Advisor To The Heir!geto. Crown Prince Gojo Satoru's Right Hand. His Most Trusted, Faithful Companion.

advisor to the heir!geto. crown prince gojo satoru's right hand. his most trusted, faithful companion. his dearest friend. advisor!geto who's hopelessly in love with the woman the prince is told to marry, and has been since he first saw you, and who hears the news from gojo's own lips and feels the earth beneath his feet tilt. you, the woman who gojo pays no mind. the wife he resents. the one suguru would do anything to have. but he wasn't born to wear the crown, wasn't born to lead the people, wasn't born to have your hand. his place is at the side, where he can only watch you wither under a lack of affection from your husband and grow to slowly resent everything he once accepted as right.

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO SATORU x FEM READER

Gojo “my girl is mad at me I hope I die” Satoru

wc — 600

tags — fluff, companion piece to modern intimacy so you’re also married in this one, love as annoyance 

Gojo looks like he tried to drown himself in the shower. 

If you hadn’t just mopped the floor, you might be tempted to give in and beckon him over to cuddle. As it is, your annoyance is only mildly tempered by how adorable he is. You suspect this was his plan all along. 

“Go dry your hair,” you tell him coldly, hardly even giving him a glance after his first step into the room. 

He pouts, which you were expecting. He should really learn some new tricks at this point. You make a shooing gesture at him to drive home the point. 

Instead, he clambers down next to your feet, all six feet and two inches of him compressed down to fit his head into your lap. Gojo’s so lanky it gives you the impression of a Jenga tower collapsing in on itself to watch him get on his knees. 

“But you’re mad at me,” he whines. Chilly droplets are seeping into your thighs. 

“I’ll be madder if you keep getting my pants wet. Go on, you’ll catch a cold.” 

“I deserve it.” 

“Gojo.” 

You say it as if you’re short of patience, when really, you’re far from it. You’re enjoying this way too much. 

He turns his head so he can look up at you. His hair falls into his eyes, making him look like a sad, wet puppy, shivering at your feet for mercy. It’s an act, of course. 

He’s the strongest man in the world. Still, you feel your heart melting as you would for any poor abandoned creature. You brush his bangs out of his face, trying to hold onto your weakening resolve. 

He knows he’s got you. It’s just a matter of time. 

“I can’t live with myself,” he says. “If you’re going to be mad at me, you should just kill me. It would be easier-“ 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you say, but that’s when he strikes the killing blow. 

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just looks at you with eyes that are suspiciously shiny, his pretty pink lips in a soft frown. You sigh and put the book you were trying to read down. 

“Go get the hairdryer.” 

Gojo perks up immediately. You stay on the sofa. He sits on the ground between your legs as you run your hands through his hair, moving section by section. It fluffs up as hot air moves over it. 

“Are you still mad?” 

“Want to take a guess?” 

He turns around so fast he almost hits himself in the face with the hairdryer in your hand. 

“I’ll never do it again, I swear.” 

“You swear?” You’re teasing. 

Gojo places one hand over his heart and raises the other like he’s making a pledge. You’re the only nation he’d ever devote himself to, anyway. “You know my motto is happy wife, happy life.” 

“I don’t know, actually.” You laugh. “Did you just come up with that?” 

“Now you’re just being mean,” he says. 

“I’m glad you picked up on it,” you say dryly. 

You like him pathetic. It appeals to your worst nature, the one that kind of wants to pinch him just to see him cry. You don’t know when you developed such feelings, and you’re certainly not sadistic towards anyone else, but Gojo just provokes you. It’s what he does. He’s good at being annoying. 

But you love that part of him, just as much as you love the part of him that can’t live without your attention. 

“You really learned your lesson?” You ask. “You won’t do it again?” 

“And go through this again? You kidding?” 

You pinch his cheek in annoyance, but he just laughs and wraps his arms around you, ignoring the way you try to wriggle away. 

“Your hair isn’t dry yet!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, rubbing his cheek against yours. His shampoo smells good. “Happy husband, happy wife.” 

