to when I thought you were buying groceries?” Your scrunched-up face full of disgust causes a guilty smile to spread across his face as he doesn’t bother explaining the miscommunication. You move out of the way to get this massive man of embarrassment indoors before any neighbours think you’re the freaky one.

“Just unlock them! The key is in my pocket. I didn’t know these cuffs adjusted to the size of my wrist!” He innocently gasps. “I walked almost 90km back here. I tried avoiding large crowds, but some people still saw me. Apparently, I left the JR card at home.”

“Satoru, seriously,” your slender hands slide down his deep pocket in his pants, it was warm being so close to his skin, you pat left and right in the denim, snatching your hand tight to his thigh searching for a small piece of metal.

“It’s not there?” You frown digging even deeper shifting your hand to the left, feeling an even hotter sensation. Your movement causes the fabric to follow and tighten at a certain area.

“Argh.” 

You shoot your hand out.

“If you wanted to touch, you could’ve just asked.”

“I… n-no it was an accident, I was just-“

“Right, just an accident.” Satoru purrs, his lowered bedroom eyes stare you down with his head tilted and hair following in the same direction. 

“I was just looking for the key” You break the gaze digging your hand into the other pocket and fishing out a small metal object. Your hands quickly worked its way around the cuffs to release him.

“There!” Your ears flushed red as you turned around preparing to go back to bed after all this drama. “Look I'm not gonna judge your uhh preferences, but you should probably return those to whatever love hotel you took them from.”

Gojo’s smile grew sinister.

As you were leaving, you feel a warmth lock around your back preventing you from taking another step. Your head was forced into the embrace of bulging hard pecs as biceps flexed while wrapping around you ever so gently. Like a python teasing the mouse already stuck in his coils, you froze as you feel his breath down your neck.

His large hands wrap around both your wrists, bringing them together while you stood there like a very confused. By the time your drowsy sick brain begins to load you hear-

Krrr click

“Huh!” Your gasp could be heard from the first floor. “S-Satoru!?”

“As expected, these look sexier on you.” The heat of the man standing behind you was travelling onto your spine, his slightly damp shirt tucked close onto your cute pyjamas began to feel rather sensual. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You voice your bewilderment. Your hands squirm around the metal in attempts to escape, only for it to tighten, not enough to cause pain, but definitely reminding you of your helplessness. To Gojo’s surprise, the cuffs weren’t adjusting to your smaller wrist size. He looks at your thinner bones loosely tucked into the metal circles. Perhaps the Abyss Shackles know you're too weak to even need the tight adjustment that was locked onto Gojo's wrists when he first put them on. Quite smart for a special grade cursed artefact. 

"Gojo" Your voice was low and similar to that of a mother's deadly warning. 

“Please, I can’t do anything in this house. It’s not like I have a private room at night if you know what I mean?” Gojo purposefully makes his voice breathy. His hand digs under your shirt, wrapping around your waist. You feel his large, calloused hands gently move up by an inch before gently backing down ticklishly. “Blood lust and lust are interchangeable, but of course, someone as innocent as you wouldn’t know.”

“You PREVERT, let me go! I’m sick!” You spin around with your cheeks puffed up like a tiny, furious hamster, eyes glistening with righteous fury as you stomp your foot. A gesture more adorable than intimidating to Gojo.

“How am I meant to rest like this?” Your quick, indignant puffs of anger made you look like a flustered little creature guarding its hoard. How can Gojo take you seriously?

“I mean, if you want me to, I can chain you to the bed.” He leans in with a sly grin, foxy eyes dancing with mischief as he dangles the Keys Of Forgiveness in front of your face like a hypnotist. 

You use your entire body to slam into Gojo, making him topple backwards with a chuckle at your sweet half half-annoyed half half-flustered glare. “I’m only teasing.” He snatches the key of forgiveness and unlocks you.

You spun on your heel, footsteps pounding like war drums against the stars.

