⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆˚ 𐙚 ₊ ⋆

Principal Yaga, unfazed, sets a folder on the desk and folds his hands.

“There’s been a steady spike in cursed energy around a private inn in the mountains,” Yaga says, completely unfazed. “It’s quiet, remote, and completely cut off from Jujutsu surveillance. We’ve confirmed multiple low-level disappearances tied to curse activity. Possibly something nesting. You’re to investigate.”

You open your mouth, close it again.

“But what does that have to do with--marriage?!”

Yaga flips a page in the mission file.

“The inn accepts couples and honeymoon only"

Silence.

You stare at him.

Then, slowly, your gaze shifts

To the man sitting across from you, entirely too relaxed.

Satoru Gojo looks like he’s just been handed the key to paradise.

One leg crossed, chin balanced in his hand, sunglasses lowered just enough to reveal the glint in his eyes.

“I mean…” he says, voice smooth as ever,

“It’s about time, don’t you think?”

You glare at him.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Absolutely.” His grin grows. “This is the best day of my life.”

“It’s a cursed inn.”

“And a romantic getaway.Two birds, one bed.”

You ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

“Can’t I go with someone else? where's Nanami?”

“On a mission in Okinawa,” Yaga replies.

"Maki?"

"injured"

"Anyone else?!"

Yaga exhales, tone flat.

“You and Gojo are the only two available with the cursed energy capacity to manage long-range detection, combat, and concealment. Statistically, you have the highest compatibility. You’re the best choice.

He pauses for a bit then says,

"and frankly, “Out of everyone, you two have the most… natural chemistry. It won’t be hard to sell the illusion."

Gojo lets out a quiet, pleased hum like Yaga just announced your engagement.

You exhale sharply.

“So my only option is him?”

Gojo lifts one hand to his chest, mock-offended.

“Him has feelings, you know.”

“Stuff them into your infinity.”

He chuckles--low, and far too pleased with himself.

“So, honeymoon suite? Or do we request the one with the heart-shaped tub?”

Yaga cuts in before you can hurl the mission file at his head.

“You leave at sunrise tomorrow. Train tickets are booked. Report back within 72 hours or earlier.

You stare down at the folder in your hands.

Your cursed energy practically vibrates with frustration.

Gojo stands, stretching his arms with a hum, like he’s already picturing the trip.

“We should work on our backstory,” he muses, sidling up beside you. “Do we call each other babe,or,oh wait, sugarplum? Cupcake? Mrs. Gojo?”

You shove past him without a word.

But he doesn’t stop smiling.

_

The next morning comes too fast.

You barely sleep. You’re still scowling as you drag your bag down the platform, half hoping the train derails before he arrives.

No such luck.

“Oh good, they got us the window seat.”

Gojo’s voice is too chirpy for 6:42 AM.

He drops into the aisle seat beside you, stretching his long legs out with a pleased sigh, like he’s boarding a first-class honeymoon cruise.

“Don’t talk to me,” you mutter.

“Rude. Married less than a day and already ignoring me in public.”

You turn away, staring out the window with a deep inhale and deeper regret.

The train hums to life, soft vibrations shivering beneath the floor. People around you are already murmuring excitedly about mountain air, hot springs, romantic getaways.

Gojo leans in, just enough for you to feel his voice ghost against your ear.

“This is pretty realistic so far, don’t you think? The whole spouse vibe.”

You don’t even flinch. You just keep your eyes forward.

“I will divorce you mid-mission.”

He chuckles,quiet, amused.

Doesn’t press further.

The ride is long.

You scroll through the case file again just to keep yourself from staring at him.

The train hums beneath you, steady and rhythmic, and the quiet murmur of other couples in the car seeps into the background-laughing softly, hands brushing, heads tucked together.

You refuse to play into it.

You fold your arms tightly and focus out the window.

But it’s impossible not to notice,

Gojo’s leg is stretched out beside yours, long and warm and stupidly close.

The side of his thigh bumps yours with every shift of the train, and he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t even pretend to give you space.

Your knees knock once.

Then again.

Then… they just stay like that.

