Being Kept - tomodachi - 呪術廻戦 (2024)

Chapter 1: Damn

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, was meant for humanity but was not meant for humanity to keep.

In a sense that he carries their survival of many on his shoulders but they can only do so much to thank him. He doesn’t need their thanks nor their sobbed out sentiments about how thankful they were, how their family will forever remember his bravery and sacrifice f- yadda yadda yadda. As long as his pockets are full and his ego inflated,nothing mattered.

He picks at his ear, waves them off as he walks away. It would have been rude but when he flashes those pearly whites? Anything is forgivable.

He was meant for humanity but was not meant for humanity to keep.

In a way that his own path may claim his life. But ah, remember, he is the Strongest. So if Death couldn’t claim Satoru, he’d claim those close to him. Death already did anyway, and the last straw for him was when Satoru had to help Death claim his best friend.

No one was able to hold any sort of relationship with Satoru.

So with his wallet hefty with crisp cash and a lonely heart, the same applied to romance .

He was never faithful nor content with any woman or man.

He was never meant to be kept.

Just as long as he had his bed warmed and ego stroked, it didn’t really matter that he had unconsciously taken up the identity as a manwhor*.

The strongest jujutsu sorcerer, a whor* through and through.

Didn’t help that he was an idiot with a low EQ.

“You’re an asshole!”

Satoru just stands there dumbly, hands limp at his sides as he watches his recent date for the week or more (?), shoveling her things into her bag. She was full on bawling, and her poor bag would rip at the seams at the rate she’s going.

“We were just... talking,” he says lamely, not quite aware whether he was talking about his booty call whom she discovered when the number flashed at his screen or the fuming woman herself.

“Bullsh*t,” she growls, rubbing her wrist across her nose as she attempts to bully her way past him, “You already took me on three dates, Gojo!”

Satoru simply steps aside, his tall, lanky self no longer blocking the doorway of the living room. The fact that he doesn’t even stop her stings. Her momentum that was meant to shove him away was never needed, causing her to fall into an awkward pace of step at the easy allowance.

Was it three dates? Damn, they all look the same.

And he wonders why she was even irritated earlier for getting her name wrong.

The woman stomps across the foyer, making her steps short. Hoping that by some miracle, this ivory-haired man, who had no business being this f*cking attractive, would catch her wrist, pull her to his chest in a locked embrace, she would resist but he wouldn’t let go, he would mutter apologies, sincere compliments, if she were lucky maybe even get a kiss, she’d cry, he’d wipe her tears, hush her, then tell her--

She was already at the front door.

The handle has never felt colder.

She dares to turn her head to glance at him.

Satoru was still there by the doorway, expression as empty as it first was when she first burst into tears and accusations. His hands were in his pockets as he looked on.

He was a damn idiot with a low EQ.

“Uh...need me to call you cab?” he queries with a tilt of his chin to flash a sliver of those cerulean hues. The question was sincere and said with an air of uncertainty with the way she had paused to look back at him with those expectant but indignant, teary eyes.

Her lips thin into a line and she hisses before slamming the door, “f*ck you, Gojo.”

Satoru only stares after the door rattling the nearby picture frames.

But Satoru does not keep any picture frames--because it wasn’t his apartment to begin with. Didn’t matter, he was leaving soon anyway.

He sighs, responding to the last message that elicited such an ending,

“Yeah i can come over ;)”

“You asshole!”

Yeah, yeah he’s heard that for the 5th time that week if you included his frustrated coworkers any way.

“What does she have that I don’t?!”

For one, better hygiene, I can see the chicken from dinner stuck between your teeth and the same make up from last night--maybe even the day before that.

Honestly, he may have the lowest EQ but at least he was not an idiot enough to kiss that mouth. But he was idiot enough without even thinking straight to have just flirted with a stranger from the club who obviously had not left since the night before. Shoko did once tell him that he was whor* enough for anything that had a hole.

Maybe she wasn’t wrong.

And damn, was it getting out of hand.

A hand that was just about to slap him hovers inches away from his face, his Infinity automatic and well geared. He was just glad that she was drunk enough to not notice or even remember.

His phone rings.

Yet another unsaved number.

And yet another cycle.

Gojo Satoru was never meant to be kept.

If he had seen himself two years later, in your kitchen, setting up a wild array of take outs he grabbed on his way--he would have had a stroke.

If he had seen himself two years later, in an almost one-year relationship with one person exclusively , waiting for her to come home from a long day at work--he would have gouged his eyes out.

If he had seen himself two years later, greeting you at the door, taking your coat, pressing a kiss at the top of your mussed up head while you beam up at him in spite of your fatigue. Gojo Satoru, loyal, with increased EQ, and domesticated--his younger self would have asked Ijichi to step on him.

Damn.

“Smells good,” you hum, kicking off your shoes and sighing at the release of the pressure, “What’s cooking?”

Satoru wags a long finger in front of you, “Sorry to disappoint you, baby, but you won’t be graced with my Michelin Star worthy cooking tonight.”

You scoff and slap his chest. You later learn that this man was only capable of burning water. You begin making your way towards the kitchen to see your counter entirely covered with a variety of boxes and paper bags. Your mouth waters at the sight, savory aroma wafting through your nose. You liked to eat away your stress and your boyfriend was observant enough to have known this.

Striding over the paper bag marked as KFC, your hands immediately unfold the bag, and about to reach inside for the steaming bucket when a pale hand slaps your wrist. You hiss and glare up at your boyfriend. You're only met with an amused smile--and when he flashes you those pearly whites, anything is forgivable.

“Nuh uh, baby, let me take care of it,” he nudges you with his hip to head to your room, “Go change, get comfortable and we can eat.”

Your stomach protests but the idea of not having to stuff it full under the firm clasp of your uniform convinces you to give in. You pout and begin dragging yourself to your bedroom. Satoru sneakily reaches for your butt to give it a sudden pinch. You yelp pathetically, shooting him a dirty look then hurrying to your room.

He chuckles after you, shaking his head as he begins setting out all the boxes of fast food, desserts, milktea, and appetizers. It was a feast.

And damn, if he knew two years ago that he would find himself here, in a quaint apartment kitchen, humming nonsensically through his smiling lips, happy and for once content--maybe he would have behaved himself till that fateful day he found you in an old deserted amusem*nt park, dared by your friends to search for some so called cursed object, which coincidentally was Sukuna’s finger.

Satoru hears footsteps bare against the floor as you walk back into the kitchen and he tilts his sunglasses lower to peer at you. Your wandering hands once again reach for one of the bags, undoubtedly hungry and impatient.

“Babe-”

“I know, hun,” you retorted before sheepishly looking at him, “I’m just...really hungry.”

He laughs reaching for a specific bag, “That’s why, I have these while you wait.”

It's comical the way that your eyes light up that it makes his stomach flip. He cursed himself for ever making retching noises at sappy romantic scenes of some pocket book-developed-into-a-movie. Right now, in the warm light of your kitchen with the sun finally sinking behind the highrise buildings--he was extremely guilty of the said romantic scenes. You cup your hands over the steaming bowl of dumplings. The man then seizes your hips to hoist you up the smaller space of the marble counter and you grin, always thrilled by the amount of strength he has between those lean muscles corded beneath his milky skin. Nearly eye level, Satoru returns your smile, it never faded anyway. He braces his hand on either side of you while your legs dangle and kick in glee at his sides when you pop a warm dumpling into your mouth. You underestimate its heat that your mouth hangs open as you wave your hand over the steam.

“Ha-hot,hot,hot…”

Satoru chides your haste but is still entertained with the way you force yourself to adjust to its temperature. You sigh in bliss, eyes closing over the bursting of flavors on your tongue.

Completely enamored, the white-haired sorcerer nuzzles his nose against yours before peppering you with kisses--from your puffed out cheeks, to your temple, between your eyebrows, jaw and finally, lips.

You hum, contentedly wolfing away at the dumplings while your boyfriend hands you the different sauces for them.

“No work today?” you ask through your full cheeks, noting that he was dressed down to a loose dark-tee and jeans.

He shakes his head, frosted wisps swaying over his forehead as he sets to work. “I had to spend my day-off all alone,” he tells you with a pout, “I was so bored.”

“Bored huh?” you repeat, picking at another dumpling, “Wonder who you tortured this time.”

“Ijichi’s a lonely man.”

“And busy.”

“--he was thankful for the company.”

You roll your eyes knowing it is near impossible to bring this egoistic man to earth. Poor Ijichi, you take note to bake him some cake.

Ping.

You look down to find Satoru’s phone at the corner of the counter next to you. The number was unsaved and unfamiliar, bright against the lockscreen of a stolen selfie of you spacing out.

“You have a message, babe,” you inform your boyfriend, picking up the device to hand over to him.

“From who?”

“ ‘Snt saved.”

“Leave it, must be another one of those scammers.”

Just as you were about to place it back down, it was followed with another ping--and one more. You swallow the remaining meat in your mouth before bringing the phone over to Satoru who was meticulously plating a bucket of chicken wings. You were about to tell him it was fine to eat from the boxes themselves but you shrug it off, you didn’t mind cleaning up unless there were pots.

“They messaged again, babe, might wanna check that out.”

Without batting those snowy lashes, he responds with a, “Ah, just read it for me, baby.”

You shrug before tapping in the familiar pin to his phone.

Satisfied with his elegant (read: atrocious) plating of the chicken wings, he glances over at you, white light of his phone illuminating your features. He sets another plate and snags another bag,

“Well, babe?”

You were oddly quiet with confusion gracing your features.

“What did they say?”

As quickly as it came, your expression shifts to its normal resting state. You clear your throat,

“ Hey Gojo, remember me from the gōkon last year? “

Satoru, with the most delicate alabaster skin, pales.

“ -- I’m sorry for being so immature with how we parted. “

Satoru, with the inability to ever feel cold due to his Infinity, freezes up.

“ --You were the best I’ve ever had. I’m back in the city if you ever wanna catch up! ;) “

Satoru just wants the floor to swallow him whole.

Then he’s waiting for it, waiting for you to fling his phone to the floor, to his face, hop off the counter and begin pounding his chest, screaming profanities and questions.

“Babe-” his jaw feels like it's locked when you simply pass him the phone without any violent reaction or bite in your gaze.

“Babe, I swear… she-- I don’t know how she-. I don’t know her.”

Gojo Satoru barely stuttered, he barely panicked.

You only nod your head, “Mhm, I know.”

You pop another dumpling into your mouth.

He waits for it, waits for the fat tears to begin bubbling, for your lips to quiver, to hear you choke on your dumpling before you completely lose it.

It’s happened before, he’s seen his previous partners’ turn green with jealousy and red with rage. He’s seen the betrayal burning in their teary eyes. He’s seen how his actions have caused detrimental decay over their confidence. He’s become accustomed to the sight of their pain and insecurities. He was a terrible partner.

He was accustomed to being free--not kept.

Satoru didn’t want to see that color take on you. He doesn’t want you to believe in the stinging doubt when he’s been nothing but loyal to you. He doesn’t want that one message to bring disturbance over your confidence. He never wants to see the sight of your pain and insecurities caused by him. He wants to be a good partner.

And maybe he just wants to be kept by you.

So in two steps of his long legs, he stands in front of you, and hesitantly places his hands on your hips. When you do nothing to push him away, instead chew away at your food and look at him inquisitively, he begins to explain,

“Baby, there’s no one but you. That was the last gōkon I’ve ever been on-”

“When was this gōkon?”

Satoru pauses to think, he was sh*t at remembering insignificant little things.

“March? Er...April? Between those two months.”

You hum seemingly satisfied, “Oh, so it was during the time we just met.”

Exactly, babygirl, and I was getting attached. I was desperate to forget about it.

“Yes, and I swear, baby, I swear on it,” his fingers are digging into the material of your pants, “When we started dating there was no one, no one else. Just you, baby, just you.”

He was well aware of how pathetically honest he was but he was pathetically desperate to keep you from having any second thoughts on your relationship.

You only smile up at him, plopping another dumpling to your mouth.

How were you hungry but not angry?

Oh sh*t, she’s plotting my death--she’s planning to kill me.

“I’m not going to reply, sweetheart, look,” he fumbles for his phone, relieved his panic does not reflect on the shaking of fingers, “Look see, I blocked them. Oh wait--did you want to say something? Did you want me to say something to her? Right, right--hng-- She won’t bother us anymore, she’s gone, babygirl.”

Your brow raises at his rushed speech, unused to the shift from his self-assured demeanour. Damn, those dumplings must be something else.

