Tranquility in Marriage — Gojo Satoru x Reader
WARNINGS: MDNI, heavy implications and talks of sexism, gender inequality because its in a more traditional setting, fluff, arranged marriage, quiet love, slowburn, distrust at first, elders acting like shit.
SUMMARY: Getting into an arranged marriage with you was the only order Gojo Satoru had ever obeyed from the Elders and it was certainly not one he regretted.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is heavily inspired on a slow love song I found and it's like a part one of the background of a mini-series for the arranged marriage au. Link to part ii.
MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.
You looked in front of the mirror with cold, empty eyes that practically screamed for you to get out of there. The beautiful white gown fit your body perfectly, the painted lips left not a single smudge around it, the curled hair flowed down elegantly—every detail in place, every inch seen and carefully given attention to, an evident of your family's perfectionism. But it felt nothing like you, almost as if you were in someone else's skin or more precisely, a nightmare that could been ended with a single pinch.
However, no matter how many times you tried to dig your sharp nails into the flesh of your elbow, desperately attempting to wake yourself, you were instead met with a sting from the pinch and the bitter realization that this was indeed real. All of it was your reality now and you didn't have a say in it anymore.
Growing up in a traditional and strict clan meant that you had been taught lessons that you would never have learnt if you had been born in a normal family, your childhood no longer becoming your own as the adults around you took control.
While other little girls learnt how to tie their shoelaces and sing the alphabets during their childhood, your mother and the ladies of the clan homeschooled you and taught you the ways of how marriage works early on in your childhood. They tried to drill the idea of being a perfect wife in your head, becoming obsessed over time to turn you into a bargaining doll- a perfect bride to be sold of to another clan for power and fame.
In your childhood, you became lonely and isolated, cut off from the rest of the world the high walls your clan built around you. The women of your clan would frequently tell you horror stories, meant to keep you afraid, obedient and most importantly, loyal. They told you all about the cruel men who would sell you for money, how shame and ruin will only follow you beyond the clan's protection, and how staying within tradition is important to preserve your dignity.
"None of us would become anything without tradition," Your father lamented during supper, while your mother poured more tea into his cup, "Each of us have duties to be fulfilled with the roles given to us. You must do the same."
"But I do not know him, Father," you spoke up, voice steady as ever, causing several figures around you to stiffen, including your mother whose hand froze around the teapot handle. "How can I marry someone I do not know? I don't even know what he looks like. I've only heard from the whispers of others. "
Even with the suffocating pressure of tradition, you had always clung to your freedom. Long before you ever learned about the outside world, before you secretly discovered what life was like beyond the clan walls, you had already felt the longing of freedom in your heart. You wanted to live without fear and discover the world for yourself. You wanted to become more than what you were destined for.
And once you did learn and saw how different things could be for women outside of the clan's high walls, you couldn't erase it from your thoughts.
You began to question it. At first, your rebellion came in sharp bursts during your teenage years, which consisted of loud arguments, slammed doors, sleepless nights. But over time, you learned to wield your defiance more carefully. Quietly. Strategically.
You learned how to maintain your peace while still discovering pieces of yourself that they will never reach. You found freedom in stolen books, brief conversations with outsiders, and long moments spent in your gardens where no one could hear you think.
But no amount of rebellion could stop the letter that arrived from the Gojo clan.
And now, sitting at the table during supper, you could feel that old, familiar burn in your chest. The ache of a future chosen for you, wrapped in duty and a name far more powerful than your own.
Your mother's face slowly turned red with fury, lips tightening, ready to yell at you, "You ungrateful brat—"
"You will know him soon enough, flower," your father interjected gently but firmly, shooting a warning glare to your mother. She fell silent with a click of her tongue.
Your father turned back to you, eyes softening with understanding and sorrow. "And you will do your duty," he said, not as a command but rather as a reminder. "As I have. As your mother has. As every soul at this table has for generations, and many more to come."
There was no malice in your father's words. There never had been.
You were his only child. His only daughter.
Out of everyone in the clan, he had dreaded this day the most. He had postponed your marriage as long as he could, always making excuses to the elders that there wasn't a suitable match for you yet, allowing you to have more time with your freedom. He had ensured you had everything your heart desired growing up, whether it'd be bookshelves filled with books to private gardens for you to wander alone, away from the suffocating clan members.
He had given you everything he could and he was the one to raise you as you are now, but even he was bound. "I would keep you forever here if I could," your father had said quietly to you in private when the announcement was first made. "However, I am unable to postpone this. The Gojo clan had been asking for your hand for quite some time now."