And his arm, draped casually across the back of the seat-

It’s just barely grazing your shoulders, the fabric of his sleeve brushing the back of your neck each time he breathes deeper, leans just a little closer.

You try not to lean into it.

But your body,traitorous and tired,starts relaxing anyway,like it’s used to his presence,his warmth,as if this has happened before.

You shift away an inch.

He shifts closer without even thinking.

Not intentionally , But it’s there.

His scent clings to his hoodie there's warmth and something just distinctly him.

And no matter how many pages you flip in the file, you’re aware of every breath he takes beside you.

The heat at the edge of your ear.

The slow, subtle way your body drifts closer anyway.

You hate how natural it feels.You hate how you don’t hate it.

He’s quiet for a while. Eventually, you glance over and find him leaned back, head tilted, hair a soft mess and mouth slightly parted.

Asleep.

You scoff under your breath and go back to reading,until, somewhere between half a page and one blink too long…

Your head tilts.

And rests on his shoulder.

You don’t notice when it happens.

Only that it feels… warm.

Solid. Like your body gave up before your brain did.

And you certainly don’t notice the way he shifts slightly,barely there,so your cheek fits better against him.

Or the way his lips twitch.

_

The train gives a sudden jolt, you're awakened from the movement.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, confused, heavy with sleep,until you register warmth beneath your cheek.

Soft cotton. A steady rise and fall.

A shoulder.His shoulder.

You jerk upright a little too fast, heart lurching in your chest.

Your bag nearly tips off your lap.

Gojo turns to you, his voice still low and rough with sleep,

or maybe amusement.

“Morning, sunshine.”

You blink at him, dazed.

“Did I-?”

“You did.”

He stretches like a cat, obnoxiously casual.

“Whole nap. Right here. So cute.”

You press your fingers to your temple, mortified.

“How long?”

“Thirty-five minutes.”

He taps his phone. “You even sighed in your sleep. Pretty sure you said my name.”

You gape.

“You're lying.”

He leans in, voice pitched just for you--

“Sure I am,sweets”

You grab your bag and storm off the second the train doors open, not looking back.

But you feel him behind you.

All smug.

Still warm.

And worse,you can still feel the shape of his shoulder against your cheek.

_

After a long walk through the quiet mountain path,cobblestone streets, warm golden light, and distant wind chimes,and ofcourse, gojo pestering you to let him carry you, you finally reach the inn.

It’s quaint, charming, and just barely not tacky.

The wooden sign above the door reads:

“Love’s Retreat — Couples Only.”

You exhale.

“Seriously?”

“Don’t be shy,” Gojo grins beside you, bumping your shoulder. “Our love deserves the best.”

“I will push you into the nearest koi pond.”

You’re just about to step inside when the paper screen slides open, and an elderly woman steps out onto the porch. Her silver hair is tied neatly, her yukata a soft blush, and her entire face lights up the second she sees you.

“Ahh! You must be the newlyweds!” she beams. “Mr. and Mrs. Gojo!”

Your brain short circuits.

Gojo, of course, doesn’t miss a beat.

“That’s us,” he says, warm and easy, placing a steady hand on the small of your back.

But this time,it lingers.

Just a second too long.

His fingers spread slightly, thumb brushing softly against the fabric of your top in a motion so natural, so practiced, it feels like he’s done it before.

You tense, but you don’t move.

Her eyes sparkle.

“What a stunning couple! So in sync. You just radiate love.”

Your face warms instantly.

You'd have corrected her if it wasn't for the mission, Gojo on the other hand doesn't miss a beat.

“We hear that a lot,” he says, glancing down at you. “She gets all flustered when people notice.”

His gaze lingers, like he’s watching your reaction too closely.

“She’s shy.”

Your jaw clenches.

“So shy,” you mutter, without meeting his eyes.

He smirks.

The old woman beckons you both toward the reception desk, where a delicate wooden charm dangles from a heart-shaped key.

“We’ve prepared the honeymoon suite especially for you,candles, rose petals, and the most breathtaking view of the mountain onsen.”

Gojo hums, pleased.

He leans in as you pass her, voice brushing low and soft against your ear.

“Mrs. Gojo has a really nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

You don’t answer.But your steps falter.

