⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆˚ 𐙚 ₊ ⋆

Water trails in delicate rivulets down your spine, disappearing beneath the towel's edge. Your hair drips lazily over one shoulder.

He stops in the doorway, frozen.

You don't look, but you feel him behind you.

You don’t look. You feel him.

His presence hits the room like a shift in gravity.

He’s standing there in the doorway, backlit faintly by the hallway candles, robe loosely tied at his waist. Damp strands of his snowy-white hair cling to his forehead and temples, the rest sticking up in unruly tufts. His chest rises and falls a little too fast, still not recovered from what you did to him in the onsen.

And yet... he looks divine.

Water glistens on his collarbone, trailing down the exposed part of his chest, disappearing into the V of his loosely fastened robe. His lips are parted slightly, pink and damp, like he’s halfway through a breath he forgot to finish. But it’s the look in his eyes,like he’s seen something holy and sinful all at once,that really gets you.

His gaze falls on you,kneeling in a towel, bathed in candlelight, back bare and wet, hair dripping slowly onto your shoulder.

He’s not breathing.

You pretend not to notice the way he freezes in place or the flicker of his throat as he swallows hard.

You lift your yukata from the nearby stand, and with no particular rush, begin to slip it on. The towel drops from your body in a single fluid motion, and for the briefest second, the flickering candlelight kisses the silhouette of your bare form before the soft fabric of the yukata wraps around you.

His breath stutters.

You turn slightly, still not facing him fully, your tone laced with honey,

“Satoru… I can’t tie this properly. Could you help me?”

His hands twitch at his sides. He says nothing at first, only steps forward, like a man pulled by a string. His feet are silent against the mat, but his breathing gives him away.

You hold the yukata closed at your chest, the sash dangling from your fingers as you hand it back to him over your shoulder.

He takes it with a shaky breath, fingers brushing yours. The contact is barely there, but enough to send a tremor through him.

He kneels slightly to wrap it around your waist, his chest brushing your back as he leans in closer to knot it. His fingers are trembling,subtle, but you notice.

You don’t move, don’t breathe, as you tilt your head to glance at him from over your shoulder. The candlelight flickers between you, casting your faces in soft shadow, but his expression is unmistakable.

Eyes dark. Lips parted.

You murmur, lips close enough that he can feel your breath on his skin

“Thank you.”

You move slowly, turning in his hold. You’re now facing him, only inches apart, the candlelight caught between your bodies, your breath mingling in the charged space between.

His hands are still on your waist.

Your eyes meet his.

You tilt your chin up, just a little,like an invitation or a challenge, he can’t tell. Your lips part softly. His gaze drops to your mouth.

You can hear it in the silence between you,he’s going to do it.

And just as he starts to lean in, as if he finally can’t take it anymore--

KNOCK KNOCK.

“Apologies for the inconvenience Mr. and Mrs. Gojo!the power will be back shortly.Your dinner is ready , please enjoy it in the meantime!"comes a muffled voice from the hallway, cheerful and oblivious.

The tension shatters like glass.

Gojo steps back like he’s been slapped with cold water, hands pulling away from your waist reluctantly. His chest rises and falls too quickly, lips parted, the moment torn away from him like a page ripped mid-sentence.

You, on the other hand, smile sweetly,composed, unaffected.

You're already walking towards the door, about to slid it open when you say "come, let's eat" but it doesn't go unnoticed by him when you murmur to yourself, laughing softly,as if it's a joke within yourself,

"he'll need the energy tonight"

You step out.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just makes a strangled little noise in the back of his throat.

“Hmm.”

As he follows behind you.

_

The dining room is styled like everything else in this inn,classic, minimal, achingly intimate. You and Gojo are seated at a low lacquered table on tatami mats, kneeling beside each other instead of across, separated only by a few inches of warm floor and unbearable tension.

There’s no one else in the room, just the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of cicadas beyond the open shoji screen. Dinner has been laid out carefully,grilled river fish, steamed vegetables, fragrant miso, and tea—but the moment you both settle into place, the food becomes the last thing on either of your minds.

Gojo is already struggling. He’s quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet where he’s forcing every molecule in his body not to look,at your neck, your chest, your bare legs tucked under you. The way the hem of your yukata rides up when you shift slightly. The way candlelight flickers over your skin like a lover's touch.

He clears his throat and picks up his chopsticks with shaky hands.

You? You’re calm ,as if this is a normal routine for you.