She’s going to kill me in my sleep.

“Just you, baby,” he says more sternly, kissing your forehead before leaning on it and he could smell the steaming dumplings between the two of you, “Just you, there’s no one else and there will never be anyone else. You’re perfect, so f*cking perfect. They got nothing on you.”

Satoru was suddenly aware of the wild pounding in his heart, fearful when you do not react in either of the two common responses he’s received. What if there was a third? Where you’d quietly walk away and leave him? Erase your data off of the face of the earth and he’d never find you? No, this time, he wanted to be kept.

“Uhm,” you finally start when you swallow, “Yeah? I already know, baby.”

The white haired sorcerer is stunned, speechless. He leans away from you to scan your features for any possible hints of fallacy. He sees none but your cheeks full once again, eyes glimmering with happiness over the flavorful combination with the sauce.

“You gonna finish up or-” you mumble over your full mouth while gesturing over to the unopened bags.

“But baby,” Satoru stammers, “Are...Are you good? That girl… I-”

“ ‘Twas last year, babe, it's fine,” you wave off, nudging him back to his task, eager to chow down on the unhealthy amount of fast food.

He reluctantly pulls back with a final squeeze to your hips. You weren’t lying. He knew when you were, he felt when you were, besides you were a terrible liar. There was not an inkling of doubt towards himself nor any uncertainty towards yourself.

His hands began working their way through the paper bags, sneaking a glance or two in your direction just in case you trembled with rage. Just in case he misses any of your salty tears. Just in case you held one of your prized kitchen knives over your head.

The preparations goes in peace and you would occasionally chirp about your day or show him some stupid meme you found on your phone.

When he wakes up the next day after some restless sleep, genitals intact and not a single frosty hair out of place. When he showers without acid falling onto his face. When he eats without choking to death. When you send him a goodmorning selfie, wishing him a good day, and an “i <3 u”, does he finally heave out a relieved sigh.

Damn, since when was I puss*.

Maybe it was because for the first time, he realized he was never meant to be kept. He was Japan’s lowest EQ holder with an ego that sprouted from being so sure of himself. Just as long as he had his bed warmed and ego stroked, it didn’t really matter that he had unconsciously taken up the identity as a manwhor*.

Gojo Satoru was never meant to be kept.

And for the first time does he realize, maybe, just maybe, he could change that--he’s started anyway.

Because damn, Gojo Satoru wanted to be kept by you.

Chapter 2: What?

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru was meant for humanity yet he wasn’t meant for humanity to keep.

Jokes on them though because he can milk humanity for all its worth.

The man had a natural presence, strength, and influence. He was skilled at his craft--hell, he was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer after all. Being charming and chiseled by the gods themselves was the cherry on top. That was a death sentence for any resistance and a warrant to have his way. He was a privileged bastard who could get anything he wanted, anytime he wanted from anyone he wanted.

One look, a flash of his celestial eyes, he’d have their attention.

One smile, he’s taken their breath away.

One word, and they’re on their knees.

Jokes on him because he was wrong to assume everyone was the same.

Especially when he met you.

Of all the places in the world, why would Japan’s most cursed objects be in an abandoned amusem*nt park?

Cursed objects were usually kept within more active buildings teeming with life to ward off any other curse.

The gate was poorly sealed shut with rusty chains and a lock. It was so old that you could hear the cold winds jangle the oxidized fence, swaying with its movements. Unwilling to waste any more physical energy, Satoru simply warps behind the gate.

The amusem*nt park was not grand, in fact it was fairly small due to it being closed down before it even opened--something about the place being haunted, taking disappearances of workers with it. The tarpaulin was hanging off the tent frames, crudely painted horses of the carousel and shattered glass from a popcorn stand. The ferris wheel’s cars swing with the wind, the faded white and red paint a stark contrast against the night sky. The grating against metal was shrill and eerie, if the shaman wasn’t so used to cursed sights, he would have shivered.

All of a sudden he hears some distant murmurs, some garbled laughter, and lights flashing from a distance, in the heart of the old carnival.

“She’s actually doing it.”

“Careful, (Name)!”

“Adding ¥1,000 to my bet.”

“Make it ¥2,000 if she gets out without crying.”

“(Name), we get it you’re brave but don’t be stupid!”

He sees three figures, dressed in corporate attires, two probably drunk with the way their speeches slurred and delirious giggles. They must have gotten off of work to celebrate with some drinks and decided it was an absolutely great idea to steer off the edge of the highway to see the infamous haunted amusem*nt park. They were flashing their phone’s lights through the fence on what looked like a half done skating rink. Satoru notices a pair of heels kicked off the side and a fourth figure maneuvering through the dug up rubble inside.

Then he sees it--sinister cursed energy inside the skating rink.

Followed by smaller ones beginning to make their way to the center, sensing a potential to be stronger curses.

It seemed there would be inconveniences retrieving Sukuna’s finger but for now, he needs to get these irrelevant civilians out of the way.

“Watch out (Name)! You could hurt yourself --oh dear why did I even come in the first place.”

“¥4,000 is waving, ‘ya hear (Name)?”

A new voice speaks behind the group, “You’ll each get ¥10,000 if you would so kindly leave this place.”

The friends shriek in unison, haphazardly flashing their lights to the ridiculously tall stranger behind them. Satoru doesn’t flinch at the bright lights, he had a blindfold on anyway.

“Who ‘re you?!”

“Make it ¥20,000 then,” Satoru bribes, noting the cursed spirits slowly making their way to the center.

The friends stare at him dumbfounded when the strange man pulls out his phone then asks for their QR codes. The drunkest of them all whips out his phone without hesitation nor sense of modesty.

They watch as Satoru casually sends him the promised amount, eyes blown wide in disbelief. They exchange glances before offering their own phones to which he drops in cash nonchalantly.

“A’ight, now if you please leave this place,” the shaman says with a wave of his hand, intent on clearing the area of civilians.

“But-”

The protest irritates him.

“We can’t leave without, (Name)...”

Oh right, there were four of them.

Satoru directs his gaze over the rusted, 10 foot fence where he sees your figure with the flashing light of your phone, scrabbling over the barrels and bricks--an impressive feat if you were just as drunk as your friends were. You were already at the far end of the rink, stopping before something. He sighs, before easily leaping and hoisting himself over the fence. He would have to give you a bigger offer for your bravery.

He found you jostling a lock of a closed kumano shrine. You were picking it with a pin from your hair as you tucked your phone to your chin at an awkward angle to shed light on the worn metal. Satoru raises a brow behind his blindfold, impressed at the wit, control, and that you had not noticed his presence behind you.

Any normal civilian would have been wary over the heavy atmosphere and the drop of temperature, but you weren’t. Muttering curses to yourself you gasped when the lock falls away with ease.

“Hey.”

You don’t even flinch at his voice. You were all but shooting him a surprised glance and the first thing he notices is the clarity of your eyes--you weren’t drunk.

That and well...

You were down right attractive. Even under the stark contrast of the flashlight against your features, he could see clearly that you are.

Satoru loses track for a bit, blinking when you do.

A smirk slowly curls into his lips.

Damn, he was going to be lucky tonight. A highly coveted cursed object and a beautiful woman at his disposal.

A beautiful woman, who looks well off on her own with the recognizable corporate and neatly pressed attire. A beautiful and brave woman who would give into her friends’ idiotic and drunken dares without any trace of fear. A beautiful and-

“Halloween isn’t in months,” you deadpan, looking away to feel around the shrine, “What's with the rip-off...er what’s that dude’s name in Naruto again...Kakashi?”

What?

Satoru’s smirk drops.

A beautiful and snarky woman.

He brushes it off, he has his blindfold on and his loose dark clothes. Poor woman, poor you, it was understandable you don't swoon by now.

“Nice try but I was actually going for something else,” he banters, amazed that you have not died by now when you have an old box housing Japan’s most dangerous cursed object in your grasp.

“Oh,” you say, too distracted and amazed at the ancient talismans tightly wrapped around the object while you trace a finger over it.

His assignment had been conveniently taken care of by a curious and no sense of danger type of civilian. The cursed spirits were drawing nearer, crawling over the rusted fences and you can hear the rapid rattling of metal which causes the three other friends to screech. Satoru needed you all to leave so he could exorcise these low level curses with ease.

“You and your friends need to leave,” he tells you, hearing the disembodied growls at range,”And I need to dispose of that.”

You hum without a question nor, “Okay, okay, just let me…”

Your hand fumbles with the phone and you tap open for the camera while Satoru watches in bewilderment as you take a selfie with a box that holds the finger of a legendary cursed spirit whose influence reigns over Japan 1,000 years later.

There was a question at the tip of his tongue but you beat him to it.

“Those idiots wouldn’t believe me if I didn’t do it,” you explain, checking the burst of photos you took.

Satisfied, you toss the box over to the white-haired shaman. No questions, no hesitance, not a long look at his direction and not even a goodbye.

A beautiful and interesting woman that then scurries off to her waving intoxicated friends, easily hauling herself over the fence in that pencil skirt that leaves little to his imagination.

It was just one, short encounter that played in his head during his mind-wandering moments, which was inconveniently often.

Gojo Satoru was blessed with talent, power, strength, riches; he was charming, and chiseled by the gods themselves. He milked those privileges for all his worth.

He would never admit it out loud but he felt quite a loss from not having a single person take at least five seconds to look at him or swoon without even trying. There were plenty of pretty ladies out there really and five booty calls in his contact list.

What was only one person’s disinterest right?

Right.

You brushed him off like Shoko would and has been for nearly half of his life. She didn’t give a damn about him either. In fact, the only reason must be she was probably asexual as he often teased her for.

Maybe you were the same, right?

Right.

Satoru vaguely remembers Ijichi constantly stressing and muttering apologies over the disorganized files from the past month which resulted in inaccurate information or delayed deployment of sorcerers. Nanami, fresh from the salary-man world, does not comment nor berate but rather asks the poor manager to elaborate on the problem. Shortly after taking one look over the mess in the desk and the system, the blonde sorcerer requests to meet with Yaga.

Satoru could care less over Ijichi’s troubles, Nanami was simply too observant, kind in his wayward way, and practical for his own good. Whatever was discussed in that meeting screwed him over when it resulted in Nanami walking into Jujutsu Tech a few days later with you in tow.

Nanami was too practical and too generous for his own good.

The white haired sorcerer could see you better now, the sun high and warm.

He was right that night.

You were downright attractive.

Last time all he saw was your disinterested and nonchalant expression then briefest flash of fascination over--a dead man’s finger.

This morning, you were all bright eyed, tailing Nanami with an excited smile as he held a back and forth discussion with you. It was the most Satoru has seen the man talk if he wasn’t chewing his ear off on how work was sh*t and so was jujutsu sorcery.

Satoru may have been labeled by Shoko as a whor* for any available hole out there, but he had boundaries for himself. For one, he would never sleep with or date a coworker. Jujutsu sorcery and his manly needs were kept separate for professionalism no one would expect to have in him.

It didn’t matter to him that you used to work with Nanami. Or that your grandfather was once a jujutsu sorcerer and you had Heavenly Restriction. Or that you probably saw the abundance of cursed spirits that night and didn’t bat an eyelash.

It only matters that you were here for a few months for some secretarial and administrative work to fix up the systems. He would never sleep or date a co-worker as he watches Yaga shake your hand. Yet, at least. It only mattered that all he saw was a new name to add to his list of booty calls once you were out of here. Might as well butter you up while you were around.

Sure, he got what he wanted fast and easy, anywhere at any time. Still, there was some fun keeping a person at arm's length. It was like that sickening satisfaction of tapping at an animal’s cage, coaxing them with food they couldn't have, and giggling at their frustration. Satoru, in all his blessings, was a sick man with a skewed moral compass after all.

“Oh hey,” after Nanami introduces you to the rest of the faculty, you finally glance at Satoru properly, dragging your eyes up and down his figure.

He grins back at you, feeling his ego inflate at the small gesture he was so used to receiving, “Hey.”

A single eyebrow brow lifts in recognition, “You’re the rip-off Zorro.”

You were a beautiful woman and had a funny way of distinguishing people.

Satoru isn’t phased this time, taking note to come into campus in a more casual wear. He chuckles, tilting his head to the side, “Thought it was some dude from Naruto last time.”

You shrug and the hum that curves your lips is terribly attractive, “It was too dark, I changed my mind.”

