Fav Dynamic

fav dynamic

End of a dream

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Gojo the womanizer, they called him.

Yeah, ‘he will break your heart’, you were told.

But they don’t see the look in Satoru’s eyes when you tug at his arm when you ask him to stay the night. No one knows how he kisses your forehead every night, restless until he makes sure you’re asleep.

Your friends warned you, they told you he fucks girls for fun. But they never warned you of the intimacy his grip holds, or the softness in which he huffs your name, calling you as if you were the last girl alive. No one warned you you’d find yourself stuck in his arms every morning, kept close like you’re life itself.

You knew Satoru’s a busy man, everyone presumed he’s busy fooling around with someone else. But you know better. You’re the only one who sees him wounded, muttering that he’s fine, it’s just a scratch, but hissing whenever the cotton dips at his skin.

His blue eyes were dangerous, you were told—and they are, in all the ways you weren’t told. They’re sweet, caring, and lost. He’s not sure what he’s doing, he doesn’t know right from wrong, and he thinks of you as an anchor. You used to think his eyes were crystals, bland and rich and hard to reach. But Satoru’s eyes were an ocean, behind them hid a thousand lives in a man who is not thirty yet.

Satoru brings you flowers every Thursday, a different arrangement from last week, and tells you it’s a good day to celebrate having you in his life. Satoru apologizes when you sneeze because you’re allergic to one of these flowers—he spends the next week making it up to you until it’s Thursday again.

You’d been told he’ll dump you over text, but whenever he’s away on a mission he texts you to make sure you know he loves you. To make sure that you love him. He promises you he’s gonna kiss you until you pass out when he’s back, he tells you he can’t sleep without your snores, he swears he’s going to lose his mind if he can’t see you for much longer.

Satoru listens to every word you say, memorizing every note your voice rises and committing it to memory. He remembers every topic you discuss, every movie you talk about, every pet you gushed over, and even every problem you complained about. But his favorite? Oh, the way you moan his name, trying to hold back but it comes out sobbed and pitched and desperate. He loves it so much he hears it even in his dreams, waking up needy and clinging to you.

And oh, people sing of the miracle he is in bed, chanting of how good they hear he is. But he’s clueless; unsure how to please you, afraid he’d get things wrong. It’s so sweet, really, the way he studies your face, waiting for confirmation that yes, he can continue. That he’s making you feel good.

You heard people say they’d never seen him with the same girl twice, but today you celebrate your second anniversary. Your third anniversary. Your fourth anniversary, when he insists you celebrate at home, unlike every year. Where he gets down on one knee in your backyard, asking you with keen eyes to make him the happiest man alive.

‘Oh, but he’s not a family man,’ You’ve been warned, ‘he’s so busy, your family would be a mess!’ But he swears he won’t be happy until he gets a kid with your eyes. Satoru holds your hand every night, reminding you that he wants to have children and watch them grow with you, promising you you’d be a happy family until the very end of your days.

He’s the strongest, you were told. You told him to stay, you told him it’s too dangerous to go. But he promised he’d come back, what could possibly go wrong? He is the strongest, after all, that’s what all the tales of him tell.

But everything else they said was a lie, and this was no exception. You swore you loved Gojo Satoru, but you’ve never hated him more than when you received news of his death, a baby in your stomach, only three months away. Even when you weep over his coffin, begging him to come back, promising him you’d never be mad at him again, promising him you’d never keep him up late again, promising him you’d never stand in his way again, he doesn’t. 

You don’t regret Gojo Satoru, you never could. But you wonder to yourself every night, what would you tell the little one growing in you? That her father was a legend? Would she understand that?

"That's what you're going with?"

Nobara looks at Gojo skeptically, and her teacher blinks back at her, confused.

"...What?"

The brunette rolls her eyes, and motions in Gojo's general direction.

"Midnight Lotus, really?" she looks at him, disappointed. "It's clearly a Vanilla Cream day."

Sighing, she looks to Megumi for help. "It's like he wants to get divorced at this rate."

Satoru watches the interaction between the two, scandalized. He wants to what?!

"Now, now, Kugisaki, I'm offended you think so little of me! My wife loves me far too much to leave me over some cologne choice. Plus, Midnight Lotus smells awesome!"