You sip your tea slowly, lazily, as if the heat doesn’t touch you. Then you lean in closer, reaching for a piece of grilled fish,your sleeve slipping just enough to show the full line of your forearm, then further,just enough that the edge of your breast peeks from beneath the loosened yukata.

“It’s warm tonight, isn’t it?” you murmur, voice low and laced with mock innocence.

His chopsticks falter midair.

“Y-yeah. Little warm,” he mumbles.

You sigh softly and reach up to untie your sash just a little, loosening it at the waist. You don't even look at him as you do it. The sound of the fabric shifting is somehow louder than anything else in the room.

Your yukata slips lower around your shoulders. You let it. It’s still perfectly in place--technically. But the neckline now dips just enough to reveal more skin than modesty allows. It’s all shadow and suggestion and barely-there sin.

Gojo coughs quietly.

“You okay?” you ask sweetly, looking over at him with the faintest smirk. “You’re turning red.”

He shoots you a side eyed glare that’s all you’re evil and I’m dying, then downs half his tea like it's holy water.

You pretend not to notice how his legs shift under the table.

It sure is fun to relentlessly tease The Strongest. Turns out he's not very strong at keeping his composure when it comes to you-

Then you stretch your leg out,just slightly, and your toes brush his ankle under the table. He twitches. Doesn’t move. So you slide your foot a little higher. Up his calf.

He freezes.

“You sure you're eating?” you murmur without looking up, casually lifting a bite of rice to your lips. “You're awfully quiet.”

“I'm--” he clears his throat again, struggling. “--trying.”

Your leg moves again, sliding higher beneath the folds of his robe. His knees shift. You press your thigh just gently against his under the table, close enough now that if you leaned just an inch, your chest would graze his arm.

He’s not touching his food anymore.

His breathing is shallow, jaw tight, eyes fixed on his bowl like he’s praying it’ll save him.

“We still have dessert, don’t we?” you ask, your voice a whisper now,so low and intimate that it brushes the shell of his ear. “Or do you want to save that for later?”

He turns to look at you, and the expression on his face is utterly feral,shaky restraint, tension so thick it pulses, and that look in his eyes like he wants to take you right there, on the floor, on the table, doesn’t matter.

But you just smile at him like you said nothing unusual. Pick up a piece of sweet simmered daikon. Chew it slowly. Then sigh.

“Mmm… I love soft things that melt in your mouth.”

He chokes.

Actually. Chokes.

You glance over and tilt your head like you’re concerned.

"Careful,” you murmur, barely hiding your grin. “Did it go down the wrong way?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, glaring at the table like it personally betrayed him.

You shift again beside him, and this time your knee brushes his thigh. He flinches.

You know he's hard. You know he's holding himself back so tightly it's painful. You know he’s trying to respect the setting, the mission, you--but you also know he’s crumbling.

When you take your final sip of tea and set it down, you glance at him sideways, gaze slow and sultry.

“We should freshen up before bed, don’t you think?

He doesn't answer with words. Just gives a strangled nod, stands a little too fast, and keeps his robe strategically held in front of him as he follows you out.

The candle flickers as you stand, and your yukata slides a little further down your shoulder.

You don’t fix it.

_

The bathroom is quiet when you both step in, the only light coming from a candle on the corner shelf. It flickers against the mirrored wall, casting slow, golden ripples across the tiles and the fog-slicked surface.

You turn on the water.

Steam curls up quickly, dancing into the air like silk threads, and the temperature begins to rise. The room smells faintly of hinoki wood, soap, and him.

You undo the last knot of your sash,with the front of your yukata now completely undone,all the skin underneath, now exposed entirely.

You don’t look back as you lean toward the mirror, rubbing your fingers across the fogged surface to wipe a streak clear. Your reflection blurs slightly,backlit by candlelight, warm and glowing, skin dewy from the heat.

Gojo stands behind you, just inside the doorway, so still

You see his silhouette in the mirror,robe loose, hair a tousled silver mess, his chest rising a little too fast. He hasn’t said a word.

You pretend not to notice as you've been for the entire day.

Instead, you shift your hips just a little, adjusting your yukata, pretending to tighten it as you arch slightly toward the mirror. Your back curves. The hem of the towel lifts just a breath.

“You okay back there?” you ask casually, reaching for your toothbrush, lips curled around the question.

He clears his throat, voice rough.

“Yeah. Yep. Totally. Just… watching.”

“Mm.” You apply your lip balm slowly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. “Like what you see?”

His eyes darken.

“You know I do.”