“I learnt a potato soup recipe. I’ll make it for you, princess.” His cheeky, childish laugh echoes in the living room downstairs.

“Don’t cross the line, Satoru” You tried to growl.

“Aww, I thought I upgraded to Sato? Where did that intimate pet name go?”

"Try me, Gojo." 

"No! I'm Gojo now!? What did I do?" He is like a teenage boy using silly tactics to get any kind of reaction from the one person he finds precious. While a school boy may be limited to techniques like pulling on someone's pigtails or sticking out their tongue, Gojo here can play with a lot broader premises. You are much more fun to tease than Utahime back when she was a middle schooler, and you are much more caring than Shoko, who claims to be a nurse and doctor. 

It's weird how domestic life can be, you're probably the closest person he's ever had after Getou yet he's only known you for a few months. He hadn't slept with you, hadn't kissed you and hadn't even held your hand - yet sitting next to you during movie nights, you would hold every weekend, felt much more intimate than any one-night stand he's had. 

Something about the way you smile makes him smile. That gummy grin with those pearly whites. Maybe its the way you style your hair or the way you don't even bother styling your hair. He can't tell what it is, but he can tell that if the world were going to collapse, he'd use his entire body to shield over you. 

Chapter Text

“Tsk” a sharp lingering pain attacks your upper lip.

“I told you it was hot two seconds ago!” Gojo carefully sips from the traditional ceramic cup, the steam waltzes its way up to the ceiling, mocking your idiocy.

“I know.” You sigh walking to the side of the sofa. It was early, 6am. A count down of 2 more hours until you’re expected at the Isetan store front.

“Hey, look. The weather report changed, it's going to rain today.” A slight dance in Gojo’s tone as he points to the cupboard by the entranceway, “I suggest you use the baby blue umbrella today, that way you’ll always think of me.”

“No thanks. I’m using the clear one so I can see where I’m walking.” You lean over to grab the remote control to switch channels to 5.

“Hey, what was that for?” Gojo side eyes you like a sibling would.

“It’s the weekend lottery, the early round should be coming out now.”

“What were your numbers?” Gojo takes another sip only for it to sear with betrayal, the tea lashes his tongue until all that was left was the same dull, throbbing sting you had on your upper lip.

“It’s hot.” You hold back a blooming, triumphant smile.

“So cruel, the least you could do is kiss it better.” He shamelessly leans in forward towards you until your cold palm slaps straight into his face, pushing him away as you would a rabid dog.

“You should go get your numbers, it’s starting!” His posture sits up a tad bit straighter.

You pounce to the fridge in newfound excitement, lifting the takoyaki magnet, revealing a small square piece of receipt with jumbled numbers on it. Among the rows and rows of scrambled numeric, there lay one that held any interest in your heart.

23, 19, 7, 88, 43, 36, 6

50, 18, 22, 6, 7, 12, 89

35, 24, 8, 23, 73, 55, 21

14, 56, 97, 65, 33, 1, 23

A small smile cracks on your face upon seeing the last three numbers of row two – Gojo’s birthday. Though you’d never tell him.

“It’s starting!”

The deceiving upbeat music and drumroll captures every gambler’s interest as it hints at the slightest joyful chance of winning while the large machine behind the host of the show pops and pings. The man in a suit on the TV screen rubs his hands together like he was nervous on our behalf. Once the machine stops with a ding, a single red-colored ball rolls out of the extended function.

“Number 7!” His overly cheerful voice leaks through the speakers.

“Do you have a number 7?” Gojo leans over nonchalantly into your personal bubble, hair tickling your skin, trying to get a glimpse at the tiny ticket in hand.

“You got two rows with a 7!” Your eyes tracked the spinning ball and back to the paper, a faint spark stirred, but not quite excitement. More like a shrugging through: well, that’s something, though you knew the odds were laughing.

