Archive of Our Own

Getou Suguru was Gojo Satoru’s lifeline. 

Genuinely speaking, no one really understood why Gojo had chosen, of all people, Getou. Even Getou himself didn't understand why an angel that had descended from the gates of heaven would choose a simple peasant like him. There were a million other possibilities. A million other suitors, in perfectly trimmed suits and fresh, luscious roses, their hair neat and eyes bright. But Gojo had went for the one in the shadows, the one who'd rather wear tattered cloaks and oversized hoodies, with the long, knotted, probably untamable nest of raven-black hair that Gojo loved to bury his face in every night. Why? many people would ask the sorcerer. Why would you choose him? In which Gojo would reply, Why not? My Six Eyes tell me he's the one for me. 

When Gojo and Getou first announced their relationship to the school, Utahime and Shoko had laughed. "You've got to be crazy. Both of you are exact opposites." Even when requesting for a shared room, Yaga reluctantly handed the key over, shock written all over his face. 

Only Gojo and Getou saw the beauty in their unbalanced personalities, their disrupted parallels, their entirely different souls.

While Gojo's technique keeps things out, Getou's keep things in. While Gojo was a prince, a shiny-haloed angel, fluffy toast with golden-brown honey drizzled over it, Getou was a devil, dark and brooding, ash-black cigarettes and bitter americano. While Gojo was the bratty, annoying, 6-year-old child, Getou was the mature, tired, yet endearing parent. 

Which was why, when Gojo stumbled into their room after a mission, drained of energy and slumped, Getou knew something was wrong. One glance at his boyfriend and he was already on his feet, there to catch Gojo when he tripped over the carpet. "What happened to you today?" Getou said, exasperated, pushing Gojo's bangs away from his forehead. Gojo didn't reply, choosing to immerse himself in Getou's arms, his cheeks pressed against Geto's chest. "What?" Getou asked, flicking Gojo's forehead. "Talk to me." Gojo groaned, and Getou could feel Gojo shake his head against his body. "Fine, be that way," Getou muttered, wrapping his arms around Gojo and rubbing his back. "You better talk when you're ready." 

Getou ran through the possible incidents that Gojo could've experienced as he soothed his boyfriend. Failed mission..no, Gojo wouldn't give up on a mission. Outshined by someone? No, impossible, Gojo doesn't go on joint missions unless it's with me. Did he injure himself? With a twitch of his nose, Getou suddenly realised that the room was tainted with the sickly, metallic tang of blood. No way. He has Infinity. Unless...

"Satoru. Satoru!" 

Getou shook his boyfriend awake, pushing Gojo away from him. "What? 'M tired, let me sleep," Gojo complained, reaching out for Getou's warmth. "Satoru, you're hurt, aren't you?" Getou asked, ignoring his pleas. "I..what? No. What made you think that?" Gojo retorted. Getou scanned Gojo's reaction carefully - ah. If he squinted, he could see that Gojo’s head was tilted slightly to the right, as if he was hiding something on his cheek.

"What the fuck," Getou laughed, pulling Gojo towards him with a slight jerk of of his wrist under his chin. "Where did you get that?"

Gojo whined and turned away from Getou, trying to escape his boyfriend's prying hands.

"Go away," Gojo snapped, pulling his collar up to his cheekbones to shield the huge scar from Geto.

“Oi, come here, it’s going to get infected,” Geto huffed, sliding a hand around Gojo’s waist and running a gentle finger over it.

“I don’t ca—“

And then Gojo Satoru was cut off as his boyfriend’s lips — those lips that tasted like lavender, roses and vanilla whipped cream — were on his wound.

It took Gojo a whole minute to process what Getou had just done. When it finally registered he backed away, spluttering. “What the hell?!” Gojo yelped, his hand flying to his cheek. “I’m sorry, did you find that disgusting?” Getou teased, a dirty smirk on his face. “No! Not at all! It’s just, u-uh, you-you…” 

Getou grinned and dug his fingers into Gojo’s hips, relishing the yelp of laughter as Gojo tried unsuccessfully to escape. “Imagine getting Gojo Satoru to stutter,” Getou remarked, ruffling his boyfriend’s hair. “Couldn’t be me.” 

Getou pulled down Gojo’s uniform collar, taking in the scratch that marred his Gojo’s beautiful face. “Alright, secret’s out. You have exactly 10 seconds to start explaining what happened.” 

And so, Gojo reluctantly began his explanation, puncturing his words with wild hand gestures. “The curse was onto me. I didn’t even get the chance to fight back. And then…” Gojo blushed and looked away, fidgeting with his hands. “And then?” Getou prompted. “And then I couldn’t activate Infinity,” Gojo finished lamely, unable to meet Getou’s eyes. “You couldn’t activate—but you’ve been able to activate it so easily the past few weeks!”