You hum,pleased. Then you lean in slightly, wiping the fog again as you press your chest closer to the sink, which in turn shifts your hips back,closer to him.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

The distance between your bodies disappears. You feel him pause,his body heat suddenly grazing your back, the hem of your towel brushing his thighs. You sway, just barely,your hips rolling gently back against him.

Your voice is soft. Dangerous.

“Oops. Bit crowded, huh?”

He groans under his breath.

His hands come to rest lightly on your hips, fingers twitching like he wants to grab harder,but doesn’t. He holds back. Just barely.

“You’re driving me insane,” he mutters, voice husky against the back of your neck.

You arch again, ever so slightly,grinding back against him just enough to feel it.

You don’t need to see to know he’s hard. He’s been hard for hours.

He grips you a little tighter. You can feel the tremble in his fingers.

“Please.”

You turn , letting his hands slide around your waist until you’re facing him, only inches apart. The candlelight hits his face just right—his lips parted, eyes blown wide with hunger, hair wild, robe loose enough to tempt you right back.

But you don’t lean in.

You just lift a hand to smooth your towel across your chest, deliberately slow, before trailing your fingers down your collarbone—right in front of him.

“We should get to bed.”

He blinks.

“Wha—?”

And then you step past him,slow, soft, brushing your shoulder along his chest as you go. Your skin brushes his thigh again.

“Come on,” you whisper over your shoulder.

You don’t look back.

He stays frozen for a second longer,shaking with restraint,then follows like a man chasing salvation.

At this point you can almost see his cursed energy buzzing around him.

_

You step out of the bathroom,

The hallway is dim, still lit by candlelight. Shadows dance against the wooden floors. You walk slowly, yukata now untied and clutched to your chest ,not for modesty, but because your skin feels too hot to be exposed. Your legs feel heavy. Thighs pressed a little too close together.

You’re not teasing anymore.

You need him now, and the awareness of that sits thick and low in your belly.

Behind you, you hear him. Quiet footsteps. Slower than yours. He’s walking like he’s afraid he might combust the second he touches you again.

You enter the room.

The futon is laid out neatly. The bedding looks soft, inviting. Too soft for what you both need.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

You drop the yukata .

Let it fall to the floor silently, like the last bit of control between you.

Your back is to him. You hear the sharp inhale,the sound of a man trying not to break. But you can feel it in the air,he’s gone. He’s not holding back anymore.

You kneel at the edge of the futon, breath unsteady, hair damp against your skin. You don’t have the strength to play anymore. You’re pulsing with heat, trembling with it. And when you glance over your shoulder, his eyes meet yours,raw, pleading, ravenous.

He takes a single step forward.

And that’s when you say it.

“Satoru… I was thinking."

His eyes flicker. He’s barely breathing.

You turn to face him, completely bare, and your voice soft and gentle, you mean it.

“You’ve been so good, haven’t you?.....you should come get your reward"

He breaks.

His robe is off in seconds.

“Please, I need you. I need you now.”

You pull him down with you.

“Then take me."

The moment the words leave your lips—

“You’ve been so good, haven’t you?”

his eyes darken like a storm rolling in.

The air in the room shifts, shudders. It’s not candlelight anymore,it’s wildfire.

And then he moves.

He’s across the room in a second, dropping to his knees in front of you like he’s praying. Like he’s home.

His hands find your waist and pull you to him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

“Say it again,” he whispers, voice wrecked.

You cup his jaw.

“You’ve been good, Satoru.”

That’s it.

He snaps.

His mouth is on yours,hot, bruising, breathless. His hands roam everywhere at once,palming your thighs, sliding over your hips, grabbing your ass like he’s wanted to do it since the moment he saw you walk into that damn onsen.

“Mine,” he pants against your lips, barely pulling back.“You’re mine. Mine—fuck, I’ve waited-”

You don’t get a chance to answer,he’s already pushing you back gently onto the futon, crawling over you with the kind of reverence that feels like worship and the kind of desperation that feels like devouring.

His mouth trails kisses,wild, open-mouthed, uncoordinated--down your neck, over your collarbones, down your chest. He sucks a mark right above your heart and moans into your skin like he’s never tasted anything better.

“You don’t know-” he murmurs between kisses. “How long I’ve wanted you. How bad it’s been. You don’t fucking know.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, breath shaky.

He pulls back, just for a second, hands still gripping your thighs.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

He grunts—low in his throat,and drags his tongue down your stomach like he wants to lick every inch of you until you’re trembling.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs against your skin. “You tease me, you make me wait, you pretend you don’t want me but I know you do—”

His fingers dip lower finally.