And just like that, your heart broke into pieces.
The Gojo clan, the most powerful and ancient family within the Jujutsu Society, had proposed a marriage between you and their only heir, Gojo Satoru. A name that's known in every household as he was known to hold the most powerful gift ever known, appearing only once in a hundred of years.
The Strongest, the Chosen One and now, your soon-to-be husband.
That was why your clan paid no mind to expenses. The wedding preparations was meant to become a spectacle to guests to dazzle. They wanted the whole world to know that their bloodline would be bound to the most exclusive and the most powerful clan in all the Jujutsu Society. And one day, their bloodline would be the one to have heirs of the Six Eyes and Limitless.
They paraded you around like a crowned jewel. A daughter. A symbol. A transaction for power.
Your father tried his best to comfort you throughout the whole process and even told you of how kind and polite the young Gojo was, but you still felt dread crawling up your chest every time you were reminded of the wedding.
Eventually, your father arranged a formal supper, hosting an official meeting between the two clans. A chance for you and your betrothed to meet face to face.
The Gojo clan would be arriving that evening.
You had never seen him before. Not even a glimpse. But the rumors painted him vividly. The piercing, otherworldly blue eyes that marked him as the wielder of the Six Eyes. Eyes said to see through everything and everyone. Eyes that couldn’t be lied to. Eyes that made people tremble at the mere sight of them.
You didn't know him. Not really. And that made him unpredictable.
And in your perspective, unpredictability was dangerous.
It didn't help that during the rare times you were allowed to leave the estate—escorted by maids who watches you closely—you still managed to hear the whispers and gossips from others. And when you snuck out on your own, hidden beneath a dark cloak as you always are, the whispers grew louder.
Some said he was mad. That he laughed too easily, smiled too widely. That he was far too powerful to be stable. Others whispered that he was dangerous—that behind that charming mask was a storm waiting to unravel. Some pitied you.
"Poor girl," they said. "She’ll be the one to face his gift when he loses control."
You couldn’t help but wonder who was right or perhaps, if all of them were and it depends on who he was with.
And still, you would have to sit beside him. Smile. Bow. Be the bride everyone expected you to be. Even if your hands trembled beneath the silk sleeves of your gown from fear and anxiety.
In the middle of the dining room, the air was thick with tension as servants rushed back and forth, arms full of trays and porcelain. Your aunts barked orders, your uncles corrected the seating arrangements for the fifth time, and your mother hovered over the flower arrangements like the wrong color petal might ruin the whole evening. You breath caught in your throat again. It had been happening all day. It was like a ticking time bomb and the explosion was getting closer with each breath you took.
And yet, no matter how many times they spoke of your betrothed, he remained nothing more than a blur in your mind. Unpredictable. Possibly destructive.
So, you did what you always did when the walls began to close in. You ran.
You slipped past your family members, past the servants busy with arrangements, past the elder who tried to stop you with a half-hearted call of your name. Your slippers barely made a sound on the wooden floors. You knew every corner, spending your whole life memorizing it to escape from everyone without getting noticed. You pushed a hidden door open to your garden.
The only place that ever felt like yours.
The only place you could freely be yourself with no eyes around.
No one was allowed here. Not the elders. Not the servants. Not even your mother dared to enter without invitation, which she can never get. Your father had made sure of that. It was your sanctuary and on days like this, it was the only thing that kept you breathing.
"It's just a stupid man," you tried to assure yourself, breathing deeply. You should consider yourself fortunate for not having Naoya Zenin as your betrothed. He was close to becoming your betrothed but your father refused to after sensing something terrible within the Zenin, which caused your mother to frequently complain to her sisters about since besides the Gojo clan, the Zenin clan is quite powerful as well. However, you heard that he was terrible behind doors towards his own staff and that your father had indeed saved you from a cruel destiny with him.
Perhaps Gojo Satoru isn't as bad as they say? You heard that he was a teacher as well to a school in Tokyo and becoming a teacher certainly teaches one patience and understanding.
Your whole body became alert when you felt someone open the door.
"Didn't think you'd be the type to bolt," came a voice from the doorway.
You froze.
The voice was low and teasing but calm as if he'd been waiting.
Your head snapped toward the sound, eyes locking onto a tall figure. His white hair caught the silver of the moonlight, and a pair of dark-tinted glasses covered his eyes. He didn’t look dressed for a formal dinner, though he wore the same colors as your clan's celebration garb, only looser, more relaxed, as if tradition didn't sit tightly on his skin the way it did on yours.