Gojo pouted. “I know!” He opened his mouth to continue, but stopped with a wince of pain and clapped his hand to his cheek. “Ow,” Gojo muttered, massaging the scar. Getou’s eyes rounded with concern. All thoughts of Gojo failing to activate Infinity disappeared, only to be replaced with raging alarm. “Okay, how bad is the wound? Do you need to see Shoko?” 

Gojo shook his head. “I don’t need an operation. Just normal medical treatment will do.” Relieved, Getou reached into their bedside drawer and pulled out a first-aid kit. “Yo…you have a first-aid kit in the drawer?” Gojo asked, snorting with laughter. “Yeah, to use when these kind of things happen. Perks of having a clumsy ass boyfriend.” Geto replied calmly. 

“This’ll sting,” Getou informed Gojo, dabbing a cotton swab with disinfectant. “Tug on my sleeve twice if it hurts too much, mkay?” Gojo’s eyelids fluttered slightly at the word “hurt” , but he took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.” 

Clearly Gojo had misjudged his pain tolerance, because Getou had hardly touched him when he shrieked and pulled away. “Ow, ow, ow! That fucking hurts!” he whined, batting at Getou’s hands. “Isn’t there any other method you can use?” he complained. 

“Too bad for you, there’s no one who doesn’t disinfect a wound before it can heal,” Getou replied, lifting the cotton bud. “Now, if we can try again…” 

Gojo scooted away from Getou, raising his hands in self-defence. “Don’t blame me! I haven’t gotten injured in combat…like…never. I’ve never been injured in combat before.” Getou sighed in understanding — Gojo’s Limitless and Infinity definitely came into handy when avoiding injuries. However, when Gojo actually managed to wound himself…

Getou tried another approach. “Hold my hand, yeah? If it hurts, squeeze tightly. Don’t think about the pain, and it’ll be over in a flash.” Before Gojo could argue, he slipped his hand into Gojo’s smaller one, running his fingers over Gojo’s knuckles gently. He felt a slight tremble of Gojo’s hand — and a fresh surge of anger coursed through him — he’d personally exorcise the curse that had made the love of his life so scared. “On three,” he told Gojo. 

“One.” 

“Two.” 

“Three.” Getou didn’t give Gojo the chance to pull away again — he pressed the cotton bud to Gojo’s cheek, trying to ignore Gojo’s gasp of pain. “Suguru…” Gojo whimpered, tugging on his shirt. “Suguru, it hurts…” Geto felt his own heart split into two — he rarely got the chance to see Gojo this vulnerable and in such pain. “Shh, it’ll be over soon,” he whispered, gripping Gojo’s hand tightly. A muffled sob escaped Gojo’s lips, and Getou had to fight the urge to remove the cotton bud. 

“Count down to 10 with me,” Getou urged, pressing his lips firmly against Gojo’s. “Ignore the pain and focus on me.” When Getou felt Gojo relax slightly, he began the countdown. 

“…4, 3, 2, 1. Okay, we’re done!” Getou said, removing the swab and grinning at Gojo. There were obvious tear tracks on Gojo’s face, but he managed to force out a smile in return. Getou threw the cotton bud aside before embracing Gojo, whispering sweet nothings into his ears. “You’re so brave. I’m so proud of you,” Getou said, massaging Gojo’s shoulders. 

“How long is the scratch?” Getou asked Gojo, lightly nudging his boyfriend’s hand away from his cheek. Gojo tilted his head. “I’d say…from my cheekbone…to my shoulder?” Getou choked on his own saliva. “What the fuck,” he said blandly. “Mkay, shirt off now.”

Gojo whipped off his shirt in one move, and Getou felt his heart jump at the sight of his boyfriend’s rock-hard abs. Gojo caught his gaze and grinned. “Stop drooling,” he teased, spreading his arms out behind him. “You look dumb.” 

Getou immediately tore his gaze away, rolling his eyes. “Shut up,” he muttered, throwing the cotton bud onto his stomach. “Don’t move, let me dress your wound.” 

Getou carefully unwound the gauze, measuring just the right length before wrapping it around the angry scar, which thankfully, was long but not deep. “You should be fine now,” Getou told Gojo, tossing him his discarded shirt. “It’s late, we better get to sleep.” 

Gojo pulled on his shirt and climbed into Getou’s arms, burying his face in Getou’s robes. Smiling slightly, Getou kissed the top of Gojo’s head affectionately. “G’night, Satoru.” 

“Night, Suguru.” 