“Fuck--look at you,” he gasps.You’ve been wanting this the whole time, haven’t you?”

You nod. Whimper.

“Use your words, baby,” he whispers, voice turning soft but possessive. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Satoru. I need you.”

That’s all it takes.

He devours you. His mouth is on your neck, your chest, your stomach,leaving wet, sloppy, desperate kisses. He bites down gently on your inner thigh and moans like he’s tasted sin and can’t stop now.

“You smell so fucking good,” he groans into your skin. “You’re soaked. Fuck, baby, were you like this all through dinner? When you were teasing me? Were you dripping under that yukata, acting all innocent?”

You whimper, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause. He’s between your legs now, spreading you open like a gift, tongue already dragging slow and filthy over your folds.

“Satoru—ah—!”

He groans. Loudly. His hands grip your thighs, fingers bruising, holding you in place as he eats like a man starving,so sloppy, hungry, possessive. He moans against your cunt, lets the vibrations travel through you until you’re squirming under his grip.

“You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted,” he mumbles, lips shiny. “I could live here.”

He sucks your clit gently, then hard, and you cry out, back arching. Your hands twist in his hair, tugging desperately.

“Please, please-don’t stop--”

He doesn’t. He drags two fingers through your slick, slow, and slides one inside,then another,curling them just right. He watches you fall apart, mouth still latched to you, as you grind against his face, messy, panting, ruined.

You cum hard. Fast. The pressure explodes, your thighs shaking around his head as you cry his name over and over. He doesn’t stop. He licks you through it, like it’s not enough, like your orgasm is the opening act to what he really wants.

“Satoru, please,—”

He finally pulls away, face dripping with your slick, lips swollen, eyes completely gone. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks--but it’s not cocky. It’s feral.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll forget teasing me ever again ”

He’s so hard it’s almost painful. You reach down, wrap your hand around him over the fabric of his robe, and he chokes on a moan.

“Let me make you mine,” he whispers against your lips. “Not pretend. Not fake. Just us.”

You don’t answer with words,you shift your hips and pull him down to you, legs wrapping around his waist, and that’s all the permission he needs.

He doesn’t waste another second.

He presses the head of his cock to your entrance, slow at first. Just the tip.

“Look at how wet you are,” he mutters, stroking up and down your slit. “You want me inside you this badly?”

You nod. Whimper. Try to pull him closer with your legs.

“Beg for it.”

“Satoru—please—I need you inside me. I can’t—please.”

He slides in with a deep, guttural groan.

Thick. Slow. Endless.

You both gasp when he bottoms out, fully seated inside, his hands planted on either side of your head like he’s trying not to collapse.

“You feel—fuck—you’re so tight, baby,” he chokes out. “You’re gripping me like you don’t want to let go.”

His hips pull back--then slam forward again, sharp and deep. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, along with your gasps and his broken curses.

“You gonna take all of it?” he pants. “Take everything I give you?”

“Yes—yes, Satoru—harder!”

He snarls,actually snarls,and starts pounding into you, deep and rhythmic, hitting that spot inside you that makes you sob his name.

His hands grab your wrists, pinning them above your head, mouth against your ear as he whispers,

“You’re mine. Mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours—Satoru—only yours—”

“Say it louder.”

“I’m yours!”

His hips slam into you harder, rough and fast now, the kind of thrusts that make your entire body jolt with each one. You feel yourself falling apart again,so much stimulation, too much pleasure.

“You’re close, huh?” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw. “You gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?”

You nod frantically, moaning. Tears prick your eyes.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Let me feel you.”

And you do.

You shatter around him with a scream, body spasming, thighs locking around his waist. You’re soaked, trembling, begging,but he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going.

"Fuck—I'm close—where do you want—"

You look up at him with lidded eyes and smile as you say "inside!— we're married right?"

That sends him over the edge

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Wanna see my cum dripping out of you. Mark you. Make sure no one ever forgets who you belong to.”

“Yours,” you cry. “I’m yours, Satoru, I’m—”

He thrusts once, twice--then stills.

Buries himself deep.

And cums inside you with a raw, broken moan, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his whole body trembling as he pulses inside you over and over.

You both stay like that,connected, shaking, ruined.

He’s still inside you, his weight resting on his forearms, skin sticky and warm against yours. His breathing is slowing, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t eased,not entirely.

He’s not looking at you

You can feel the weight of him on top of you,not just physically, but emotionally. Like he’s still holding on for dear life. As if pulling out would mean pulling away.