Gojo Satoru.
You didn’t need to ask.
You just knew.
"I had a feeling you might be here. Your garden looks lovely," he remarked with a smile, stepping casually onto the stone path but he made sure to keep a distance between you to keep you comfortable. "Though I have to admit, I expected you to climb the back wall and disappear completely. Not take a detour through your rose bushes."
You stared at him in disbelief, both at how relaxed he was and how annoying he was. "How do you know this is my garden?"
He tapped his ear. "I listen. Your maids gossip a lot."
You narrowed your eyes. "And how did you get here if you only listened? Did you follow me here?"
"I wandered," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "And stumbled into your sanctuary entirely by accident."
He looked at you. "Lucky me. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have seen such beauty."
You weren't sure if he meant the garden or you.
Silence stretched between the two of you.
He didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look insane. If anything, he looked as if he was trying to figure out what to do or even say to you in the situation you are in. You two are meant to be married soon after all. His posture was relaxed, his voice soft and unassuming. The famous Gojo Satoru, who wielded the Six Eyes and Limitless, who could obliterate entire clans with a flick of his hand, stood there looking more like a polite yet awkward houseguest than the strongest sorcerer alive.
And then, just as your heart started to calm, he reached into his sleeve and pulled something out. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sugar bun he brought out, neatly wrapped in a pale paper.
He held it out to you, completely deadpan. "Peace offering."
Your brows furrowed. "…For what?"
He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy motion that somehow still managed to carry elegance. "For crashing your very exclusive garden party. And, you know, the whole arranged marriage thing."
You blinked, taken aback by the casualness in his tone.
He tilted his head and added, "I’m aware I don't exactly have a peaceful reputation, but I heard you liked sweets and I thought you would find flowers boring."
You stared at the sugar bun. Then back at him. Then back at the sugar bun. You did like sugar buns and you did favor snacks over flowers any day, but how could he have known that?
"…You’ve been spying on me?"
"Research," he said, one hand dramatically placed on his chest. "Basic recon. You’d be amazed what I can find out from your maids in just a few minutes."
"But even so, how did you manage to get the sugar bun on time? Your family couldn't have been here for that long," you pointed out, suspicion creeping into your voice.
Gojo grinned, the kind of grin that belonged to someone far too pleased with himself.
"Teleportation," he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You blinked. "Teleportation," you repeated in disbelief.
"Yep. Technically, it’s a manipulation of space, but that’s boring talk." He gave the sugar bun a slight wave in front of your face. "What matters is that one moment I’m sweet-talking your maids, next moment I’m popping into my favorite bakery with the most delicious sugar bun that I know of in Tokyo, and then boom, I’m back here with the gift in hand."
"I didn’t want to show up empty-handed," he said with a casual shrug. "First impressions matter, and I didn’t think you'd be impressed by the usual fancy clan offerings. The elders suggested gold, pearls, cursed weapons— they're quite a bore."
You almost smiled.
The absurdity of it. The sincerity behind that sugar bun.
"And besides," he added, stepping a little closer and holding out the sugar bun again, "I wanted to give you something you would actually like and enjoy."
That made you pause.
It was true that you expected gifts from him not because you wanted it but rather that it was obligatory for the bride and groom to gift something in their first meeting. It had always been mandatory.
But this? A sugar bun from Tokyo, delivered through a manipulation of time and space, because he thought you would like it?
You took it from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second.
"Thank you," you murmured with a sincere smile.
He smiled so gently that it made you wondered for a moment—just for a moment—why you had been so guarded before.
"Anytime," he said.
—
"Where have you been?" Your mother whispered harshly the moment you stepped into the living room where the two families waited. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe with thinly hidden irritation.
You had told Gojo not to follow you, knowing very well that his presence beside you would raise several eyebrows, especially with the more traditional members like the elders at present. He understood though. He always seemed to understand, even when you didn't mind his company. It was something that needed to be done.
Before you could explain yourself, her eyes dropped to the sugar bun still in your hand. Her face turned furious and without missing a beat, she snatched the bun from your hand and shoved it to a nearby servant who got startled by the sudden presence of the snack in her hand.
"You are already spoiled enough," she hissed under her breath, as though your existence was a stain on a fine porcelain, disgust evident in her eyes. "But hiding away from your own engagement to eat sweets? Have you no shame?"