This earns a frown from Nanami, knowing what implications Satoru carries when it comes to women. Shoko’s face grows even more weary than it already was as she pointedly asks you, “Wait, does this mean Gojo-”

“No, no, no,” Satoru cuts in with a wave of a large hand, “This was the civilian who picked up Sukuna’s finger the other night.”

The blonde sorcerer’s shoulders visibly relax and Shoko suddenly gains a newfound respect from you. Shoko was relieved to have another female in her age group. It would be such a shame to let that man taint you and she has great temptation to warn you. However, the doctor brushes it away, predicting that the idiot they call the strongest jujutsu sorcerer would get his chances based on the way his eyes were sticky on you behind that blindfold.

Yet, Satoru was blessed and chiseled by the gods. He milked it for all his worth. He always got what he wanted.

Lucky but conceited bastard.

In his nearly three decades of existence, Gojo Satoru had a sure fire formula to bring anyone to their knees for him if they were too shy to make the first move (1. Killer Looks 2. Compliments 3. Gifts ). Part of the charm, really, was to remain mysterious but available. But if his mere presence had not intrigued you, then he’d make a point that he indeed existed.

He had approximately 3 months before you’d leave. Hence his mating call began.

Your first day at work was easy. Staff had been called for a brief general meeting, perhaps to share how you’d be working your way through each department or what not.

Satoru didn’t realize it but he had walked into the meeting room on time, oblivious to the way his colleagues’ eyes bugged out of their heads. He takes special care to sit deliberately right across you--it was crucial to his formula.

“Speak of the devil,” Shoko mutters to which the white haired sorcerer responds with a, “Were you gossiping about me?”

“Yeah,” the doctor deadpans before tilting her head to her side to tell you, “Like I said, he’s terrible with time.”

“And professional decorum,” Nanami adds as you were sandwiched between the two.

Count on the strongest jujutsu sorcerer’s colleagues to trash talk in front of him.

Satoru easily redeems himself from the forerunning impression of himself, “Can’t help it if you’re the strongest and in demand.”

Now was his chance, he uses his thumb to push up the fabric over his eyes. Your eyes, which had been trained on him, blow wide. His eyes were pretty, he knew that. So with that single revealed hue of the sky iris, he winks over to you. Shoko’s brow twitches while Nanami isn’t phased but your eyes are still wide in fascination and shock. It was the same expression he saw when you were observing the box you picked up the other night. He pulls the blindfold back down before crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk.

In a little while your gaping will soften. In a little while you would burn a bright red color. Or maybe in a little while it will be a modest dusting of pink.

“Oh, wow, this is awkward,” you say, waving an embarrassed hand over your face as you lean over to Shoko, “Here I am being so discreet about it.”

In a little while you would compliment his magnificent eye color-

“But I thought he was blind with some cursed technique that helps him see.”

What?

Ijichi is startled at your statement and he clears his throat to mask a choked laugh bubbling in his throat. No one, at least a newbie, has ever downplayed the strongest jujutsu sorcerer like that. Nanami sighs at your ignorance and evident lack of knowledge over jujutsu sorcerers and their techniques. Shoko decides she likes you.

Stage One of his mating call has failed.

Before Satoru could dig himself a deeper hole, Yaga snaps out of his stupor for a moment, handling it with ease as he clears his throat to call attention. “Good morning, everyone.”

Stage Two needed to come into play and that was fine. Women are easy but they are peculiar. So he tactically waits until your first week at Jujutsu Tech has been completed because here you are now on a Friday late afternoon about to walk out of your shared office with Ijichi.

Lucky, he would be walking in the same direction as you once you head out of campus. The walk would be long too and he has never been thankful for the wide, unnecessary expanse of Jujutsu Tech.

Sure enough, he sees your tired figure, switching out your dress shoes for a pair of sneakers as you make your journey to the gates.

Satoru follows you, casually walking in step.

“Oh, heading home, sweetheart?”

He easily catches up to your pace, inattentive to the grimace you make at the nickname. But in spite of yourself, you smile, “Yeah, it’s been a long day.”

He hums in agreement, noting the tired but satisfied visage.

“Nanami said you did secretary work at his previous company before this?”

“Yeah, I worked with him closely a couple of times.”

“Y’know you should celebrate,” he suggests, body leaning towards you, “Your work has helped us out a lot and it's only been a week.”

You bow your head with a relieved smile, thanks at the tip of your tongue when Satoru continues.

“And here I thought you were going to be making phone calls and brewing us coffee.”

Your face completely blanks and Satoru keeps his grin over this. Of course, how would one person react to a compliment over their efficiency and exceeding expectations?

“Ah, y-yeah,” you stutter and for some reason, your pace increases in speed.

Satoru’s ego swells. You must have been so overwhelmed by his compliment that you couldn’t thank him.

“Any interesting plans for the weekend?” he presses on, long legs easily closing the gap you created. The question was essential to figure out whether you were in a relationship or seeing other people. He may be a manwhor* but he had his boundaries.

“Ah,” you give it a thought, “Just the usual. Stay in, play some video games and maybe movies.”

Yup, you were most definitely single. But just to be sure...

“Heard there was this new psycho-thriller movie coming up tomorrow. Neat stuff,” he pipes, “Horror is perfect for a movie date if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” you say, the edges of your voice cracking into something a little more cold, “Besides, I don’t have anyone for that nor do I need to to watch a movie anyway.”

Bingo, you are single.

“Really huh?” Satoru feigns shock, his tone rising in disbelief, “How are you still single?”

You scratch your cheek and tightly smile up at him.

Of course you would, how would one feel when such compliment means that they are too good to be-

“Very easily,” you grit your teeth. All of a sudden you halt then stiffly bow, “Now if you excuse me, I need to catch the next train. Goodbye.”

Before Satoru could blink a second time, you were scurrying off into the gates.

He chuckles to himself, feeling a little too victorious.

Stage Two seemed to be effective. He never had gone past Stage Two, however, for you, he’d probably go as far as Stage Three.

But for now, he’d linger on Stages One and Two. You’d probably give in way too easily before your term in Jujutsu Tech had been completed. Again, he still had his boundaries with co-workers but you’ll get there.

After all, he was blessed and chiseled by the gods. He milked it for all his worth. He always got what he wanted.

Satoru doesn’t realize it but he’s begun to keep count of the expressions on your face--it was the most interesting part for him anyway. Right now he was at his third count, watching you, in your third week of work, point out files on the monitor’s screen with Ijichi. Your face was stern yet held a certain shift to kindness when you glance at the lanky manager while you explain figures, systems, yada yada yada.

He could care less as he rests on the door frame, admiring the way the sunlight filtered through the windows softly warms your face when you laugh Ijichi’s confused expression away. The sound eases the highly strung man a little, quirking a crooked smile as you start over again, leaning on to the desk more. Naturally, Satoru’s eyes drag to your back, seeing the seat of your pants hug your ass.

He had been drifting between Stage One and Two for the past weeks and each time you had successfully acknowledged his existence. Anytime soon he’d probably shoot for Stage Three, offer to bring you to a pastry shop or bring you some sweets after a mission. Hell, he’d most likely offer it to everyone so it won’t seem like he was laying it on too thick on you. He’ll figure it out later.

“Ijichi,” immediately the man’s head shoots up towards Satoru, ”Prep the first years’ mission.”

The said man dutifully blurts out a ‘yes’ before bowing to you to excuse himself, grabbing the tablet on his way. You offer him a small wave as you simply carry on without as much as sparing Satoru a glance.

You were both alone now--perfect.

Satoru leisurely walks over to your desk and when you realize that the man who crudely ordered the sweet Ijichi around hasn’t left, you perk up with a professional smile on your lips.

“Yes, sir? Anything I can help you with?”

Sir, oh he liked the sound of that.

But to start it off as friendly, he’d have to be familiar around you, right?

“Sir?” he laughs, taking a seat, and with some regret in his heart, he says, “Gojo will do. I’m not your boss or anything.”

At that, your hands freeze at their swift typing and you lean away from the monitor to take one good look at the man before you.

Gotcha.

“Gojo? I didn’t even recognize you without your costume,” you declare, brows raised incredulously.

Yeah, he wore casual on purpose and no, it’s not a “costume.”

“The one and only,” he chuckles, stretching his legs over the second seat in front of him. In spite of his glorified Six Eyes, he is oblivious to the way your fingers twitched at action.

You give him a wry smile, “Sorry.”

Satoru tilts his head down to your desk, purposefully flashing a sliver of those cerulean hues. He scans the papers splayed before your desk, ones you were probably encoding into a better system. The higher ups were old geezers after all, who didn’t bother with it but rather ordered them around.

“Heard your grandpa was a jujutsu sorcerer and you see curses too,” he starts when you don’t strike up a conversation with him, “That means you saw them that night too huh?”

You simply nod at him, discreetly looking back over the monitor and papers. Ah, you must be flustered eh?

“Then why didn’t you run away? It was clearly dangerous,” he asks, a little more out of curiosity than small talk.

You blink at him once...then twice.

You must be really flustered. One peek at his eyes really was more than enough for a woman to drop her panties and-

“Same reason as you?” your voice wavers from its polite tone at the end, somewhat close to a deadpan, ”If you’ve seen them your whole life, why run.”

Satoru was a damn idiot with a low EQ. Right now, the former was evident.

He was at a loss for words, he was anticipating some sort of opening to educate (read: flaunt) you the danger of cursed spirits most especially if they consumed Sukuna’s finger. At the same time, he can’t make the pause fall into awkward silence so he opts for a follow up question.

“Ah, but you have Heavenly Restriction, right,” he quickly adds, “In exchange for what?”

“I can see cursed spirits and have great resilience to curses but no cursed energy at all.”

That explained why he dubbed you as a civilian in the first place. So basically you were immune to curses or you had physical prowess.

“I see… so with that ability, why didn’t you become a jujutsu sorcerer instead?”

He wasn’t feigning anything this time. With a little more training, you would be of use to the jujutsu world.

You stop your shifty glances at your work space. You grin sweetly at him and he finds himself grinning back. He finally found what made you tickle--sincerity. Totally not his style but he could fake it if he could.

“Y’know, Gojo,” you say softly and lean a little over the desk. Your smile unwavering as you speak and he can’t help but flicker his gaze to your lips.

Here it is. You’re taking the bait.

So sincerity and praise was your kink--gotcha. It was slightly bumpy to get here but he managed it. Damn smooth, Cassanova, he thinks to himself.

“If you had been paying attention instead of checking out my ass like a damn pervert, you would have heard this in my introduction the other week.”

What?

“Work is sh*t. Jujutsu sorcery is also sh*t. If both are equally sh*t, best take the one I’m well suited to,” you lean back with your arms crossed, the professional demeanor long gone, “I’m basically on the other end of Nanami’s spectrum. Well, that and the pay is almost the same.”

You pause with a sigh before bracing your hands over the papers and keyboard again, “So, Gojo, with that being said, is there anything I can help you with? I mean, before you chased Ijichi away for some non-existent mission, we were both very busy.” There was that icy edge to your voice, “There must be something terribly important that you must come to me, a part-timer for, other than ogling like the f*cking creep you are, by the doorway.”

The man blinks at you from beneath his glasses. Speechless.

The room fell silent with the hum of the monitor in the background. There was an occasional cry in the distance from a certain ginger and a strawberry haired boy as they whizz past your building.

Yet the loudest man in the campus was here, stunned to silence.

All at once do you feel the hard glare tightened across your face, your clenched jaw and the blood pounding in your ears. It sank in that you had struck the man dumb and you realize your rude outburst. Your eyes widen and you immediately stammer in a panic.

“Holy sh-...ah, I’m so sorry that was very rude of me to say on the spot instead of just talking to you like a proper adult,” your sudden shift into a blubbering and embarrassed mess was quite the sight.

“This is embarrassing. I really meant to confront you about it but it all just came out this-”

“(Name).”

You straighten in your seat, shocked and fearful with hearing him use your name instead of the sleazy nicknames he’s been addressing you the past weeks.

Satoru’s head was bowed towards his folded arms now, contemplative and serious.

“This whole time, you thought I was a ‘f*cking creep’ ?”

“Uhm, y-yeah.”

He hums, toying with the foreign thought in his head for a while and you squirm in anticipation.

“You mad?”

What?

“Gojo,” you deadpan this time, easily shifting back to the indignant creature earlier, “If you constantly feel sticky eyes on your body, receive weird-ass compliments, be followed out to the school gates--just downright being a pervert and a creep, you wouldn’t be on f*cking cloud nine.”