He blinks down at you.

Eyes soft. Lips swollen. His silver hair clings damply to his temple, his face pink from exertion,and something far more vulnerable.

“Satoru…” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer at first.

Just stares at you like he’s memorizing this moment. Then slowly, he shifts, pressing a kiss,so soft, it barely counts as a kiss,to the corner of your mouth.

Then your cheek.

Then your jaw.

And then he says it. Quiet. Breathless.

“I love you.”

You blink.

Your chest tightens,his words were so small, like they’d slipped out before he could catch them. His voice shakes. Not from fear, but from honesty.

You search his face, stunned.

He doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t try to laugh it off.

He just presses his forehead to yours again, eyes closed, voice barely a murmur,

“I love you,” he says again. “I know I joke around a lot. I know I tease. But I’ve been gone for you for so fucking long, I didn’t know what to do with it.”

You touch his cheek.

He leans into your palm like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“I love you when you ignore me,” he whispers. “When you act like I’m just some annoying idiot who’s too loud in meetings. I love you when you’re cold, and when you’re soft like this. I love every version of you, and it’s been driving me crazy because I thought I was the only one feeling this.”

Your eyes burn a little, but your smile breaks through.

You thread your fingers through his hair and pull him down into a kiss,slower this time, deeper. No more teasing. No more tension.

Just feeling.Just truth.

When you pull away, you whisper against his lips,

“I love you too.”

And the noise he makes is soft and wrecked, like he just came all over again from that alone.

He smiles.

That rare, gentle smile,not the cocky one. The one only you ever get to see.

“you make me feel fucked up” he mutters,kissing your cheek again. “I want to marry you.”

“You’re literally still inside me.”

“Yeah,” he grins, nuzzling into your neck. “Perfect time to say it.”

_

Bonus:

The mission is over.

The inn is behind you, and now you're walking through the front gates of Jujutsu High as if nothing happened.

As if you didn’t share a futon.

As if he didn’t make you come more times than you could count.

As if he didn't whisper I love you's into your skin

But Gojo?

He’s radiating.

Like he just hit the jackpot, well he did.

He’s whistling as he walks beside you, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on despite the cloudy sky. He’s humming something upbeat, too happy, too relaxed.

You elbow him gently.

“Tone it down.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says with a stupid smile.

“You’re glowing.”

“Am I?” he grins. “Maybe I exfoliated.”

You groan and roll your eyes, just as the rest of the squad comes into view across the training field.

Yuji spots you first, waving both hands like an overexcited puppy.

Sensei! You’re back! How was the mission?”

“Oh, you know,” Gojo says with a breezy stretch, “intense. Steamy. Very hands-on.”

You whip your head toward him in horror. His grin only widens.

Nobara eyes the two of you carefully,arms folded.

“You look... different,” she says slowly.

“I got a haircut,” Gojo lies instantly.

“You didn’t.”

"Emotionally I did."

Shoko walks out onto the porch with her cigarette already between her lips, watching the two of you like she knows everything. (She does.)

She exhales smoke, tilts her head.

“Didn’t expect you two back so soon,” she says. “You get the job done early?”

You nod stiffly. Gojo nods too, much too cheerfully.

“It was a very thorough... investigation,” he adds.

Shoko’s eyes drift lazily down to the faint pink mark on your collarbone that your jacket just barely covers.

She smirks.

Nanami walks by at that exact moment, gives one glance to Gojo’s smug expression and your shell-shocked silence, and does a full 180 turn.

“Nope,” he mutters. “I’m not dealing with this.”

“Love you too, Nanamin~!” Gojo calls after him.

Yuji squints.

“Wait. Are you two... like... together now?”

You open your mouth to deny it. But before you can, Gojo casually drapes his arm around your shoulders, tugging you in close, and says,

“What gave it away?”

You stare up at him, smacking his chest lightly as everyone groans, cheers, or just walks away muttering.

Gojo leans down toward your ear, voice soft this time—just for you.

“They were gonna find out eventually.”

“Still,” you mutter. “Do you have to look this smug about it?”

“You’d look smug too if you had what I have.”

He presses a kiss to your temple before walking ahead.

You stand there, flushed, lips twitching despite yourself.

And behind you, Nobara says flatly

“Yup. Definitely fucked.”

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,like it knows his warmth,like this has happened before.

You shift away an inch.

He shifts closer without even thinking.

Not intentionally. Not obviously.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.

He doesn’t know 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. Of his touches. Of 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.

But 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.