Just slightly.

And his hand doesn’t leave your back.

You step on his foot a second later, just for balance.

Or that’s what you tell yourself.

He doesn’t flinch,just laughs softly behind you.

Like he knows something’s shifting.

Maybe,because it is.

_

The staff from the inn leads the way into your room,

The room is soft and warm when you step inside,golden light spilling through rice paper, the faint scent of hinoki and rose petals in the air.

Your eyes land on the futon first.

You freeze in the doorway.

One futon.

Laid out dead center. Covered in soft white sheets and a gentle scatter of pink petals like the universe is mocking you. One bed. Two people.

You sigh.

“There’s only one.”

“How romantic,” Gojo says, sauntering in behind you. “Should we use it now or after the onsen?”

“You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“I don’t see a couch.”

You gesture to a floor cushion in the corner.

“Improvise.”

He places a hand on his chest like you’ve broken his heart.

“You’re really gonna make your husband sleep on the floor? On our honeymoon?”

“You can line it with your ego. That should cushion the fall.”

He laughs, easy and bright, throwing himself back onto the futon like he belongs there. Limbs everywhere. Shirt riding up again. Stupidly perfect.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone. When you’re cold and lonely in that big empty bed.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You’ll cave.”

e says it with that lilt,that confidence, like he knows you always eventually do.

But this time?

Something in you coils.

He doesn’t know that you’ve already decided you won’t make him sleep on the floor.

And that you’ve already caved.

And worst of all,he thinks he’s still winning.

You set your towel down, tight-lipped. You're about to walk away when he shifts on the bed, rolling onto his side. Head propped on his hand, bare forearm flexed, blindfold still slung loose around his neck.

“Unless…”

His voice dips, teasing,

“You just want me close tonight, huh? That’s why you’re making a fuss. You want me to beg.”

You look at him.

And in that moment-something snaps.

Not visibly. Not dramatically.

Just… an internal click.

You’ve had enough.

Of his mouth,his touches,him looking at you like he owns the upper hand.

He wants to play? Oh you'll play.

He stretches back, smirking at the ceiling.

“I’ll be in the onsen. Don’t keep me waiting too long, wifey.”

He says it like a joke.

Like he doesn’t expect anything.

And that’s his mistake.

_

The onsen is dimly lit, steam curling around the rocks, moonlight pooling silver in the water.

Gojo’s already in.

He’s leaned back against the smooth stone wall, arms out along the edge, hair wet and slicked back, collarbones gleaming, eyes closed in total smug satisfaction.

Until the door slides open behind him.

He doesn’t look.

“Changed your mind?” he calls over his shoulder. “Couldn’t resist me, huh?”

“Care to join me, wifey?” he drawls lazily, not even opening his eyes.

He doesn’t think you will.

He never expects you to take it that far.

But you do.

Silently, you untie the towel around your body, letting it slip down with a soft thump against the wood.

You don’t answer.

The sound of it hitting the floor is quiet.

Although not quiet enough to miss.

His head snaps toward the sound,and when he sees you, standing at the edge of the steam, bathed in warm light and nothing else-

And when he finally turns and sees you...

It knocks the breath from his lungs.

You’re stepping into the water slowly, bare skin glowing in the light, steam kissing every inch of you like it’s lucky to touch you. Your body is all soft curves and smooth lines, thighs glistening, collarbones gleaming, hair pinned messily up so the heat traces down the nape of your neck.

And your eyes. Calm. Eyes slightly lidded.

The moment he sees you, he stills.

Completely.

You don’t stop.

You wade toward him, bare and composed, eyes locked on his like you’ve been planning this. And maybe you have,maybe somewhere between his shoulder brushing yours on the train and his smug grin on the bed, you decided,

You’re going to break him.

You reach him with a soft splash of water, skin glowing in the golden light, lips barely parted.

His hands twitch against the ledge.

“Y-You…” His voice is low. Shaky. “You actually came in.”

You hum softly, like you hadn’t noticed the wreckage in his expression.

“You invited me, didn’t you?”

Your voice is honey.

“It’d be rude not to.”

You place your hands on his shoulders,hot skin against his, your fingers smoothing over damp muscles.