That’s where you were wrong, he would die for any sort of attention.

“I see, I see,” he mumbles, throwing his head back against the chair, “Sorry.”

You scrutinize him, as if you did not expect that easy apology from him even if it was well meant to be. This was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer after all, blessed, and chiseled by the gods. Anyone would apologize for something that was clearly his fault.

You open your mouth to close the discussion but he beats you to it.

“So to you, I’m a creep, huh?”

You made it clear, called him that about two times already. You raise a brow before scratching your cheek, “Uh...yeah.”

A creep.

There was a long rest of the man just reflecting what had just progressed, denying every assumption he had of you in the past.

He was blessed and chiseled by the gods. He always got what he wanted and he got it fast and easy.

He chuckles, lifting his legs off the chair to stand up. There was some sort of fear that flashes across your eyes. You’ve never heard of any living testimony of people being able to insult (in your case, confront him with the truth) Gojo Satoru. That was with the exception of Nanami and Shoko but that is just because they were built different.

Satoru faces you, his figure easily towering over your seated form. The unreadable expression on his face breaks into a grin.

“Well that’s a first,” he simpers before leaning over the table, “You’re different from other women, I can tell. I read people well after all.”

You frown at that and scoff, “So you read at a five-year-old’s level then?”

Still, of all the shady comments and flirtations he’s told you, that felt the most sincere. In fact, it probably was.

“Nah,” he laughs before continuing, “But,”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“I like it. I’m not going to stop.”

Your mouth opens and closes at his stolid declaration with a disbelieving, “What?!”

Satoru got what he wanted, fast and easy. By the end of the day, whether his intentions or motivations were unclear, he got what he wanted.

But that didn’t mean that Gojo Satoru minded working for it.

“You will want me, eventually, (Name). I’m just gonna have to change your mind about me being a creep.”

There was a brief pause over you incredulously gaping at the grinning man hovering over you, evidently stubborn with his resolve.

“Are you actually serious, right now?”

Maybe, for the first time he was.

“You bet, baby girl.”

Gojo Satoru was meant for humanity yet he wasn’t meant for humanity to keep.

He can milk humanity for all its worth.

One look, a flash of his celestial eyes, he’d have their attention.

One smile, he’s taken their breath away.

One word, and they’re on their knees.

You weren’t the same, in fact, he read you wrong and you’d done the opposite.

Jokes on you if you thought he was giving up.

Chapter 3: Well

Chapter Text

Me:

hey ^ω^
(9:24 PM)

Co-worker Fantasy:

Who's this?

(9:30 PM)

Me:

guess (-‿◦)

(9:30 PM)

….

Me:

tall

(9:35 PM)

strong

(9:35 PM)

handsome

(9:36 PM)

....

Me:

its gojo if u havent guessed it by now

(9:51 PM)

Co-worker Fantasy:

What do you need?

(10:02 PM)

Me:

my number to be saved ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ

(10:02 PM)

Co-worker Fantasy:

Got nothing better to do than wait for my reply?

(10:05 PM)

Me:

nah

(10:35 PM)

u busy

(10:35 PM)

Me:

i guess u are (≡ε≡；)

(10:52 PM)

or sleeping

(10:54 PM)

who even sleeps at this time? ヽ(´ー｀)┌

(10:54 PM)

ok grandma

(10:56 PM)

…

It was already 11:43 PM. Satoru’s phone is strangely silent.

Gojo Satoru was meant for humanity but was never meant for humanity to keep. And there was always that thrill of wanting to keep something that wasn’t meant to be. They wanted to keep him.

So you had to be either playing hard-to-get or asexual.

There was no in between with his experience of being ghosted or ignored.

When he realizes you would not respond, it leaves him strangely unsatisfied. So with a shrug, he composes a new message.

Me:

u up?

(11:45 PM)

He puts his phone down as he leans back against the couch, but unlike earlier, the reply came as quickly as his message had sent.

Booty Call 2

yep ^.~

(11:45 PM)

Gojo Satoru treats people like transactions. It’s a give and take. They give him attention, he gives his. But even enterprise was his bitch. He got everything for free by simply existing much like how some celebrities were famous for. So from experience Satoru knew some women were...for a lack of better word--greedy. It was a transaction after all and when the offer was tempting enough, he too was willing to pay.

But Gojo Satoru was not meant for humanity to keep which meant he can not offer something of himself but rather something from himself.

In this case, maybe you were greedy.

And there was nothing his fat...wallet could not supply.

Fortunately for him, you were walking down the same hall as he was--all alone. It was the perfect time to lay out his offer. You spot him and you duck your head towards the tablet in your hands, fingers deftly typing and eyes immediately focusing on something so interesting that you squint. Prior to your outburst last week, he would have assumed you were avoiding his gaze because you were simply shy. But he’s learned you’re different now. You’re hard-to-get. You were trying to avoid him under the guise of busy-ness. That and perhaps you are avoiding the fact that you left his spam messages last night unanswered.

Of course, he has none of it.

His smile stretches wide as he leans over you as you attempt to bow away from his towering figure, “Good morning!”

“Morning,” you mumble without looking up, side stepping to steer away. He easily predicts this and matches your step.

“How was your weekend?”

“Fantastic, thank you.”

You side step once only to be blocked--again.

“And how’s your day going?”

“Was going fine.”

“Ouch.”

You roll your eyes and attempt to side step once again...unsuccessfully. You shoot a glare up at him, your distaste for this man overwhelming your resolve to at least keep things polite and professional.

“Wait, listen. I wanted to properly apologize,” he tells you, “Y’know...for last week.”

He sees your tense shoulders lower a tad, the fire in your eyes subtly giving way to chance even as they narrow.

“So, you free tonight?” he suggests breezily.

Suddenly, that defensive stance dispatches once more and you roll your eyes, just about to walk away relieved that he doesn’t make any move to block you.

There was a thump against the wall followed by the weight over your waist halts you and you look down to see dark pants stretched over your torso.

Right.

You forgot that this man had a height that was a third of his ego.

Satoru smiles at your pause and hesitance. He’s seen this in some K-drama ads where the leading man would cage the woman into a kabedon when they walk away. It tends to get them flustered as well as adds to the charm of dominance. Kabedon lights the way.

“Ever heard of Hakusha?”

He almost imagines the comical twitch of your ears at that. He bends to his side to peer at your pensive stare. He almost looked like a ballerina stretching over the barres.

Right.

This man was tall and flexible.

“Ya like steaks?”

“I’m vegan.”

You pointedly stared at him. His grin broadens, “They got those options too.”

“What do you say we start fresh, sweetheart?”

Your flat stare does not falter, not even once at the mention of a high end restaurant with a menu worth a college student’s two month allowance. The stoicism throws him off--literally.

He finds himself stumbling backwards when you shove the leg that caged you. His eye brows lift in surprise from behind his blindfold.

No one was able to touch him with his Infinity, especially not with harmful intent.

“I can see cursed spirits and have great resilience to curses but no cursed energy at all.”

Did she mean cursed energy too?

“Has it ever occurred to you to start fresh by literally not doing the things that brought you here in the first place?” You push past him.

“What do you me-”

“What?” you shoot him an icy glare, “You think that your little ‘kabedon’ was cute? Yours is downright creepy and uninviting.”

You wave him off, already five meters away, “Thanks for the offer. Try again.”

He stares after your disappearing figure, not looking back once as you were swallowed by the sunlight outside.

Well.

Me:

u free tonight?

(2:21 PM)

Booty Call 1:

im a lil busy

(2:22 PM)

but im sure i can pencil u in ;)

(2:22PM)

There was a small voice at the back of his head screaming at him not to do it. But he was here again, by the doorway of your office, after two days. He held a velvet box containing an assortment of craft chocolates--imported. The small voice, he can feel, was rolling on the floor in a fit, telling him to just quit it.

Did you not learn from your last interaction and unanswered text messages?

The small voice was the only rational voice among many in his head that simply stroked his ego.

But the majority wins right? Even if you called him a creep, an asshole and roasted him to filth, the majority still wins.

Damn, do I have a degradation kink?

You were busy, immersed in whatever was being shown in the computer screen and typing every once in a while.

It was perfect, really, if you were occupied, you would not have time to reject him.

He raps on the wall softly to announce his presence and he sees irritation flit across your features when you turn your head to spot him.

I haven’t said anything yet…

“Hey,” he greets you, striding to your desk, “I got you chocolates--my proper apology.”

Your eyes narrow up at him and the box suspiciously. He chuckles then shrugs, “Relax, I checked. It’s all vegan.”

You pause for a moment, scanning his face with intensity as if asking him a thousand silent questions. Did he poison it? Was there a love potion? Was there an aphrodisiac? Was he trying to get you to choke? Was he trying to make you constipated?

Satoru, a gorgeous man, was accustomed to stares. But definitely not one as suspicious as this--and he led a suspicious and questionable job, the best at it too.

“Okay,” you sigh when you see nothing ill-intent. The white haired shaman nearly does a double take at the docile tone. Was food really the way to a girl’s heart?

You pat the space beside you on the desk, “Leave it here.”

And just like that you're back to your own little management world, typing away whilst taking notes on a notepad. Satoru gingerly places the box next to you.

“Thanks.”

He lingers for a while in uncertainty. A word that was never in his vocabulary until you happened of course.

You did not bite at him, did not shoot him a withering glare, and did not drag him to filth.

Yet he somehow feels he was not completely forgiven.

Feeling his apprehensive stare, you ask without looking up, “What are you waiting for?”

Satoru scratches his cheek, “Er...you’re not gonna insult me?”

“No- the hell?” your fingers pause over the keyboard as you stare at him in a deadpan, “You got a degradation kink or something?”

He doesn’t answer, not really knowing what to expect from you in the first place. The unknown is causing his brain to combust. Control and omniscience were Gojo Satoru’s saving grace.

Satoru decides to give out a breathless laugh and finger guns at you before turning to leave, “Nah, just a surprise is all.”

You roll your eyes and carry on with your work, “Weirdo.”

He grins at that even as you don’t see his expression.

Damn, maybe I do have a degradation kink.

Well, in the end, he was right. Food was the way to a woman’s heart. You were no exception. If he had done it sooner, things would have been easier. Your order of his mating call was in a different order, the gifts came first.

He smiles to himself. He’d bring you more of those artisan chocolates, he bought a variety of flavors in case you were the picky kind. Maybe he’d bring you something else next time. People were transactions. He didn’t mind paying for it to get to step one with you.

Gojo Satoru has a skip in his step today. That's what Shoko noticed as they walked back from the clinic for lunch, discussing transfigured humans, the technique, and recent cursed spirits she dissected. She knows he isn’t paying attention by the time they reach the mess hall where you were seated with Itadori and Kugisaki. When he notices you, he only gives half baked answers and questions. Shoko inwardly sighs at the attention span of her colleague when his eyes land on anything remotely attractive. And you were really attractive.

Your back was turned towards them, listening to some elaborate prank the two students have pulled on their more serious friend as well as how their missions went. You laugh occasionally, listening to them with great enthusiasm and the doctor notices the velvet box her colleague had been carrying earlier. She glances over at him to see he doesn’t even bother to hide his satisfied smirk.

Ah, that’s why.

There's a little disappointment that settles in Shoko. It was not that you had accepted something from the notorious womanizer (maybe just a little) but it seemed she would soon lose in a bet she’s made with Ijichi. Alas, you did earn her respect for going a month and half without your panties dropping at the mere sight of him.

The smug smirk in Satoru’s face sinks. Shoko looks to see why.

“Man, it must be tough out there for teenagers your age,” you sigh sympathetically and they nod back at you with groans of agreement.

“Here, have this treat,” you slide the velvet box towards them.

Oh-

Well.

“Oh wow,”Itadori breathlessly says when Kugisaki flicks the box open to reveal not a single piece of the ornately crafted chocolates were missing. They were all rounded with unique designs of gold flakes, truffle, white and dark chocolate. There was an elegant note embossed at the bottom of the lid, detailing its origins and how each cocoa was carefully selected.

“Where’d you get this?”

You shrug, “It’s been given to me but I’m not into sweets.”

“Is it really alright for you that we have some?”

“Have them all.”

“Seriously?”

“Like I said, I’m not into sweets.”

Their eyes gleam in excitement, drool pooling in their mouths.

“Let's trade!” the strawberry boy suggests, reaching into his bag for his lunchbox. You try to refuse you but he reasons with you that it's only fair. He passes you a neatly wrapped bento, “I made the meatballs myself!”