The mixture of quick and bright rhythm continues as the second ball tumbles out and drops to the ground before the presenter takes it.

“Oh whoopsies!” He bends over, shifting out of the screen “Let’s see…ahh the age of an adult in some western countries! It’s number 18!”

Your heart stammers a little as your eyes trail down with your finger to the one: “7 and 18”

“Wow, you got that too.” Gojo raises his eyebrows just a notch, lips quirking in a half-smile. By the time you and Satoru placed your focus back on the television, the third number was already in the hands of the presenter.

“What could it be?” To increase engagement, the MC shows the ball to the screen, yet his hand covers the number itself. Like the speed of a snail, his hand moves to the left a tiny bit, revealing a mark high and a mark low.

“I think it's a 5?” Gojo squints his eyes.

The hand uncovers the first number.

“We have a 2 in the single-digit place. What is the other one? Could it be 12, could it be 32, could it be 52…”

The presenter lifts his hand entirely away from the ball and shoves it right up the camera.

“It’s 22!”

“What weird teasing for a-“

“OH!”

Gojo’s head whips to your side with deep furrowed brows and hands already expecting to summon red. He only lowers his guard when he sees your smile stretched wide and unrestrained, the kind that lit your face.  

“I have those numbers! This means I would have earned back the cost of this ticket.” Your lips curved with an easy warmth, carrying the quiet grace of someone who had learned balance in life. Small joys and daily bliss. Gojo shouldn’t feel a fleeting sweetness lingering in his mouth, it wasn’t from the bitter tea. He shouldn’t feel enlivened by small money like that. But he is. He couldn’t control his muscles. He couldn’t control the squinting eyes that turn into eye smiles, glimmering your way like a moth to light.

“Really!” He gets off the couch to walk behind you. His silhouette completely engulfed your seated form.

“Yes, we should eat out for dinner tonight.” Your eyes caught the light like ripples on a sunlit lake, alive with unspoken laughter.  

“The next number is half of a hundred. Do the elementary students watching know what that is?”

“Wait…Fifty,” you whisper under your breath, finger tracing the row you’ve been eyeing, your lips are no longer smiling. You were caught between terror and thrill, as the moment teetered on the edge of fate. Victory loomed, electrifying and immense – winning was too far from grasp yet too close to ignore.

“Holy shit!” Gojo’s long, slender fingers tap on your tiny receipt, a growing boom of thrill threatened to explode.

“That’s right 50!” the announcer points to the camera, breaking for fourth wall. It felt like he was pointing right at you.

“Oh my god.” Your jaw was open, waiting for a fly to enter, build a tent and win half a lottery!

“Ahhh” you jump up and down so much so that your head nearly hits the drop-down curling lamp from IKEA. Your squeals, to be honest, were like a piglet being killed, but to Gojo, it was a sign of your joy, it was a sign of life, and it sounded adorable. He couldn’t help but stand up and hug you – though it was to stop your loud landing stomps from waking the neighbours downstairs – but just between you and I, it was his best excuse for physical contact.

“Calm down, calm down, you’ll wake the neighbours.” He giggles at your flushed face and scrunched-up paper.

“Gojo, it’s half the lottery! Half of it! Who cares if the neighbours hate us!” You stare at the TV as the next number is revealed.

“Oh my grandmother's age 89!”

If it weren’t for Gojo’s strong arms wrapping around your form, you would’ve dropped to your knees. The squealing died down the smile boiled into shock. You stand there holding your ticket, unable to process.

“89! You have 89!” Gojo looks at you wide-eyed with blue glittering in his irises, as beautiful as the day you saw him. Not going to lie, but he has six eyes activated just to double-check check he’s not seeing the numbers wrong.

“And the last number of the day”

Your hands have clamped together like a prayer. Gojo follows suit.

“Please let it be a 6, let it be a 6. I’ll do anything, I’ll sacrifice anything for this, please be a 6.” You mumble under your breath.