He tenses instantly beneath you.

But he doesn’t stop you.

He couldn’t, even if he tried.

You lower yourself gently onto his lap, slow enough to feel his breath hitch. Your thighs spread, your knees bracing against the stone ledge behind him, your bare skin sliding over his.

And then you settle.

Chest pressed to chest.

Your cheek brushing his.

Your lips a whisper from his own.

You feel his heartbeat hammer beneath you.

You feel every inch of him,tense, aching, desperate.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, Satoru,” you murmur, breath soft against his jaw. “You thought I’d stay quiet forever?”

His hands finally rise,hesitant at first, then desperate, grabbing at your hips, pulling you closer like he might die if there was even an inch of space between you.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasps. “You’re—fuck—you’re actually gonna kill me.”

You smile against his cheek.

And then,you move.

Not much. Just a roll of your hips.

A shift.

But it’s enough to make him groan, low and wrecked.

His head falls back as your mouth brushes up the side of his neck, not kissing,just there, hovering, letting your breath tickle along his damp skin.

“You’ve had your fun, haven’t you?” you whisper.

“It’s my turn now.”

Your arms wrap slowly around his shoulders.

Your chest presses flush against his.

Water sloshes softly as you adjust,your thighs now firm around his waist, and your lips brushing his, just enough to taste the heat of him.

He’s breathing ragged now.

His hands are everywhere,your back, your waist, sliding over your thighs like he doesn’t know what to touch first.

“Fuck- baby just one—”

And then-

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK-

Sharp. Sudden.

“Room service! Fresh towels, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo!”

You go completely still.

Satoru? Flinches.

The tension snaps instantly, like a curse seal unraveling beneath his ribs.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

And he looks ruined.

Flushed. Panting. Needing.

You laugh,soft and sweet and far too pleased with yourself.

“Oops.”

He stares at you like you’ve just burned a hole through his soul.

You climb off him, slow and graceful, every brush of your skin against his a punishment.

You step out of the onsen, glancing over your shoulder, water dripping down the line of your back.

Satoru doesn’t move.

He Can’t.

“Also, Satoru,” you say, wrapping the towel back around your waist.

You turn fully to face him, water running down your neck, eyes soft but unreadable.

“We can share the bed tonight.”

You pause,let the silence hang.

Then you smile.

“We’re married, no?”

You say with a wink.

Yeah,His soul leaves his body.

"Cursed armor, it's bound to me".

"Very on brand for you, I must say" you tease,

"you're getting brave"

"am I? will you do something about it?"

His jaw flexes as he says, "you wanna find out?"

All he receives is another giggle,

"alright, now tell me, why have I never seen you with a beard? Don't you grow one?",

He doesn’t open his eyes. Just exhales through his nose like you’ve asked the most offensive question imaginable.

“Because I shave,” he mutters.

“You shave? Like… regularly?”

“Do you think my face stays smooth by divine will alone?”

You blink. Then grin.

“Honestly, yes.”

"shut up"

“Fine, fine,” you say, running a finger along the markings on his chest. “These? Tattoos. Are they real?”

“Those are my markings,some are carved. Some were born with me. Some are my power.”

You blink, "you carved them yourself?"

"mmm, no one else was worthy enough to touch me"he grumbles.

"so dramatic"

"Okay what about your hair cut? Who cuts it? Do you go to like a cursed salon,can I come next tim-"

His eyes snap open,all four of them. Sharp. Burning.

“That’s it.” His voice is low, dangerous, and entirely too calm. “Enough questions, woman.”

You grin like you’ve won something. “Aw, did I reach the limit?”

“You passed it. Three questions ago.”

“But you were answering.”

“I was tolerating. There’s a difference.”

He shifts,sudden, fluid, and predatory,until it’s you on your back, and he’s above you now, eyes narrowed like a storm about to break.

“And now,” he murmurs, voice a velvet threat, “you’re going to be quiet.”

You blink up at him, smiling sweetly.

“What if I’m not?”

He bares his teeth.

“Then I’ll give you something better to do with that mouth.”

Yeah that's enough questions for today. Not that you would mind-