“You should have it,” Kugisaki agrees with a wink, “It’s the only good thing about this idiot.”

“Hey!”

You laugh and take the bento.

Meatballs.

Nevermind the chocolates. Satoru has the urge to march right in. Chide Itadori for not being sensitive to your preferences, after all, the older male knew you better. It would be the perfect moment to seize. The ‘concern’ will have you flustered, have you feel protected--what woman does not want that?

But he stops, feeling his initial smugness simmer into nothing when you pop a whole meatball into your mouth. He falls back into step 0. You swoon then compliment Itadori’s undeniable cooking skills before digging for another.

Shoko thinks it's pitiful really. While her colleague showed no sign of emotion, he looked so defeated. She gloats over it for a while before walking forward towards the vending machine.

Me:

u wanna hang?

(12:46 PM)

Booty Call 3:

what? just so u can ghost me after?

(12:48 PM)

Me:

i got chocolates

(12:50 PM)

Booty Call 3:

when?

(12:56 PM)

It’s an izakaya kind of night with Satoru, Shoko, Nanami, and Yaga. Yet the loudest person of the group was distracted.

The small voice was screaming again. But it was overwhelmed by several voices.

She’s playing a lil hard to get.

It’s 6PM, she won’t be sleeping in these hours.

She hasn’t fully rejected you last time.

Satoru is staring at the blinking cursor of his phone and your contact.

C’mon she said she spends her weekends on movies.

She’ll probably do the same again.

You’re the best company out there and your last three booty calls can confirm that for you.

Me:

heyyy~

(6:14 PM)

look at what i got! (￣ω￣)

(6:14 PM)

[attachedimage1]

(6:15 PM)

i got ticket reservations to the premiere of the new movie

(6:16 PM)

He had already accepted you probably would not respond, but it was worth the shot. Shoko notices this with a tilt of her head and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Gojo, quit it already. She’s not interested.”

At this Nanami perks up from the menu, flat stare, eyeing Satoru warily while Yaga shakes his head.

“She hasn’t called me an idiot, asshole, creep or some creative name in a week,” he states as a matter of factly, “She’s going to give in.”

“As much as I take personal enjoyment at the sight, being professional does not entail interest,” Yaga remarks while Satoru theatrically gasps at his old teacher.

Satoru’s phone pings.

1 New Message (Co-worker Fantasy)

Shoko nearly pales at the contact name, “Ugh seriously?”

He opens the message with a triumphant grin.

Co-worker Fantasy

Uhm...Congrats?
(6:22 PM)

“She’s only playing hard to get,” he defends, his own statement a bluff to the ever building doubt in himself.

Me:

u like movies dont u?

(6:23 PM)

lets go (-‿◦)

(6:23 PM)

The brunette already knows what will happen as she beckons the waiter with a raise of her hand.

Your reply comes almost immediately that it catches Satoru off guard.

Co-worker Fantasy:

Premieres are crowded

(6:24 PM)

I hate crowds

(6:24 PM)

Thanks though and good night.

(6:25 PM)

Satoru knew you were lying. Tokyo was crowded. You worked at a white collar job as Nanami, constantly going through crowds to work and dealing with a variety of people everyday. You could hate it but it was your job. One could tolerate crowds if it were for entertainment purposes.

All of a sudden that small voice seems more real to him, sounds a little louder to him, and grips a little more than the other voices.

He was a little too slow to pocket his phone. Shoko catches a glimpse of your message when she reaches over to distribute the glasses. She has half the mind to whistle and half to shut up when she notes the blank confusion in her colleagues face as well as the strange silence. Still, it was a rare opportunity to see the man humbled, so she seized it, “Told you.”

Still in denial, Satoru looks over to Nanami, “Hey, Nanamin, is she asexual? I mean that could be why she does this because I’m crossing the line-”

“No,” the blonde deadpans.

“Then why-”

“She simply has better taste in men.”

Yaga does not disagree.

Well.

They were being terrible friends right now--that Shoko and Nanami were aware of. Yet friends tell the truth. They knew that their snow-haired friend was being self destructive with his habits that lacked emotional awareness and empathy. They knew their friend needed the truth. People were not transactions. People were people. People choose people. People give and take according to their own morals. That's what makes them human. That was humanity.

Gojo Satoru was meant for humanity but in all his godlike physique, responsibilities and abilities, Gojo Satoru was far from being humane.

Yet, he shrugs it off and proceeds to input his order.

Later that dinner, Shoko catches sight of Satoru subtly composing a new message.

Me:

wanna go to the movies?

(7:24 PM)

Booty Call 2:

oh hey! u ok? havent heard from u since last week.

(7:25 PM)

but sure yknow im down ;)

(7:26 PM)

Disgust curls inside Shoko’s stomach, “You’re pathetic.”

In all his godlike physique, responsibilities, and abilities, Satoru chooses to ignore that simple truth.

2 Missed Calls (Booty Call 2)

Booty Call 2:

hey! Ik im early but im here now.

(8:05 AM)

ill just stay inside the cafe while i wait!

(8:11 AM)

1 Missed Call (Booty Call 2)

Booty Call 2:

is everything ok? The premiere will start soon.

(8:19 AM)

hello?

(8:24 AM)

3 Missed Calls (Booty Call 2)

Booty Call 2:

they’re letting people in already

(8:29 AM)

hurry

(8:30 AM)

2 Missed Calls (Booty Call 2)

Booty Call 2:

f*ck u gojo

(8:46 AM)

u ditched me

(8:46 AM)

im sick and tired of ur games

(8:46 AM)

dont talk to me again

(8:47 AM)

Number Unavailable

He really meant to go. Really. He was all dressed up and out the door. Only to find himself following where his feet took him.

She’s not into you.

Satoru will never admit it but he realized he has fallen into a pattern since he met you. There was a sting in a rejection he was never used to, and he relieved it by looking for a quick fix. In this case, it was the unsaved numbers and aliases of “Booty Call #” in his contacts.

He was in his prime. He had every right to enjoy it.

You’re pathetic.

In his aimless wandering for nearly an hour and a half, he strolls into a grocery store. The soft music, rattling carts, and murmurs alleviate the loud echoing of his thoughts.

Satoru did not need validation from women, men, or money--he does gloat in it as rewards for his existence. Reward for his service for humanity. If so, why did he seek yours? Why the need to have a rebound?

If you had such a strange effect on him, he would work to have you.

But why work for someone not willing to be kept? He understood that. He wasn’t capable of being kept himself. He understood but he didn’t. He understood but denied the denial.

There’s a woman with a cart, she has your hair, has your height, has your physique as she pushes her cart past the rows. She looked just like you.

Satoru slams his head against the shelf, rattling its contents and receiving startled yelps from passersby.

Great. Now, I’m imagining her.

He needed to get a hold of himself. It was he who was supposed to exploit people because he deserved it. Not the other way around.

Thinking was a strain. Analyzing was a headache. Reflecting was a migraine. Satoru decides to cheer himself up by grabbing sweets. He was here anyway.

He makes his way through the maze of aisles for the frozen section, knowing his favorite brand of popsicles would be there.

People are like transactions. Some people just are not willing to make deals with you.

Thinking was a strain. Analyzing was a headache. Reflecting was a migraine. He already decided that but why was he doing it again? He fixates his eyes on the pastel colored treats, picking one of each and cradling them in his arms. The cold doesn’t bother him. With his pale hair, icy blue eyes, milky complexion, and incredible powers--he might as well be Elsa.

His eyes are aware of the presence of the same woman who passed by him earlier. He wills himself to not think about you and the whole ordeal again by walking away.

Then in one glance does he realize--it really was you.

Your cart had several treats already, and currently you were holding two different flavored gallons of boba tea, at a dilemma which to take home. His jaw nearly drops when you choose the sweetest one. Of all the million things he prided himself in, it was his connoisseurship of all things sweet.

“It’s been given to me but I’m not into sweets.”

“Have them all.”

“Like I said, I’m not into sweets.”

Yet here you were wedging the gallon of diabetes in between a pile of treats in your cart. You go round your cart towards the handle. There was a skip to your step and a list in your hand, exceptionally happy. He catches sight of a limited merchandise keychain in your bag’s zipper. He feels his stomach tighten in realization. It was the same merch they offered for the first 10 reservations of the premiere that day.

You had been lying to keep him away.

You had been giving excuses to stay away.

You hated him.

It was then Satoru decided, if you hated him, he might as well annoy the hell out of you in retaliation. After all, no one said no to his transactions and wins

His long legs easily reach your pace.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You jump at the sudden proximity, nearly crashing into neatly stacked cans of sweet corn. There was a caustic reprimand at the tip of your tongue but then it burns in your throat when you realize who the culprit was.

Satoru simpers over how your smile had churned into a sour glare.

“Gojo,” you bite out, trying to remain as civil as possible, “What are you doing here?”

He gestures to the cold treats in his arms with a shrug, “What else would one be doing in a grocery?”

You were about to bid him goodbye but the bastard plops his purchases into your cart and nudges your hip to the side in a take over.

“But still better together, no?”

He wheels away before you could protest.

“Gojo, stop,” you jog after him. Damn his long legs. “I could do it myself.”

Satoru snatches the list from your grasp when you catch up to his side. You push against him as he lifts the paper up to his sunglasses. You may be able to touch him, but your office-laden arms were nothing against his physical prowess.

“No can do, looks like you got a ton on your list,” he clicks his tongue, loving the way you stutter and growl in objection, “You’re gonna need my help.”

“No, I don’t, you asshole now leave me-”

“Look,” he demonstrates, pointing to an item on the list--cereal, “Would you be able to reach these by yourself?”

You open your mouth to deny him but then clamp it shut when you realize the cereal boxes on the shelf were easily two heads above you.

Satoru was enjoying this more than he thought. If he couldn’t get on your good side, why not the bad?

“That’s not the one I wanted.”

“Why not? It’s good for you.”

“How do you know what's good for me?”

“It says it's high in vitamins and it's all-natural,” he states it as if it was the only truth in the world, pointing to the said labels.

You sigh and pinch your brows, “Idiot. Do you even know how to read nutrition labels?”

“What?”

You knew it. The man was surface level. Only going for the easy and what is blatantly advertised. You grab the box from his hand, turn the box and point at the blue and white table.

“Look, these never lie. See those? Now look at the percentages,” you point at each one, “Total Fat- 5g. Cholesterol- 3mg. Sugars- 10g. Vitamin D- 2mg.”

You raise your brow at him, “Now tell me, is it truly high in vitamins?”

You had to give it to the man, he was extremely talented at jujutsu sorcery. After all, you worked on the papers and information of each individual in the area. He was tactical and calculating. But he was gaping at you and the label like it was an episode of Mythbusters.

You narrowed your eyes at him incredulously as you had the box back to him to return, “It's all a marketing strategy. I go for the ones that match their advertisem*nt. Do you even do your own grocery shopping?”

You wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t. With a salary like his, he might as well send ten servants to buy him a single bag of chips from each brand--or own his own grocery. He doesn’t answer you, distractedly going through each box of cereal and reading their nutrition labels, comparing them to their claims. He puts them back when dissatisfied by the comparisons. You knew the brand you wanted, but you wanted him to suffer a while.

When he finally finds it at the end of the aisle, he waves it over his head in victory. You shake your head in annoyance when he comes back to the cart.

“Took you long enough,” you say when he chucks it into your cart, “Now may I please have my list back and shop in peace.”

“Nope,” he folds his arms smugly, “You need my help.”

“No, I don’t-”

“Would you have reached the cereal then?”

Your lips purse and you shoot him a withering glare before huffing as you push the cart away.

Still in his mission, he trails after you.

“What’s next,” you grumble lowly and he chuckles before reading the next item on the list.

You had successfully slapped his shoulder and back four times each now.

The man was clueless, always going for the high end stuff, the hot brands, and convincing you to get anything on sale that was not in your list. You had to explain the differences of quality, the math of it all, and realistically how much you needed before they go bad in more than a week.

The normal time you spent in the grocery had doubled by going through each of your tips with him all because he had your list and you had a memory of a goldfish. It didn’t stop you however, from messing with him and telling him that the only way to tell a watermelon was fresh was by seeing if it balanced well on your head.

The entertainment you find in his ignorance was the best thing that's happened to you that day. You engrain in memory the confused and weird stares towards the freakishly tall man, going through each melon then balancing them on his frosty locks. You were almost tempted to record it.

