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Satoru Gojo was mean,and you were evil. That made dating a hilarious show of who could do worse. The both of you were hauntingly competitive,and,at some point between trying to prove you were the perfect partner,it became clear you were trying to prove you could be the perfect asshole.
He’d pick you up late because he knew you were punctual to your grave and it would get him some deliciously hot banter in whatever fancy five-star restaurant he took you to,whispered over expensive wine while he grinned all white and wide like a maniac. You’d wear things to piss him off on said dates. Short dresses,shorter midriffs,flashy sparkles Gojo loved because he thought you looked gorgeous,but he also hated it because it meant other men thought you looked gorgeous too. Both of you would rather die in a pit of ash and crocodiles than cheat,so he never really got mad at you,just held your waist tighter,walked you to the bathroom even though it caused the check to be sat on the table prematurely since he left the table deserted to glare at any male passing the women’s restroom,he didn’t care whether they even saw you walk in or not.
He burns food just to make sure you keep cooking for him,and you cook smaller portions so he can get mad at you for not eating it. “I only made it for you,I’m not hungry this late.” You’ll say.
“It tastes better when you do it. You know I always mess it up,baby.” He’ll insist.
It’s the foundation of your relationship,both of you know you’re trying to get under the other one’s skin,but no one brings it up since you’re focused on finding new ways to be a pain.
You go shopping with his card just to blow up his phone with the notifications. Never anything big and lucrative,just small purchases in a bunch of different stores so his bank will send fifty messages a minute. He gets mad not because you’re using his money—he loves when you use his money,but because you don’t ever buy what he wants. He wants heels with ribbons and dresses with lace,but you insist on peanut M&M’s and diet cokes 2 minutes apart.
In the same way,he gives you his card because he knows you hate it. You’re independent through and through,and make his phone hot calling and texting asking why your card is missing and his replaced it in your wallet. He’ll grin and nod when you argue with him that he needs to stop doing it. “What if I need my card one day and you’ve decided to snatch it?” You sigh.
“I know,I know.” He’ll coo with his hand pulling you closer and his mouth already sucking the words away from your lips.
Once long,hard days of irritating one another are through,he likes to beg you to come over(you insist on not moving in because his house is farther away from your job)to watch movies until you get mad and tell him you “really have to go to sleep,” if you “want to wake up on time.” To return the favor,you don’t wear a jacket walking to the door so you can rub your freezing cold palms all over his back,just liking to feel him shiver and whine for you to stop.
At the end of the day,the two of you are matches made in Heaven because neither of you can go a day without unnerving one another.