“Oh the age of my nephew.”

Your eyes shoot open to the screen with high hopes.

“Number 6”

You plop down onto the sofa like a dramatic teenager.

“No way.”

Your ears began to ring as you stared at the numbers, unblinking. Your eyes drift back and forth between the second row and the only row on the TV, your mind refuses to bridge the gap between reality and impossibility. Then, a sharp inhale from the man beside you, your eyes fixated on the screen, you didn’t even see Gojo jump up and down like a kid before crashing into you for a bear-crushing hug. His weight forced you down on the sofa like gravity pulling you back to bed on Monday mornings.

“Oh my god” you whispered, you clutch the ticket in your hand like a fragile thread between your old life and the one about to begin. 

Suddenly, you stood up still brain dead like a zombie.

“What’s wrong?”

“YES!” your mouth cracks into a huge smile, all teeth and gummy, you whip your head to Gojo before crashing into his arms like a tidal wave, locking tight, feet barely touching the ground, rubbing your head in the nape of his neck. He rocks you back and forth squeezing so hard it felt like you were going to fuse into one with him. Pure, unstoppable joy pulsed between the two of you, a hug so electric it could light up the world.

“I won!”

“You won!”

“I won thanks to you!”

“What?” Gojo breaks the hug by placing his huge hands on both your cheeks, pushing your face back to view it.

“Look!” you laughed hysterically, waving the ticket in his face, pointing at the very numbers that were the same on Gojo’s passport, credit card, debit cards and birthday cards.

“You’re my lucky charm, Gojo! I’m gonna buy you that penthouse and then … and then I’ll take you to dinner. It’ll be my treat to thank you for being the best househusband ever! We’re going to get those Dior pants you wanted on your first shopping day with me! We’re going to buy premium roe, wagyu steak and caviar!”

You look at the screen again, worried that the very numbers would vanish. But they didn’t! Your breath hitched, your hand slaps to your mouth as your eyes widened again like the galaxy.

You burst into motion again, jumping up and down like an exploded confetti. You spin in circles in your tiny apartment, nearly hitting your furniture if it weren’t for Gojo guarding your Ballerina form. Your laughter bubbles like a shaken can of soda. You kick off your slippers and land face-first into the couch before kicking your legs like a teenager in love.

“I WON… I ACTUALLY WON! OH MY – AHHHH!” You shriek with tears of joy, sitting by your eyes. Without any preparation and all but a drunken spike of excitement, you press your soft plush lips towards Gojo’s face, just before touching the lips, your sense of self tilted your head to the right, landing the kiss on the corner of his lips, which you can borderline call an accident for missing his cheek.  To you, this was just a kiss of appreciation, of excitement of genuine love and respect to this very godly man whose birthday number ended up being your winning series. Potentially a kiss laced with deeper emotions delicately woven into unspeakable intentions.

However, to Gojo, this was something entirely different. He was holding you up in his arms so soft and small that he feels like he could wrap around you twice. You, so tiny and insignificant in the world, were going to be the one to treat him to all those nice things. He’s always been the one to spoil others, be it expensive jackets for Megumi, Or fancy sushi for Nobara. You were so weak that you’d fall ill from being too hardworking. You were so sweet that even when you were struggling with a stalker and probably needed the money to move out to safety, you were still thinking about those pants he was jokingly whining to get. You who kissed him on the cheek in fear of his discomfort. Deep down – no scratch that – not even deep down, Gojo wish you were brave enough to kiss him on the lips. How can someone so “insignificant” suddenly rush her way through his infinity, bash out all those bad days and charge right into the centre of his heart? Is this familiarity? Is this belonging? No. Gojo knows for sure.

This is something ten shades darker than crush.

His hands embrace you closer just a bit more before you break apart from him to see his face. His arms feel cold without your presence.

“I have something to give you.” He states calmly, a stark contrast to your previous dopamine strike. Voice soothing and hypnotising. “Turn around.”