Getou was awakened by a soft keening from beside him. His first thought was , Satoru, are you really getting horny now? But then he registered Gojo’s uneven breathing and pained gasps, and he pushed back the sheets, cupping Gojo’s cheeks in his hands. “Psst, Satoru,” Getou whispered, poking him in the side. “You okay?” 

The white-haired sorcerer flipped around to face Getou, and Getou reeled backwards when he saw the dark eyebags under Gojo’s eyes. “Man, what’s wrong? Can’t sleep? Nightmares?” Getou asked, worry making his voice sharp. “N-no…it’s…it’s just…I can’t drop my technique and my eyes and my head and my whole body hurts.”

Getou gaped at Gojo for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, what? You’re telling me you couldn’t activate it just now, but now you can’t drop it? What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“How can you not know?! This is serious, Satoru!” 

“It could be because of my physical health, I guess…” 

Getou frowned and continued. “What time have you been sleeping lately?” 

Gojo rubbed the nape of his neck. “Um…” 

“Have you even been sleeping?” 

“Um…”

Getou could’ve throttled Gojo. “How can you forgo your sleep just like that? It’s a given that your technique will fumble, it’s no surprise that this is happening!” 

Gojo flinched, and Getou softened, pulling on Gojo’s wrist. “Come on, I’ll run you a bath. If that doesn’t get you to relax, I don’t know what will.” 

A few minutes later, Getou had the tub filled with warm water to the brim, and was currently debating between which flavour bubble bath Gojo used — sakura and peaches? Or lemon and blueberries? In the end, he just dumped a load of both into the tub, smiling when it bubbled up. 

“Satoru!” he called, opening the bathroom door. “Bath’s ready.” 

With a sigh of relief, Gojo immersed himself in the water’s inviting arms, his eyes briefly fluttering close. “Feels good,” he whispers, relishing the feeling of warmth enveloping his aching muscles. “Thanks for this, Suguru…it helps a lot.” 

Getou hummed in response, gently massaging Gojo’s shoulders and back. “So, did you manage to exorcise the curse in the end?” Getou asked, one hand on the soap bar and the other on his boyfriend’s wet hair. “Nope. It got away before I could.” 

“Shame,” Getou said, rubbing his fingers on Gojo’s scalp. Gojo practically pushed into his touch, enjoying the sensation of Getou caressing his hair. He purred, a smile making it’s way across his face. “Damn, you’re pretty.” Getou cursed softly, bending over so he could stare at Gojo in the eyes. “You’re so pretty.” 

“I’m so lucky to have you.” 

Gojo reached up to grab Geto’s hand, kissing it lightly. “No, I’m so lucky to have you,” he told Getou. “You always make me feel so safe. I love you, Suguru. I’ll love you forever.” 

Getou cursed this man for making him blush like this. “Fuck you and your words,” Getou laughed. “You’re always so perfect.” 

When Gojo stepped out of the shower, he smelt an awful lot like lemon and peaches, and Getou wasn’t complaining. 

That was, until Gojo sheepishly told him he had ran out of clothes to wear. 

“What?!” Getou yelped, pulling Gojo’s closet open. “How does one…you know what, forget it.” Getou strode over to his cabinet and threw one of his oversized shirts to Gojo. “Just wear that to sleep.” 

“Oh.” 

When Getou turned around, Gojo was huddled in his shirt, looking small. 

Holy shit. 

Getou closed the distance between them with a large step, engulfing Gojo in a back hug that left him no room to breathe. A steady blush spread across Gojo’s cheeks. “S-suguru?!” 

“Keep the shirt.” 

He dragged Gojo to bed, using one of his ties as a blindfold over Gojo’s eyes. “You’re sleeping with this on tonight,” he told Gojo, tying the final knot. Gojo made a sound of pleasure. “Hey, it feels better already!” 

“Of course it does. Now, it’s 2a.m in the fucking morning, can we finally get to sleep?” 

Gojo giggled and snuggled into Getou’s chest, making himself comfortable. “Yes. Yes, we can.” 

And both of them fell asleep with each other’s lips on theirs, clutching onto each other tightly even as they slipped away from the waking world. 

[ 3.30AM ]

Getou made sure Gojo was fast asleep before he slid out of bed, pulling on his shoes and heading to Yaga’s office. With a sharp knock on the door, he poked his head inside, only to be met with a very stern Yaga. 

“Yes, Suguru, what’s the reason for disturbing me at 3 in the morning?” 

Getou laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “Well, actually…I had two requests to make.” 

Yaga raised an eyebrow. “Spit it out, then.” 

“The first is to give Satoru three days off, he needs rest badly.”

”And the second is to let me finish off the curse Satoru was fighting yesterday alone.”