Nobara looks at him scrutinizingly before lifting up her fingers to make two Ls as if to look at him through a frame.

"It's giving...paintbrush." She says, squinting disapprovingly, looking at Yuji for backup.

He nods sagely, replying with full seriousness. "He's low-key cooked if he thinks this is what's gonna seal the deal for him."

Satoru looks at them confused, already feeling old from his lack of understanding of their slang and yet he understood enough.

"Hey! You know she's my wife, right? The deal was sealed 7 years ago."

"I still question her judgement back then." Nobara mutters, eyeing her teacher's childish behavior. "But no matter! We're going out to buy you better stuff instead of the crap you wear."

Despite Satoru's protests, Nobara's dragging him out the classroom, leaving a oblivious Yuji to follow after them (he's just happy to be here) and a disgruntled and reluctant Megumi who trails behind the three (he is not happy to be here.)

Satoru does admit, his student's blatant insults towards his ability to be romantic does take a hit at his ego a bit, but he knows deep down he could get them to stop whenever he wants to (he doesn’t).

He can't help but feel his heart warm underneath all the complaints and groans, because he knows that they love him.

And they love you too.

Which is what Satoru tells himself while Nobara and Yuji drag him around the mall draining thousands of dollars from his wallet (it's okay, it's just pocket money).

He knows it'll be worth in it the end though, when he goes home to recount his day and hear that gorgeous laugh of yours.

God, he can't wait to have kids of your own some day

A/N: We all need a little more dad gojo in our lives

Kakashi, collapsed facedown on Gai: But… but they used to think my dogs were SO COOL…

Gai, patting his back: I know. I know.

Gojo Satoru is nothing but a weapon.

During the first week of your transfer, that’s what you realised everyone thought. The higher ups, his colleagues, even his students. They all knew deep down, when it comes down to it, Gojo would be a weapon that they could wield for victory. He is the strongest sorcerer, what else could they think of him? That’s what he was summed up to be, even if that’s not all that he was.

Even if Gojo tried, subconsciously, to show off his amazing, colourful personality to the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers, they turned their heads away and ignored it, as if silently asking him to be the strongest, and that’s all. You saw it in Nanami, when he disregarded Gojo’s playful banter by asking him to be mature, or in the second years, who downright ignored him wherever he cracked jokes or played around. Even Megumi, ignored his benefactor, usually annoyed and bothered by his presence.

Because if he wasn’t being useful, why would they care?

If he wasn’t talking about curses, they didn’t listen.

If he wasn’t out on a mission, they didn’t care.

If he wasn’t teaching, they didn’t listen.

Why would they waste their time putting up with him if he wasn’t giving something in return?

Why would they listen?

That’s the dynamic you picked up on pretty quickly; you were smart when it came to social situations. Though you knew they cared for Gojo, and their intentions were not to make him feel bad, you couldn’t shake away the unbelievable unease that accompanied when you thought about how he must feel, being ignored time after time for letting his personality show. He’d never admit it, but you just knew.

So, you decided you’d be the person who acknowledges him.

You’d listen when he spoke about anything and everything.

You’d laugh at his many jokes, again and again.

You’d play along when he made his funny gestures, making your own hand hearts and ridiculous kissy faces.

You’d crack even worse jokes in front of him in hopes that he’d laugh.

You’d buy him the kikufuku he spoke about one time, because you knew it would make him happy.

You didn’t care how unprofessional or childish you seemed to anyone else.

Because to you, Gojo Satoru was just Satoru. He wasn’t just the strongest, he wasn’t just the honoured one, he wasn’t just a tool in battle.

He is the most welcoming person you’ve ever met. He’s the funniest man you’ve ever had the honour of knowing. He’s charmingly childish, and always makes you laugh. He makes sure you’re full after a long day at work. He makes sure you’re happy when you’re with him. He makes sure you can find an ounce of joy in this cold, cursed world.

You make sure he knows how much he means to you. You make sure he knows someone listens to his jokes. You make sure he knows he can share his personality with you. You make sure he knows he’s welcome anytime with you. You make sure he knows he’s human.

Gojo Satoru is not a weapon.