At first, it seemed so bizarre that he didn’t know any of the basics such as choosing between fresh vegetables. As much as you enjoyed degrading Satoru till he realized his own stupidity, he had a genuine curiosity to learn. It felt weird. It felt weird teaching a teacher who was superior at his craft but inferior with basic survival. It all the more felt weird educating someone who always thought highly of himself.

Maybe he wasn’t that bad.

But wait until he’s mastered this better than you and continue on acting like the king he is with that impossible god-complex. You sigh to yourself.

Your list was complete and Satoru was pushing your cart towards one of the queues. It was busy during the weekends hence all the counters were open,

“Well that was quite the learning experience, ey sensei?” your companion chirps, “Ooh that rhymed.”

You suddenly remember how annoying his voice was. You are suddenly wary of him following you around after this. You wouldn’t put it past him after all his troublesome ‘gifts’ and texting.

“Hey,” you come up with an idea to get rid of him, “I remembered I forgot to list some things.”

Tell him to get it, leave out his melted popsicles, pay for your stuff, and dart off.

“It's embarrassing though,” you mock scratch your cheek, “But I do need to make sure I pay instead of you waiting up for me.”

Please, take the bait.

“Hm? Sure. What is it?”

Yes.

“Tampons, pads, and feminine wipes.”

He stares at you for a moment, as if absorbing what you had just told him.

You fight the urge to grin. It’s either he shys away from the task and leaves you or he’s up for it and spends ages finding the right kind.

“Is that why you’ve been mean to me? You’re on your period.”

It took all you had not to lift the cart and swing it in his direction.

“You f*ck-” you stop yourself and inhale, “That was sexist. No. I just hate you and it’s restock.”

He grins and waves his hand, “Nah, I’m kidding. Just figured you might need to add some painkillers and more ice cream in the list.”

He wasn’t deflecting. He was telling what he really thought.

Your eyes narrow suspiciously.

The line starts to move. You follow in step and you muster the most sacred expression you have, “Listen carefully.”

He leans closer.

“Tampons are a fuschia color and regular absorbency. Pads are a midnight blue and with wings. If you can’t find 30cm for night time, 24cm is the minimum. Feminine wipes are a mint green. Make sure they are for sensitive skin and it has a logo of a woman stretching her arms. Got it?”

“Got it,” he copies without hesitation, looking similar to Itadori when being sent on a mission.

“No, listen, really. Midnight blue not navy blue and mint green not a sea green,” you tell him, fully aware that specific name colors were not technically a man’s forte. You hope it throws him off, “I can only use those, not anything else.”

Satoru stands up without any hesitation or question to your meticulous descriptions, “Alright, gotcha.”

And just like that he’s disappeared into the wrong aisle.

Success.

There was one more person in front of you with less items compared to you. It would be quick, seeing the deft hands of the young man in the cashier counter.

You’re a genius. You genius.

You begin picking out and gathering Satoru’s items to place them in the reject basket when the line moves on to the person in front of you. Your blood starts to pump, feeling thrilled over being able to finally spend your weekend in peace. You begin to fantasize an unhealthy serving of that fast food joint you’d go to after, against all your lectures on Nutrition Labels.

Several items tumble gently into your cart.

“You didn’t tell me how many so I just got two of each. I added some sweets too.”

Everything exact to the descriptions you’ve provided.

Your jaw visibly drops and you don’t know whether it was from the finesse of this man picking out your precise needs without flinching away like your ex had or the speed he had found them. You gape up at him in silent question to which he chuckles, unsure of why you had looked at him like it was strange.

“Y’know Megumi right? His sister Tsumiki. She goes by the same brands as you.”

Yeah, you knew he had a half-sister. You organized the papers of these people after all. What you did not understand was what was his deal with the Fushiguros.

As if reading your mind, he answers, “I took them to live with me when their father died. Had to stop Megumi’s sale to the Zen’ins and all.”

You stare at him a little more, letting his words sink in, and dissecting each syllable to find no air of arrogance under the pretense of goodness. It was like he was telling you a fact. He sounded quite amused too like there was a fond memory he had with the siblings.

Maybe he was not that bad.

Still he was annoying, weird, and a womanizer. That was his full time job, being a decent human was a side hustle he was doing poorly at.

With that thought, you realize the cashier was ringing up the last of the person’s items. In a last ditch attempt you send him away again.

“Wait, something’s missing,” you snap, “How could I forget? I really need you to get this.”

He checks the cart then turns to you, “What?”

“I need you to-” you stutter, “Get me a bottle of Rejuva Cooch 3000.”

And almost immediately, without question to your request, he walks away.

Thank you, TikTok.

“Good morning!” the cashier greets as the customer ahead of you grabs their bags.

“Good morning,” you smile back, placing the items on the conveyor belt as quickly as you could.

“How are you?”

It was strange. Cashiers rarely gave small talk in this grocery. He must be new.

“I’m great,” you answer politely even though you were sweating and rushing like a mad woman, “You?”

“Fine,” he says then with a wink,“Not as fine as you though.”

Oh great.

Still, he looked like a nice boy and it caught you off guard that you flush. You respond with a laugh and thanks. The conveyor belt was full and the cart was still half full. The cashier was taking his damn time, peeking small smiles over you as he scanned the items.

“I see you got the merch from the movie premiere.”

You decide to humor him. There was no way Satoru would find that Rejuva Cooch 3000. He’s probably roaming the aisles right now. Best of all, maybe some staff would be gaping at him like he was crazy.

“Ah, yeah,” you tug at the keychain, “I’ve been waiting for the reservations to open since 12AM.”

He laughs at you, “Hope it was worth it.”

“Oh hell yeah I did,” you grin, suddenly forgetting the rush and elated at the change of focus, “It was so cool. You mind spoilers?”

The cheesy lilt of his mouth should have told you what’s coming, “Not when it's from a lovely narrator.”

Honestly, it would have been annoying. Still he seemed sweet, and the genuine curiosity in his response thrills you. You liked talking about things you loved.

“Okay so the thing is we overlook details alot when the plot is so immersive,” you feel like a giddy fangirl, nerding over your favorite movie. The cashier nods in excitement, smiling wide as ever.

“That's the thing. We don’t know how important they are to the whole story until we reach the end. Remember the key in the trailer? It was just for a brief moment but-...hey? You okay?”

The cashier has stopped smiling now, in fact, he looked pale.

“Are you feeling sick?” your brows furrow. He begins to stutter and look down, scanning the items in the same speed--even faster--than what you had seen before you.

“Sorry, I thought you were okay with spoil-”

“Here’s your Rejuva Cooch.”

You're suddenly aware of the shadow you were under, and the strange intimidating presence behind you.

You spin around to find Satoru, a paper bag in his hand, marked from a different store. In disbelief, you snatch the bag from his hand and peep in to see that indeed--it was a bottle of feminine wash--labeled as “Rejuva Cooch 3000.”

Shocked, you look up to question the man, “Wha...How did you- ...where did you find this? How was this-”

“A company decided to make it after that TikTok trend,” he tells you in a flat tone you were not accustomed to at all. He wasn’t looking at you. In fact, he was eyeing the trembling cashier through the exposed sliver of his icy blues. “Only they were selling it in a different store. That’s the last one.”

“How did you even-” you pause, keeping from exposing yourself, “Nevermind. Thanks.”

You pout, watching the ticking numbers of the prices. When the last of your items were bagged, Satoru was still uncharacteristically silent and still scrutinizing the boy. The cashier mumbles the total price and you reach for your wallet when your companion slaps a black card on the counter.

Your confusion melts into irritation at the show of arrogance, “I get it Gojo, you can pay for my organs but this is my grocery.”

You slide your own debit card onto the counter. For the first time since he miraculously showed up behind you, he turns to you with that same old goofy grin, “Nonsense, it's for the lessons.”

You march up to him to protest but the man looks away from you, cheery face switching out for the cold one. The cashier almost immediately takes his black card.

You were willing to fight him really. You did not want to owe Gojo Satoru any favors that he will most likely hold over you in favor of entertaining him. However, you don’t deny the shiver in your spine at this side of him that you, for the first time, have some fear of him.

You let him be for now.

Gojo Satoru treated people like transactions. He was willing to pay when it was well worth it. In all his godlike physique, responsibilities, and abilities, he got what he wanted for free.

He’s paid you more attention, gifts, and chances more than he’s ever had with women yet you decline.

As he carries your bags for you when you walk out the grocery, his mind wanders back towards your interaction with the cashier.

You barely knew the boy. He was not attractive either. He was probably working two jobs to make ends meet.

You knew Gojo Satoru, you organized the papers on him. He was so attractive it's illegal. He could sponsor a whole student body’s scholarship just for fun.

But how the hell did the cashier make you smile, excited, and giddy over something when he only said so much as four lines?

He’s tried more and barely got you to smile unless it was over his humiliation.

People are transactions. Some are just not willing to make a deal with you.

You really did hate him.

The cashier could be your type, he guessed. Satoru was better than the cashier ever will be.

Thinking was a strain. Analyzing is a headache. Reflection is a migraine. But before he fully gives up on dissecting the situation, he realizes one thing.

The cashier was not expecting anything else. His eyes were just as giddy and genuine with your nerdy narrations. He was simply giving his thoughts, simply giving out a compliment, and simply willing to listen to you even though you’ve shown 0 interest (if that's what he aimed for anyway.)

He only gave.

You weren’t a transaction. To the cashier, you were a person. And to you, he was just another person. People being for people without expecting anything in return. People being genuine. People sharing excitement. People being for people.

Thinking was a strain. Analyzing is a headache. Reflection is a migraine. Satoru was thankful he did think, he did analyze, and he did reflect.

Because when you nudge at his arm, looking up at him with a defeated pout, “Can I have my bags now?”

Suddenly, people weren’t transactions anymore.

He shakes his head then smiles, “Nah, let me help you carry them home.”

You cross your arms, refusing to walk as you stubbornly plant your feet by the entrance. You did not want to owe Gojo Satoru any favors that he’ll hold over your head, expecting you to repay them. He stops walking ahead and looks at you, shades sliding lower, head tilted in question.

“Forgot something again? I can get it for you.”

Suddenly, his eyes were no longer that intense icy blue but a soft reflection of the sky above you.

Again, you find yourself dissecting each syllable of his words, searching for any perverse intent under the pretense of chivalry.

You find none.

Your shoulders relax.

Maybe he really was not that bad.

Chapter 4: Not Gonna Happen

Chapter Text

“Gojo.”

“Hm? What’s up, Nanamin?”

“I want you to be straight with me.”

“Well, Nanami, you’re cute but you’re most definitely not my type-”

“Where to?” Satoru asks while you both walk through the parking lot, grocery bags in hand.

The day was bright, not sweltering but warm, all clear skies and cool air. Your fingers fidget against your bag straps as if debating whether or not to answer.

“To my car,” you answer simply, fishing for your keys. The snow haired sorcerer glances around the parking lot, filled with varying cars from luxury to common that Satoru begins to wonder which of the parked sports cars were yours. He knew the salary in your corporate job was substantial and jujutsu sorcerers were generous.

Imagine his intrigue when the car that lights up in response to a press of your finger was a good ol’ Toyota Corolla--common but efficient and comfortable.

“You’re terrible, Gojo.”

“Now, now that isn’t a reason for you to break up-”

“Gojo, be serious.”

Satoru places the bags in the backseat, “So, you heading home?”

You fumble with your bag, hoping he wouldn’t ask to follow you home so you settle with, “Ah, no. I’m running errands today.”

You pause, leaning on the open door to the driver’s side. He did “help” you, paid for your groceries and managed not to be a complete menace in the walk here. Grandfather taught you to always pay gratitude forward in any form of kindness you can show. You always lived by his principles but this--was Gojo Satoru. You’d rather thank him on your own terms than have him hold it over your head with his annoying conditions and deceitful requests.

“You got somewhere to go?” you query but when you see that sh*t-eating grin stretch across his face, you quickly follow up with a glare, “I mean I could drop you off before I carry on with my day.”

“It’s about (Name).”

“Ooohhh, and has she asked about me?”

“Yes, I believe her exact words were ‘How do I get him to leave me alone?’ “

Satoru thinks for a moment, gloating over the fact that you were offering him kindness. You sigh when you see through his blatant, smug expression, “It’s called a ‘thank you’ gesture.”

The man shrugs, opening the door for himself and sliding in, “Yeah, yeah, guess I do.”

You roll your eyes, shuffle into your seat, prop your bag at the backseat before buckling up. You glance over Satoru, stifling a grin when you see his legs cramped up in an odd angle, the top of his head brushing the roof of your car. He fumbles underneath your seat for the adjustments, evidently struggling.