He knows you too well for you to disagree. 

gojou satoru who suffers with migraines due to his six eyes and the oversensitivity that comes with it.

gojou satoru who point blank refuses to be around you with a blindfold or his glasses on because he wants to see you, not just your energy.

"y'know if you just wore your glasses this wouldn't be happening," you shake your head as you lay a cool flannel across satoru's forehead. having once again opted to not wear his glasses for your date to the local theme park, you were now once again finishing your day with satoru's brain completely overwhelmed. thus ensuing the migraine.

satoru grins, opening just one eye to take a glance at you, straddling his waist as you take care of him. "and miss being treated by my favourite nurse?" his voice is full of amusement but he closes his eye too quickly and with a wince and it feels so wrong to see him in physical pain - he is the strongest, after all.

you lean forward to press delicate kisses to the tip of his nose, then each of his cheeks, then just above his eyes... you hover over his lips for a few excruciatingly long seconds.

"it's doctor," you retort, "shoko said so." satoru stifles a laugh (unsuccessfuly), given the fact that shoko herself hadn't exactly earned her doctorate in the most reliable manner.

"is dr gojou better?" his lips tilt into a small smirk and he's baiting you, his girlfriend with your own last name. not his.

"if this is your way of proposing," you shift to the left to whisper directly into his ear, "i'll glue your eyes open. forever."

"what!" satoru gasps, clutching his shirt just above where his heartbeat, "that is so unnecessary. why is my wife so mean?" your heart jumps at the endearment and you've never felt as full and content as you do when you're with him. no matter how he proposed, you'd only ever say yes, yes, yes, yes-

"you're so lucky i love you." you roll your eyes, leaning down to kiss him properly nonetheless. he smiles widely against you, his teeth lightly knocking into yours as he tries to pull you in closer, one hand on the back of your neck.

"i know baby," he agrees, muffled by your lips. he blindly pats the space on the bed next to him. "come lay with me till i'm better. can't make it without you."

gojou's dramatic, he's always been dramatic, but he's your drama queen and if he decides that the only way he's going to survive this headache is by holding you close to him then who were you to deny such a thing.

extra !

in this rooms lies a gojo satoru. he's laying on his bed — on his stomach to be exact — kicking his feet back and forth in a perfect rhythm. his phone is pressed firm on his ear. he's relishing in the way you're rambling about your day. although satoru doesn't understand who the "stupid bitch that took the lipbalm i saw first" is, he'll give his support to you.

all it takes to make satoru's day better is one thing and that is you. he doesn't have much to say other than "mhm" or "yes baby" until he did. one miraculous question from your side awakened him from auto-response mode.

"oh, by the way, can you open up 'toru?"

satoru sits up, crossing his legs together as he sighs, "you know, it all happened when i was born — everything just tumbled down."

"satoru, honey," you interrupt him.

"yeah?"

"i meant the door. the door, satoru. i'm outside your house."

it takes not a second before he hangs up. a cartoon-like red colour rises to the tips of his ears. he's... embarrassed to say the least! hopefully you'll forget it happened.

“oh, you poor thing…” you murmur, stroking megumi’s hair. he’d been caught in the rain during the walk home yesterday, and had come down with a bit of a cold. the seven year old is curled up next to you on the couch, his head resting in your lap.

you glare at satoru when he scoffs from his end of the couch, the tip of his nose rosy and dripping with snot. “i was caught in the rain too, you know.”

“take some nyquil.”

you don’t even bother to spare his suffering a glance.

“can i have hot chocolate?” the little brat asks, his request followed by a weak cough. “my throat hurts.”

it’s almost ten in the evening, and the kid’s already brushed his teeth. there’s no way you’d say yes—

“of course! i’ll make some for your sister too.”

satoru’s mouth falls open - because he can’t breathe through his nose and because he’s shocked. “can i have some too?”