You obey his command easily before you hear the ruffling of his clothes as Gojo digs into his pocket, taking out a piece of jewellery. The hair on your neck stands up as you feel his hands looming near your jugular vein. Yet the fear that he’d kill you for the lottery money never flashed through your mind, maybe cause he’s rich, maybe cause he’s a good guy or maybe because you love him enough. A cold piece of metal settles in between your collarbones, dainty but sharp, yet not enough to break skin, however enough to forgive sin.

Suddenly, Gojo feels a string of cursed energy presence, the barrier of the world just trembled – the faintest crack unnoticed by everyone.

But to him, it was like a tremor through his very core. A quiet pulse of breaking. He feels like throwing up, the cursed energy only seems to increase by every second, a crack that is widening.

This changes everything.

No matter how irresponsible they call Gojo, he is still a man who is prepared, but he’d be lying if he said no desire to hide here and live out the rest of his life with his sweet unofficial wife.  

“There you go”. His voice is a little more sullen now.

Next life. He’ll make you his in the next life.

Your hands fiddle with the small pendant, the shape of a key, it was silver, glittering against the morning sun.

“As expected, it looks better on you.” He forces a cheeky voice and tugs a Playboy smirk while you are in awe, he got you “jewellery”.

Wait. When have you heard him say something that cheeky before? Your eyebrows lift as you dash to the nearest reflecting object, which happens to be the hallway mirror.

“GOJO SATORU!” You yell angrily, stomping in front of the cream-haired giant. “Is this the cuff’s key-“

“It is.” He cackles with delight at your anger.

 Tick Tock.

“You asshol-“

“It’s for my realm’s safety.” He didn’t have to word it like that. He really didn’t. Realm? Right, that’s right…

He’s not yours to keep.

Tick tock.

“It’s not just a cuff. It’s a special grade item long lost in history. Who knew it was lurking in the furthest part of Tokyo in the prison realm. The key of forgiveness and the abyss shackles. My realm can’t stand having two together.” Gojo’s usual smirk faltered, the mischief in his eyes blown out like a candle in the wind of truth. For a moment, he just stared – silent and tired – before the laughter left him entirely. His gaze, once sharp with foxy flirts and cheesy pickup lines, turned heavy, shadows pooling where light used to dance. “The abyss shackles will help me win Sukuna, but he can get by if the key of forgiveness is in the same realm.”

Gojo inches closer to your face, a purr of truth and pain “So, my prison guard, please keep that necklace safe and away from my realm.”

Tick tock

Gojo didn’t want to go. He didn’t. He wanted to hold you in his arms, to tear you off this planet and take you with him. Finders keepers, right? But the logical part of him overrides his intense desires. This world you live in is a dream, no curses, no monsters, no danger. Tsuki is no longer a living threat you had to worry about all the time. You’ll be happier left where you’re meant to be, at least that’s what he concluded after reading the manga. The amount of deaths and uncertainty, the war and blood, someone as sweet as you shouldn’t have to go back with him.

Oh, but he wants to, his hand is itching to hold you and engulf you in cursed energy so he can potentially take you back with him. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t do that if he loves you, and he does.

“Do you have to go back?” You ask the big question with a hesitant tone and a voice crack, imitating that of a baby deer's dewy eyes gazing at its mothers.

Tick tock

This world was cruel. It gave Gojo what he can’t have and what he doesn’t deserve, only to tear it away from him. He knows he'll live life like hell in the next decade. He’ll then proceed to live like an empty shell, drunk on his lucid dreams about you. Leaving you is like a double-sided tape being ripped off Gojo’s paper heart – painfully torn and resistant. The wound won’t come off cleanly cut. Bits of you will be stuck in his, torn fibres clinging like memory. You were like a daydream.

“Do you have to go?” The second time you ask, Gojo could hear your gulp.