“Where’s the lever to adjust the-”

“Sorry that’s the furthest it could go,” you lied nonchalantly, milking in the satisfaction of watching him toil from the obnoxiousness of his height.

“Ah, she’s taking this hard to get agenda a lil’ too serious-”

“What are your intentions with (Name)?”

“Didn’t realize I was meeting her dad now.”

“I suggest you make your resolve.”

“My resolve?”

“Buckle up,” you tell him as you let the engine heat up.

With his limited movement, his arm reaches for the seatbelt at an odd angle and struggles to bring it across his chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was his first time in a car.

He eventually gives up and the seatbelt zips back with a loud snap, “Nevermind, I have Infinity, nothing can-”

You should’ve felt bad for suddenly backing up the car and for giggling at the near smack of his face into the dashboard. His sunglasses slid off his nose, revealing a set of wide eyes. You smirk, “Sorry.”

His fingers reach for his shades, carefully sitting up to avoid slamming his head. He shoots you a lopsided smile as he rubs the specs onto his shirt, “I don’t think you are.”

You try not to think about how beautifully those ivory lashes flutter along his baby blue eyes when they crinkle in his breathless laughter.

“Yes, your resolve. I know you, Gojo, and your dealings with women aren’t exactly secret either.”

….

“If you only plan to bed her then leave her, I would like to ask you to stop.”

“Ouch, is that how low you truly think of me, Nanami?I’m hurt.”

“I have no business in your private life but I deem this to bring more harm than good to her.”

“What, you’re in love with her or something? Y’know I’m open to sharin-”

“Gojo.”

“Where to?” you ask as you exit the parking lot and roll onto the main road.

There was a thoughtful pause. A bad omen with this man that your gut begins to twist.

And there it was-- that infuriating grin, and his mouth opens, the bearer of all migraines,

“Nowhere. I’m coming with you.”

You nearly hit the brakes in a screech when you remember that you were now on a highway with a specific speed limit,

“Gojo!”

“(Name) is only in Jujutsu Tech because I trust her expertise. She didn’t want to be there in the first place.”

“Okay then why-”

“She doesn’t want to be involved with jujutsu sorcery. Yet, I managed to convince her since she won’t be directly cooperating with missions or sorcery itself.”

“Her grandfather, as you know, is a jujutsu sorcerer. He suffered badly in his retirement; the after effects and trauma of this field had not been kind to him. She’s witnessed it first hand and refuses to take part in spite of her potential.”

“Oh c’mon,” he pouts, “You sound like you don’t want me to be around.”

“Exactly,” you groan, glancing at him with a ‘no-sh*t’ expression, “I thought you were the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Aren’t you supposed to be busy or something?”

“I take breaks too, y’know,” he quips.

You sneak a pointed stare, “Life’s good, you know, you should get it.”

“Hey, you survived at the grocery store.”

“Barely.”

“I’m not that bad,” Satoru defends.

Well, you couldn’t really argue with that. He did try to be helpful, you got to give him that but if he could only shut that big mouth of his then it would be more bearable to have him around. Since you couldn’t just throw him out the road like this, you think that maybe you could just have a faux agenda that would just bore him or just drive off when he gets out.

Yet your body betrays you when your stomach lets out a shameless growl. Even with your eyes trained on the road, you can see Satoru’s surprise that melts into mischief. sh*t. You should have turned the music on.

He simpers over you, “I think I know where our first stop is.”

“Relax, Nanami, I’m not asking her to an exhibitionist kink in some mission-”

“What I’m saying is, she doesn’t need any more jujutsu sorcery and...this.”

“Huh?”

“Gojo...you’re a sorcerer and it's painfully obvious what you’re trying to do.”

“You’re not making any sense. I’m not trying to make her commit to me or anything-”

Satoru plays a guessing game over where you’re headed for brunch and you make no comment over his guesses. For the past ten minutes, you were admittedly impressed that the man knew almost all of Tokyo’s restaurants, most of which were high-end and ideal for those Instagram-worthy brunches. At the same time, it made you want to pull a dangerous stunt by swerving your car into the rails to shut him up--forever.

“Then for the sake of (Name), stop. She is not the type for short-lived ‘thrills.’”

“Oh, give it time-”

“I've heard enough. Give up on her. The way you are now? You will lead her to ruin. “

“Whoa, relax, Nanami. I’m not going to hurt her.”

“There are more ways than one that could hurt a person, Gojo. You won't even know you're doing it.”

“A McDonalds?” Satoru’s brow raises when you begin pulling up to the parking lot of a McDonalds near a children’s park. He almost sounds disbelieving, like he was shocked you weren’t into some outdoor garden luncheon on this fine day.

“Yes, Gojo. A McDonalds.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. Look, maybe I actually want to take her on more than one date...or two...maybe even five.

“What do you really want from her?”

“Y’know what any man wants, Nanami-”

“No.”

“...which is, of course, to have a good woman.”

To your surprise, Satoru got himself a Kiddie Meal or two just to get himself a surprise egg containing tiny Digimon figurines that he’s currently prying open.

You were blissfully hoping that Satoru would be turned off by your unhealthy and hefty serving of burger, fries, chicken, and sundae. He seemed to be the type to prefer his women dainty, elegant, and classy. You wouldn’t blame him though, those were undeniably attractive traits. You observe him from under your lashes as you scarf down on your burger, savoury flavors bursting in your tastebuds.

“Agumon, nice!” he cheers, holding the orange miniature dinosaur in the air.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s wrong with what I said?”

“If her term in Jujutsu Tech ends terribly because of your decisions-”

“Relax, that’s not gonna happen.”

Impatiently, he opens the next one, the cheap plastic nearly cracks at the strength of his fingers but he successfully pulls out a grayish blue Digimon with a horn on the front of its head.

“Gabumon,” you say, recognizing it easily that Satoru peers at you with surprise.

“You know Digimon?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Oooohhh, who’s your favorite?”

“Patamon.”

There's that sleazy smile you would have whacked off his face if only there weren’t children around to see. He nudges his shades lower, batting those pretty eyes of his, “So you like blue eyes?”

Ah, geez, from what sh*thole did this man pick up his audacity?

You only give him a deadpan gaze, opting not to give him the satisfaction of your obvious irritation. Satoru only shrugs before sitting back up, waving Agumon with his fingers that were comically large in comparison to the toy, “Mine’s Agumon.”

“Right, cause he’s the main character,” you roll your eyes, taking another bite at your burger.

Gojo would throw a fit when he realizes he’s not the main character.

He looks around the busy venue, pop songs playing through some cheap speaker, children squealing, some wailing, and teenagers guffawing loudly at jokes being shared. And all you can do was internally plead that this insufferable man would just decide this wasn’t worth it, that you weren’t suited to his flashy lifestyle and short lived thrills.

But Satoru then looks back at you, his hands clasping together with a broad grin as he looks over the nuggets and sauce residing in colorful containers, “Itadakimasu!”

You blink. He looked genuinely delighted. So you hold in a disappointed sigh and prod at your fries. You guess you had to deal with him.

What you did not know was, on his end, he was calculating, observing, and memorizing every little clue of yourself that you presented. Perhaps, just like you have, he has boxed you into one expected category of the variety of women he’s met. Not that he was picky to begin with, no. Part of his observations served as a way to get into someone's bed-...good side.

“Can’t remember the last time I was in here,” he tells you over a mouthful of fries that you flinch over the speckle that falls onto the table.

“McDonalds a lil too shabby for you, princess?” you try not to comment on his messy eating. For someone hoping for their companion to be turned off with your unhealthy choices, you sure were judging his table manners now.

He shakes his head, “Nah, I do order deliveries after some long missions. Greasy and salty fast food meals are free therapy.” He pops a full nugget onto his mouth as if to prove a point.

You can’t help but smile at that. It totally was. In spite of the obvious joke and sarcasm around the sentence, you wonder if Satoru was somehow admitting a sort of weakness he felt around his job. You remember your poor grandfather, successful in bringing peace yet could not bring that same peace with him to bed.

“The Gojo Satoru, strongest sorcerer alive, can’t afford his own therapy?” you gibe both in curiosity and to get him to confirm, taking a loud slurp of your soda.

“I don’t do well with talking about feelings, or if I see a butterfly or a hand, or writing 5 positive things in the morning yada yada,” he tells you in tone as if he was bored, as if he indeed had experienced such repetition. “Besides, who needs that when you have fast food.”

Or women. Or money to blow. Or some cheap romcom to numb the thoughts.

You roll your eyes.

Typical playboy with deep-seated issues he chucked off as shallow.

On the brightside, he seemed self aware, which was honestly still low-bar, you think sardonically.

You turn your gaze away from him towards high pitched squeals of two kids over the counter--twins. They were bouncing on their feet, tiptoeing over the counter to point at the Kiddie Meal for their parents to see. The sight causes the cashier to swoon, a happy smile resting over her tired face.

“Ya get McDonalds often?” Satoru asks, finding dumb ways to keep the conversation. You shrug, taking another bite off your burger, “When I can.”

“When you can?” He raises his brow. You were sounding like you treated it as luxury. He knew the salary in your corporate job was substantial and jujutsu sorcerers were generous. You could have McDonalds every day when you wanted to.

“Yeah,” you say, eyes fixated on the animated expressions over the twins’ faces, and he notices the small twitch of your lips, “Y’know when I was in primary school my parents weren’t exactly...well-off.”

Maybe it was the pure excitement of the children that touched a fond memory you had years ago. Maybe it was their giggles of thank you’s spilling over smiling lips as they cling on to their father’s leg. Maybe it was the gooey state of your heart at the sound of the father and mother’s satisfied laughter.

You make a shifty glance up at Satoru to find him listening intently; that was your only push to continue, “Still, once in a while, when they could afford it, they’d bring me here. Even mochi was a treat for me to have.”

Satoru was intrigued. Mochi shouldn’t be that expensive, it was pretty common in Tokyo (assuming it's where you were raised) and having you admit to him that it was like some luxury says a lot.

What he didn't know yet was that you had been brought to your grandfather in Tokyo during highschool since it was him who was able to support you better until you graduated. After that, you made a name for yourself and showed up at your parents’ house with buckets full of McDonald's takeout and two boxes of premium mochi. Back then, it didn’t matter to them, they were teary eyed and overjoyed seeing you were healthy and able to provide for yourself.

“Coming here ‘when I can’ sorta makes me appreciate that I can have fast food at any time now, y’know?” you explain, eyes far off in fond remembrance as you absentmindedly sip at your cup.

You sneak a glance over at Satoru, who only responds with a hum--surprisingly quiet. He holds no judgment in his eyes, if you could see them at all.

Satoru had always been a spoiled child, hailed for his Six Eyes and natural talent. He had everything at his disposal, even as a child, destined for humanity, he milked the title for all his worth. Meeting someone who was able to appreciate something he’s always had gives a tiny knot in his stomach. He wonders when was the last time he appreciated something--he always had everything, rightfully so. It was impossible to appreciate something that was always there.

Did appreciation require lack?

Was that why he was so desperate to go after you?

Women were not a problem. They are always available with a few taps on his phone.

He takes and takes and takes.

He then receives and receives and receives.

So why, you?

Did you have something he lacked? Was he starting to appreciate you for more than the challenge you gave him, and the promise of a body and pleasure?

“Alright, alright, I get it. Look, maybe I actually want to take her on more than one date...or two...maybe even five.”

He had blurted out the words to Nanami without actually thinking about it and without knowing why.

But he guessed, maybe it wasn’t a lie either.

“Dumbass, your sundae’s going to turn into a milkshake,” you nudge his leg with your foot and it nearly makes Satoru jump, still unused to being touched without being aware.

Really, the only physical contact you’ve had with him was either smacking him or roughly elbowing his side to grab his attention. Nevertheless, he was somewhat relieved seeing the droop of your shoulders, the tiny twitches of your smile, and how you aren’t fuming over how your knees are cramped in between his underneath the small table. It was better than your tense shoulders, tight lipped responses, and hisses when he was 12 inches away from you.

Picking up the cold dessert, he loudly slurps off the melted cream and syrup just to get a rise out of you.

You wince and glare at him.

He only shows you a toothy grin with an ice cream mustache. After all, it was those indignant glares he found the cutest.

“Where are we going next?” says the toddler on your passenger seat a little too enthusiastically.