“i’ll make you tea with lemon and ginger,” you reply, carefully adjusting megumi on the couch as you get up. you even steal his blanket, draping it over the kid’s curled up form.

megumi peeks one eye open as soon as you leave, and satoru swears the smirk that follows is directed to him.

people have told him that kids are supposed to be gifts. but later - when he’s watching a lame documentary and choking down some bitter lemon ginger tea as megumi is spoiled with sips of chocolately heaven - he thinks they must mean gifts from hell.

_____

your lips are brushing over satoru’s collarbone when he wonders if he’d locked the bedroom door.

but then you bite and all his concerns go out the window.

your breath is hot against his skin, picking up when his hands grip your waist. chests rising and falling, the two of you love in sync. slow, deep kisses are exchanged in time with gentle grinds—

“i’m hungry.”

it makes satoru startle, banging his head against the headboard as you sit up, stuttering as you both turn to face the doorway.

“megumi,” you gasp. “how long have you been standing there?”

the blush colouring his cheeks is answer enough.

“i’ll make you something to eat,” you offer, leaving your boyfriend with a very unfortunate situation as you climb off his lap, shooting an apologetic look over your shoulder as you herd megumi out of the room.

satoru swears the kid shoots him a smug grin over his shoulder.

this, he thinks glumly as he heads to the bathroom to try and calm himself down. this is why he needs to stop doing nice things.

_____

exhausted can’t even begin to describe the way satoru feels after a long day of bugging nanami and exorcising curses.

he’s practically dragging his body through the apartment towards the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to strip out of his uniform and fall into bed next to you.

but he can’t, because the first thing he sees when he opens the bedroom door is megumi hogging his side of the bed.

you press your index finger to your lips as soon as satoru opens his mouth to protest. “tsumiki’s at a sleepover,” you explain.

“so? i’ll carry him back to his room—”

you make a noise if protest, waving his hands away as you whisper, “it’s his first night here without her.”

hands on his hips, satoru examines the very little free space left on the bed. “so that means you’d let me sleep on the couch?”

he doesn’t like sleeping alone. hasn’t liked it ever since you’d moved in and he’d decided he liked waking to the warmth of your body next to his.

“well, you could sleep in megumi’s bed.”

“or you could wake him up,” he counters loudly on purpose, earning a shush and a glare from you in answer.

“this is a good thing,” you insist once you’ve ensured the kid’s still asleep. “it means he trusts us!”

“but i’m tired,” he whines, even stamping his foot a little for emphasis. “i wanna cuddle with you.”

“fine,” you relent with a little sigh. “but you have to wake him.”

gleefully, he goes to shake the kid awake. he’s about to do it, but all it takes is one look at the peaceful look settled over that little face. over the year he’d gotten to know megumi, he’s only ever worn a scowl, or a look of general boredom. so to see him like this, finally settled into the household…

it’s enough to make the sorcerer smile, even as he sets up the makeshift bed of blankets on the bedroom floor.

_____

“sharing is caring,” satoru proposes the next afternoon at the dinner table. it’s just him and megumi right now, as you’d just left to visit shoko. “so you can cuddle with her on the couch, but the bedroom is all me, got it?”

megumi frowns, staring at the list (can he even read yet? gojo has no idea) “but what about movie night?”

“fine, but only for a little bit. after that she’s all mine.”

he takes the kids shrug as agreement and moves on.

“knocking,” he starts with the utmost seriousness. “is a very important thing to do when any door is closed. and next time tsumiki is out, you’re the one sleeping on the floor.”

(they both know that’s not going to happen, but it doesn’t hurt to try.)

once the terms of their deal are finalized, they shake on it.

“so we’ve come to an understanding, good. because i’d rather have you as my bro than my foe,” he says, dragging the edge of his thumbnail across his throat for emphasis.

megumi rolls his eyes before sauntering off to his bedroom, and satoru sighs, letting his forehead hit the tabletop with a dull thud.

he’d fought off suitors vying for your attention before, but never one as tough to beat as this one.