Tick tock

You know he’ll say yes. You know he’ll leave.

You know, you know, you know.

But you just don’t want it to happen, is that so wrong of you?

You’ll never feel the same again. The bond and familiarity you two have built cannot be constructed in any man you’ll ever meet. You were thinking of introducing him to your mom.

“I do.” Tick tick.

The broad smile that used to be the beacon of your day slipped away, and in its place, you hear a small sniff of a nose, a tiny sob, a tiny crack in his voice, and his figure fading.

“Sato?” You call out endearingly. You drop the receipt out of your hands as both of them grab around Gojo’s.

“Sato, what’s going on?”

He smiles at you because he knows you know. You stare into his sapphire eyes once more.

“Satoru don’t do this to me! You still owe me rent! I still have to show you so many delicious dessert places. You promised!” Your sobs seem out of place to him. You were such a cheery girl, he couldn’t bear to see you tear up like this. It's as if the world is joking to both of you. You may call Gojo your lucky charm, yet this prison realm is cruel, for you are being taken away from his grasp – like a punishment.

He's served his sentence here.

“Don’t leave me Sato!” You lunge to hug him, but by the time your arms manage to feel any sense of warmth in your arms it evaporates.

He’s gone like he was never here.

Chapter Text

(Minor edits such as setting of the unsealing and people present have been made for plot purposes!)

It’s weightless, creeping dread, like standing at the edge of a vast, unlit cliff. The people waited there with hope yet fear for what the man who’s been locked up has become, concerned if he still has the mental capacity to function. His existence is still a question, no one can be sure if he is alive. As Hana Kurusu uses the last bit of her energy to open the back gates of the prison realm, Gojo escapes from the front door with a skull in his hand, crushed to pieces, dangling as the connecting string of spine fell to the ground.

That was not a sign of mental stability.

The crowd doesn't dare to approach him, not when he might be a changed man. Whether he sides with Megumi or Yuji, how much time does he need to process? Does he still have his power? Will he beat Sukuna? Even Kenjaku is holding his breath while watching from the edge of the area.

There he stands, tall and powerful. His muscles were larger, he stood a little hunched over, and his hair was down, no longer supported by the blindfold he wore to block out the world. A world that overwhelms him with responsibility, honour and cursed energy overloads his senses and overruns his sanity.

He can only find peace when his mind drifts back to you.

“It’s Gojo!” a voice from far calls out to him. But he’s numb to the call.

Across Tokyo, Shoko uncrosses her leg, shifting in her chair, eyes glued onto the livestream. Bodies lay cut open behind her on the examination table, neglected and bleeding. Nothing was as important as Gojo. 

“Something’s wrong.” She mutters under her breath. As the wallflower of the trio, she has monitored Gojo's microscopic expressions ever since Getou's departure. A stammering fear that Gojo, too, would one day shatter from the unworldly pressure, directed down the wrong path. Gojo's vacant, unfocused, almost glassy eyes seemed as if they were looking through things rather than at them. His usual goofy spark of life - gone. Leaving the blue dull and hollow. Gojo's lips pressed into a thin, lifeless line. No tension of anger or sorrow, just absence. Muscles slack, wrinkles etching deeper, head tilting forward with a faint shake of disbelief and numbness. 

Something is gravely wrong. 

The last time Shoko saw Gojo with such a void, absence of fight, joy or hope was with his soulmate, his moral lifeline, his best friend. 

Everyone was rooted in their position, unsure to approach to fight or retreat to hide. The only pair of pitter-patter steps was from Yuji. The lightness in his step, each pace under his foot, eases his shoulders, feeling a little bit lighter, each pant untying his knotted heart a little more, circle by circle, and his eyes tear up as his beloved sensei’s figure becomes larger and larger. The Saviour is here.