Only the toddler was 6’3’’, frosty hair brushing up the roof of your car, legs unnaturally bent towards himself, and he wouldn’t shut up as you drove--well what toddler kept their mouths shut anyways.

You sigh loudly, nearly slamming your forehead into the steering wheel. Satoru merely tilts his head towards you, “What’s wrong? You okay? How are you feeling?”

You don’t even wonder whether the question was sincere or not, you just wished he’d at least ask his questions one at a time--or just not at all.

“I don’t have enough middle fingers to express how I’m feeling right now.”

“Someone’s cranky.”

“Someone needs to shut up.”

“And someone needs to start answering questions.”

“Someone needs to know he’s only hitching which is unwelcome by the way.”

“Well, someone needs to remember this was her ‘thanks.’ “

“Someone needs to remember who’s on the wheel and who’s car he’s in.”

“Someone needs to realize we are both in it.”

“Someone needs to know I’m not paying for his damages.”

“And someone needs to remember who’s got Infinity and she doesn’t.”

You were both amused and irritated at the same time that you didn’t know whether you should laugh or swerve the car into your doom. But one glance over his satisfied smirk, you decide on the latter emotion but withhold on the actions. Your cheeks are hot and puffed in annoyance, agitated that not only was this man annoying, he was incredibly quick with his words too. Hence you begrudgingly answer his earlier question and avoid his gloating over your embarrassing defeat, “I need to get a dress.”

“Oohh what’s the occasion?” he lights up in curiosity, yet another vexing trait you find as it seems to sprout yet another set of questions.

“A ball.”

“Got a date?”

“With the Prince Charming himself.”

“Well then… you got a chaperone?”

“Yeah, my talking mice and a pumpkin.”

Oh.

“Well how bout a-”

“Please,” you gripe, running one hand over your face, “Be quiet, I can’t even hear myself losing the will to live.”

Satoru clamps his mouth shut deeming you successful and vindicated that you smile to yourself as you keep driving.

“Ohh, I’ve never been here before!”

Well of course, the Gojo Satoru would have never stepped foot in a thrift shop.

He tails after you as you maneuver through each aisle, having memorized the sections and floor plan of the shop, “So what kind of style is this event for?”

“Dunno,” you reply curtly, sifting through the racks for the right piece.

“co*cktail dresses? Ball gowns? Floor length?” Satoru presses, shoving his face in your direction like a needy puppy.

You inhale deeply before sighing, having learned that the only way for this impossible man to shut up is to actually answer him.

“Summer dress, Gojo,” you explain with a loud slide of a hanger against the rack, “I’m going to Kyoto Jujutsu High next week for an assignment.”

Honestly, it was hard to avoid such an adamant child, so you answer the inevitable “what for?” that hadn’t been asked yet.

Now that the words have left your mouth you realize that this very person, leaning over you with a dopey grin, would follow you to Kyoto when given the chance--you wouldn’t put it past him.

“Oh, that sounds nice,” he pauses a while pulling out an interesting midnight black, vintage cape, “I know the best guide there.”

This regrettably, intrigues you that you spare him a glance, urging him to carry on.

“Professional, nice, knows the city and the prefecture like the back of his hand.”

Your eyes roll, knowing full well who he was talking about.

“Handsome, reliable,” he pulls the cape over his shoulders, the length resting fluttering at the middle of his calves, “He makes a pretty good Zorro cosplay too.”

Satoru strikes a swordsman pose and the rising stress you felt in the middle of his descriptions begin to descend. When he starts making pretend sword noises and swinging his pretend sword, you find that your mouth uncontrollably twitches before you’re full on giggling at the ridiculous but genuine display of childishness.

Satoru’s brows raise a tad from behind his glasses, he was not even trying to impress you--in fact, when was the last time he tried today? It just felt like naturally falling into your agenda with you rather than finding a chance to bend your resolve into his agenda...which he quickly realizes he didn’t have. He found you at the supermarket, he offered (read: insisted) his time, before mindlessly deciding he was more curious of what your life was like outside of your exacting professional demeanor and curt responses.

Maybe it was the crinkle in your eyes. Maybe it was how buoyant your laughter made him feel. Or maybe it was the stroking of his ego. Whatever it was you were doing to him, it encourages him to continue his little play,

“Whatever you do,” he enacts with a deeper and husky voice, “Wherever you go, the world isn’t big enough to hide from me.”

He finishes his little monologue with a swift twist of his wrist, as if carving the letter ‘Z’ in the air. To his delight, all prior annoyance lifts away from your face as you give way to another burst of laughter.

“Wow, so you do know The Legend of Zorro,” your voice was a little too close to a praise but Satoru takes pride in it. But that was only because, you do not know how quickly he opened his laptop and scoured through shady sites to acquire a copy of the 2005 film the same day you insulted his attire. He thought it was a waste of time to spend two hours to simply get your inference and possible attempt to provide a topic for you two to talk about.

Perhaps the brightness taking over your features that changes his mind.

Your laughter simmers down and you wave your hand while trying to stifle your smile, “Impressive but I wouldn’t want a Zorro, with a horrible attempt at Antonio Banderas, to be my guide.”

Your companion chuckles, shrugging off the velvet cape to drape it back on to the empty hanger.

“Or he can just be Gojo.”

“That’s even worse,” you scoff, still unable to hide the crooked smile as you comb through the hangers.

“But better than having a little lady wandering alone in a different city.”

“I’m going on vacation, Gojo, not babysitting.”

“Better than being alone,” Satoru insists, shoving his face next to yours like he did earlier.

You spot a dress that sparks your interest that you take it out and lay it over your elbow for later inspection, “Y’know if I was given a choice between being ‘dangerously’ alone or having you around, I’d rather be found beaten up and dying alone in some ditch.”

“You act like it's hell around me,” he pouts but sorts through the opposite rack in spite of himself.

“Oh,” you pause thoughtfully, taking another dress, “Am I not speaking to the spawn of Satan right now?”

“Okay, now that’s a little too-”

You hear the monotone sliding of hangers come to a stop behind you. Curiously, you glance back to find the shaman tugging a hanger away from the rack. He holds up a dress with a deep v-neckline with spaghetti straps that trails into a flowy asymmetrical skirt from the waist, the fabric looked light and gorgeous--best of all it was in your favorite color. The dress Satoru holds pales in comparison to the dresses you’ve selected.

“I bet this would look great on you,” he grins, sure and somewhat excited.

Admittedly, it was something you had not worn before but you’ve seen on other people. It was one of those clothes you’d think looks amazing but never thought how it would look on yourself.

There’s something that uncomfortably squeezes your stomach, “Nah, it looks cute but-”

“But you should give it a try,” he insists with a nudge at your shoulder towards the dressing room.

“Gojo, it’s a pretty dress but not all women can-”

“Trust me, this is the kind that flatters all body types.”

Of all people, you didn’t expect him to be well aware of such things or pay attention to them. To be fair, he wasn’t terrible at fashion himself even if you insulted his uniform. You did see his chukka boots and it was the kind that would be exclusive in its own brand. This was one of the few times you’ve seen him outside of his uniform and just like the last times, he dressed handsomely. Today for example he wore a loose white sweater with a green parka layered on top, blue jeans and all stars. Well honestly, he could probably wear a potato sack and still look incredible--he was just that gorgeous.

If only his personality would match his looks.

His sense of fashion was all it took for you to trust his judgement as he shoves you into the dressing rooms without waiting for you to protest.

You stare at the curtain for a moment that had Satoru closed with a delighted grin, before you hear his footsteps walk away. You were baffled with the way he had been giddy over a dress like one would have their girlfriends swoon over them while shopping. Shaking your head, you tentatively strip to fit the dress he handed you. You think of your friends and try to remember to send them a message later on for some classic shopping date, maybe you could even ask Shoko and build some sort of friendship with her, she seemed like a really interesting person.

You’ve reached that age wherein looking at the mirror didn’t matter as much as it did in your teenage years and early twenties. You looked at it and simply saw yourself.

Right now, in a dress that hugs and flutters against your form so well--you truly see yourself.

You begin to appreciate every curve, every dip in the body that's served you well for years but you never got to value it this way. You drift your palms along the fabric, turning to certain angles, before a woozy feeling prickles your skin. Your cheeks flush when you look back at your reflection to catch yourself smiling widely.

Maybe--apart from his obnoxious mouth--Gojo Satoru wasn’t so bad.

The dress needed some strap adjustments you could alter later on but overall the dress was perfect and in it you find that so were you.

“Need help in there?”

In spite of the teasing suggestion that could pass off as perverted, it doesn’t still the excitement in your bones that you swing the curtain open, all prior self consciousness pushed aside, only unbridled confidence.

“Gojo, it's perfect!” you squeal, the little girl in you showing before your brows raise at the sight of the man fitting a pair of large round goggles, “What the hell are you doing?”

Satoru isn’t paying attention to your question nor does he successfully place the goggles over his eyes. His cerulean gaze on broad display and focused on you.

He blinks once, then twice. The dress showing a little more of you than he’s used to, the wrinkles by your eyes glowing more than he’s used to, and the rocking of your heels to and fro in an emotion that's more than he’s used to seeing in your office.

It's odd that it were these things he first notices unlike how he openly ogled you the first time even in a less appealing outfit.

When he sees your expression tip into doubt and self consciousness, he immediately snaps out of the book he was writing in his head about how one color could make someone look ethereal. He smiles, snapping the goggles over his eyes and raises a finger in the air in a circling gesture,

“Do a twirl for me.”

Your face lights back up and you oblige, surprisingly. The edges of the skirt flutter softly as you do, the fabric light and beautiful. You grinned like a child the whole time that it pales in comparison with the dress itself. It was the oozing self-confidence you gained with one dress that Satoru starts taking pride in his choice.

You gaze back up at him expectantly. Both of your smiles were unmatched as you breathed in the delicacy of the moment.

Satoru thinks he feels funny with the strange squeeze in his ribs that he clears his throat, “It’s perfect for sure.”

Unbeknownst to you, a strap slips past your shoulder that makes his eyes go wide, behind the ridiculous goggles. The exposed skin licks familiar fire in his belly and he swallows thickly. It was ridiculous, he saw way more than that, but there was excitement in the challenge you posed. Still, in spite of himself, he tentatively reaches for the strap, intending to slip it back in place.

As soon as his fingers brush your skin, you jolt and flinch, swatting his hand away with practiced speed. There was a flash of indignance in your eyes that quickly dissipates when you see the surprise cross his features.

You stammer as you hook the strap back over your shoulder, “Ye-...yeah...but I do need to get it altered.”

He pauses for a moment, watching you shift in step.

He then chuckles awkwardly, shoving his hands back into his pockets when you take one step away from him, trying to pose as a non-threat to ease the way you seemed to tense. And for the first time, he was unsure of what to say or what to make of your reaction. Some people dislike being touched, but with the way you seemed ready to pounce like a cornered tiger tells him there was more than meets the eye.

Another expression he learns from you today.

“There are more ways than one that could hurt a person, Gojo. You won't even know you're doing it.”

Gojo Satoru is gratified simply by having the upperhand; dominance was his game. He finds amusem*nt in helplessness, especially when it was caused by his sheer power and presence. Right now, with the way you gingerly hold your arms across your stomach, he wasn’t so sure if he did. Just seconds ago, you were all bright-eyed, unguarded, and carefree over the pretty dress--which by the way still distracts him from the present-- now you were all uneasy and watchful.

So he does what he does best--talk.

“Look, does this look familiar?” he tugs at the strap over his goggles, already feeling better with the crooked smile you shoot at him.

“All I need is some blue shirt and cargo shorts and I’ll--”

“--look like Tai from Digimon,” you finish with a roll of your eyes, ah, now you are back to normal.

And he prefers that more over the discomfort moments before.

“Go get dressed, I fortunately know a good tailor around and a shop with great bag selections that will go with your dress,” he shoos you with a wave of his hand. You narrow your eyes accusingly.

It definitely was not to overstay his welcome

It definitely was not to bring you back to whatever sour mood you had over him.

It definitely was not for the possible chance to see that giddy smile brimming with spirit.

You sigh, without a protest, already expectant of his selfish nature that over compensates for the time you barely gave him.

“If I survive, can I go home?”

“Oh, c’mon, you survived this much.”

You scoff as you disappear back into the dressing room, curtain hooks sending a sharp zap as it shuts.

“There are more ways than one that could hurt a person, Gojo. You won't even know you're doing it.”

Satoru shakes his head as he slips the tight elastic off his head, “That’s not gonna happen.”