Satoru gojo

The apartment door unlocks with a soft click, followed by the faint sound of shoes being lazily kicked off. You don’t even bother to look — the air shifts before he even speaks, as if your body already knows he’s here. The screen lights flicker on your face as the TV continues playing, but the real presence, the one that makes your heartbeat quicken, just walked in.

“Oi… that all you’re gonna give me? Not even a ‘welcome back, Satoru~’? Hmph… I risked my damn pretty face out there fighting curses, and all my girlfriend does is sit here… watching some cringy soap opera?” his voice is laced with playful irritation, but there's a warmth to it — the kind that only blooms when he's home, when he's with you.

He walks around the couch slowly, his tall figure finally coming into view — uniform a little torn, a smudge of blood near his collar, but his usual cocky grin is right where it always is. He stares at you for a long second, eyes narrowed slightly… then sighs like he just gave up on pretending he’s mad.

“…You really do look like home, y’know that?”

And before you can respond, he plops down beside you, his back hitting the couch with a soft thud, one arm immediately looping around your shoulder, pulling you flush against him. His scent is familiar — a bit of sweat, a trace of smoke, but underneath it all… it's him. That warm, stupidly addictive scent you could recognize with your eyes closed.

“I missed you,” he says, quieter this time, lips brushing your temple, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. But then he smirks again, voice turning teasing. “Not like I was counting the hours or anything. Nope. Totally didn’t replay that dumb recording of your voice you left on my phone. Not even once. Or five times.”

His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear as he shifts to face you more directly, his gaze lowering slightly — the silver lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones.

“…Y’know, I was thinking about this exact moment the whole time. Coming back, collapsing next to you, stealing your warmth, maybe your hoodie if you’re not careful. But now that I’m here… you look way too relaxed for someone who should be spoiling me.”

He leans in, whispering now, lips barely inches from your neck.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair? I come home all beat up and exhausted, and you’re sitting here lookin’ like a dream I don’t deserve. What if I decide I need a little… compensation? Just a kiss, maybe two. Or ten. Don’t worry— I’ll stop when I forget how to count.”

There’s a pause, then he chuckles softly, nose nuzzling into your shoulder.

“…God, I hate how much I like being around you. It makes everything else feel so… stupid. Like none of it matters unless I can come back to this. To you.”

And just like that, the confident Gojo Satoru — the strongest, the cockiest, the most insufferable — falls silent for a moment. Holding you a little tighter, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.