In the static silence, Gojo's knees gave way beneath him. He folded slowly, as though the weight pressing down had finally proven heavier than bone, heavier than will. Shoulders sagged forward, arms hanging loose at his side. He didn't bow...he collapsed, kneeling as if the earth itself had to claim him. 

The man was undone and emptied in front of all creation.

He closes his eyes, hand reaching into his pocket to feel the outline of the cuffs, reminding you that what he loved was real.

“Gojo?” Yuji slows his pace to him. Everyone held their breath, even Sukuna in Megumi’s body who watched the livestream from afar.

Yuji finishes the final few meters of his approach with softer steps, creeping closer like a curious cat seeing their owner cry for the first time, paws hesitant of every flinch the master makes.

“What’s wrong?” Yuji gets close enough to whisper the question like a secret.

“Nothing. I just…lost something.” His voice cracks. He’ll never wash the shirt he’s wearing for it held your scent that lingered when you hugged him, reminiscent of your subtle perfume and laundry wash. He’ll never see sapphire in his collection the same, he’ll never cross a white cat with blue eyes without feeling a fleeting longing.  How can he love his 7-12-78 ever again?

The cursed energy around him was achromatic, where all light is absent. Black cursed energy flickers in the wind like an unstable burning flame of anger growing larger and larger by the second. His eyes were unfocused. Such vulnerable position would be the best time for Sukuna and Kenjaku to strike, yet something about the colour of those glowing irises made them step back. In fact, everyone except Yuuji made an involuntary step back. The burning cursed energy grew and grew until it engulfed the entire area in a suffocating hold.

Gojo lifts his head up to an angle where he can properly inspect his student’s wound, noting the manga he read to be true. The cut on his lip, the tear on his eyes and everything else was spot on. He truly went into a world where he was just a mere character.

“I’ve read it all. I know how to deal with Sukuna.” An audible sigh excretes from Yuuji’s mouth before he asks, “Are you…oka-“ Yuuji shuts his mouth, he knows better than to say that.

Gojo pats down to the winning wild card in his pocket, the round circular objects that you mistakenly him for stealing from a love hotel. The cuffs that will render cursed energy useless. Make him useless.

“Forgive me. I am not as sweet as you think I am.” Gojo says to the ground where the prison realm box was obliterated into mere dust.

Shoko’s eyes widened behind her screen.

“Argh, my back.”

Gojo’s breath caught. The aching and empty sensation, like someone carved open the insides of his flesh to make a mould for molten metal, burning him. Yet, with one familiar croaky voice, all the pain stops. His muscles unfreeze to life, but his head doesn’t dare turn around in fear that it was all a hallucination. All a dream. If it weren’t for all the drone cameras, enemies and students watching him, he would’ve been bawling until his blue eyes were blinded by what he can’t have.

“Sato?”

He can’t turn around. He knows you’re not there. He’s hallucinating again.

“Sensei, who’s that woman?” Yuji jumps into his view before Gojo whips his head around to search for your familiar silhouette, like ripping a Band-Aid off a fresh wound. Instead of what he expected to find – an empty ground with rubble and debris – he saw the purpose of being alive.

“Sato?” You raise your head with eyes puffier than two sausages, bright red from excessive waterworks.

Of course! He couldn’t sense you because you had zero cursed energy. Like a beast released from his shackles, he hurriedly crawls up to you, his knees catching into tiny sharp debris that scrapes against it, catching skin and blood as his eyes filled with the kind of desperation that would make a mother go wild.

“Oh my god! Satoru!” You shakily crawl up from the ground, flinging your arms around him. Gojo’s hands went under your waist swinging you up into his arms, carrying you like a cradled baby.

“I thought you disappeared!” Your hands shoot to his face as you glide your thumb across his smooth skin to double-check that he’s there. Those sapphire eyes stare into yours like you were the last thing alive. You were the lake in a dry desert. You were the sugar to his cake. You are the cherry on top of his life, lost and found.

“(Y/n)” he whispers endearingly, worried that even a longer breath will blow your existence away.