She aggressively smoothed out the front of your attire.
"Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself," she muttered, deeply annoyed. "If anyone knows better, they would have thought you passed through a storm to get here."
Aunts materialized around you like a daily routine, fixing your hair and adjusting stray threads from your attire with careful fingers and disapproving silence. They were less vocal about it, thinking that your mother's constant criticism would be enough for you to learn a lesson. You barely had the time to breathe through your mother's little makeover before you were presented—more like, pushed—to the heads of the Gojo clan.
Gojo Naoyuki and Gojo Sayaka.
Your future-in-laws.
Maintaining a steady posture, you bowed to them with grace as a formal greeting that was ingrained since childhood and one that. You had wondered what they might be like because unlike Satoru, there were barely any conversations surrounding them. One might even thought Satoru didn't any at all, given how rarely they were mentioned. Gojo Naoyuki held a great resemblance to his son—sharp jawline, striking white hair, the same proud nose—but he had none of Satoru's charms or even the twinkle in Satoru's eyes. Instead, his gaze was heavy and rather restricted, a large contrast with Satoru's own personality.
In some ways, he reminded you of your father—bounded by tradition, but he seemed to have experienced it far greater than your father had, tradition carved deeper into the lines of his every expression.
Gojo Sayaka, by contrast, was as beautiful as the whispers did claim, ever so graceful and composed, features refined like porcelain. There was an effortless elegance to her, the kind not taught but inherited. And yet, she had said very little since the moment you entered. Her silence was not absent though, it was calculation. Her poised eyes had followed your every movement the moment you stepped into the room, unlike her husband, whose focus had remained locked in conversation with your father.
Her gaze wasn't cruel, nor was it warm. It was observant. Formal. Dutiful. The way a queen might pay attention to her court; nothing personal and only done with a purpose.
While Satoru’s presence made you feel seen, Sayaka’s made you feel studied, like a judge almost.
However, you were used to judging eyes as well. You had been your whole life with the way the women in your clan, especially your mother, have berated you all these years and insulted you as well for every little thing you do. Yet, here you are, having to marry a family that's far better than the one your mother had married into. If it wasn't an arranged marriage, you would have been prideful of it sooner but after knowing your future husband, you were more at peace and only made your formalities. At the very least you will make sure to not tarnish the Gojo name.
Your father stepped forward first, bowing with practiced grace. “Gojo-dono. It is our honor to welcome you into our home.”
Naoyuki inclined his head. “The honor is mutual.” His voice was deep and calm, but carried the weight of a man who measured every word. “We have long observed your clan’s reputation for discipline. We are pleased to see it was not exaggerated.”
Your father offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We strive to uphold what was passed down.”
Naoyuki gave a single approving nod before his eyes shifted toward you. They swept over you—not in scrutiny, not even judgment—but in the way one might inspect a weapon, a seal, an heirloom. “You carry yourself well," he remarked smoothly but lacked in warmth. "As expected of your clan. Daughters are often the reflection of a clan's discipline."
You bowed again. “Thank you, Gojo-dono.”
“It is not praise," he said evenly, “It is the standard.”
Silence hung for a moment too long and your aunts braced themselves for the bite that you usually do, but instead you just smiled politely. "Of course, I was raised well by my family and I will continue to honour the Gojo family with everything I was taught."
The room remained still for a heartbeat longer. Your mother’s eyes twitched ever so slightly, unsure whether to feel pride or suspicion. Your aunts exchanged brief glances, perhaps uncertain if your response was a surrender or a warning wrapped around in silk.
Naoyuki studied you, and while his expression didn’t change, there was a shift in the air, the slightest pause before he nodded once. Accepting. For now.
"Very well." He said. "You'll come to understand that more intimately once you take your place in the Gojo clan."
Murmurs of agreement followed afterwards, mostly from your aunts and other members of the Gojo clan. As for Sayaka, she only blinked slowly. A small tilt of her head. Nothing more, but you could see that it was a sign of approval from her.
You dipped your head politely, not submitting, but choosing not to engage with the provocation. You’d been raised to survive this kind of game. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Satoru relax slightly at your composure, his shoulders loosening as if to say, You did well.
Naoyuki gave a small nod of approval. Not of warmth—that was never his style—but of recognition. You had not faltered.
But you knew this wouldn’t be the last time you'd be expected to endure someone else’s standards. You watched as your father continued to converse with Naoyuki, but you could still feel a gentle gaze on you.