“Sensei, who is that?” A crisp young voice slices your attention from Gojo, making you turn your head to the sound, much to Gojo’s demise. He was glaring at Yuji.

“Yuji?” You frown.

“Hey, you know my name! Did sensei mention me?” Your heart clenches upon seeing Yuji's awful wounds. No young boy should ever go through the cruelty he has. That huge cut on his mouth looked painful. Wait.. Yuji? Why is Yuji here? You look around at the ruins you were in and-

“AHHH!” Gojo startled by your reaction, held you tighter.

“WE’RE GONNA DIE! I’m gonna die…Oh no, I don’t know any cursed techniuqes. I’m gonna die. IS THAT SUKUNA” your breath hysterically increases as you spot more and more familiar silhouettes that you’ve only seen in your past daydreams. “OH NO! YOU’RE GOING TO DIE.”

You whip your head back at Gojo, imagining the dimming of those glittering eyes. Then a soft chuckle, transitioning into wild laughter snaps you out of your head. Gojo puts your foot on the ground and wraps his muscular arms around your head, pulling you closer until your cheeks land on his chest, hearing his heart beat loud.

“You’re going to be fine, honey.” A smile stretching from ear to ear makes Yuji relax his tense shoulders.

“Honey, huh?” Mei Mei grins behind the camera control panels.

“You’re going to die.” Your brows knit together in worry.

“I know.” Somehow, his soft voice calms you.

“But…but argh, why didn’t I show you the manga earlier. I was going to when we got closer, but I mean at first I didn’t want to be like the movies and cause some kind of butterfly effect, but then you just disappeared, I didn’t even-“

“Darling.” His breathy voice puts a pause on your speeding brain, “I’ve read it all. We’re going to be fine.”

His large, rough hands glide to the back of your head, cupping your skull, tilting it upwards so that he could bow down and his lips could connect with yours. The soft plushness that you’ve secretly imagined is on you. He closes his eyes as yours were still in shock wide open.

“Mmh!” Your shocked mumble drowns out from the sensation.

No, no, you have to be serious. You need to save him somehow. Your paws push against his pecks in protest, only for him to deepen the kiss and lock your head in his hands. You couldn’t run away as his tongue glides across your lips, asking for access, his large palms digging into your hair and cupping your head so you couldn’t turn away from the obsessive force. The way he moved his lips was as though he had been starved, with intense eagerness and a hurried pace. You didn’t open your lips to grant him access inside, that’s okay. His fingers lace into your hair and tugs on it until the sharp stinging pain like your strands were going to be lifted off your scalp. It made you yelp in pain opening your mouth.

“Ah!” You feel a large intrusion, a hot tongue thicker than yours filling your mouth, tasting you. All you could do was gently slap on the hands that held your head so tight like a Venus flytrap savouring its last meal.

Yuji, being the sweet boy he was, turned around blushing. Sukuna and Kenjaku trudges away from the scene, leaving Gojo to him and his new found love.

Regardless of how demoralized war can be, who are they to deny a sorcerer of finding a sweet bean like you to hold dear in his arms. The two were old enough to know exactly what that warm hug and passionate kiss would have felt like to their souls. Of course, the specialists in this area, Rika and Yuta, had kindly covered others’ eyes as Shoko smiled behind her screen for the first time since high school.

“Guess Grandma Gojo’s death wish is happening after all.” Her finger trails across her bookshelf as she stops at the medical journal she thought she'd never use

“Maternal-Fetal Medicine Clinical Obstetrics”.

“(Y/n)” Gojo finally lets you breathe. His soft eyes and small smile morph into a familiar sly tug of his lips, eyes glimmering in cunning, foxy evilness “It’s your turn to be broke and homeless.”

He winks at you like you were a customer at your jewellery store waiting to be seduced and lured to purchase “ Your turn to be the househusband…ah no, it’d be… my little housewife.”