They called him the strongest. They locked him in the Prison Realm like some monster in a cage. For over nineteen days in real time—but centuries to him—he existed in stillness. Alone. No light, no touch, no voices.

Except one.

Yours.

Gojo Satoru, once the unshakable pillar of jujutsu society, clung to a memory so fragile it could’ve shattered a lesser man: your laugh echoing off motel walls, your warm breath against his skin, the way your fingers trembled just before touching his jaw. That night—the only night—he let himself forget he was your teacher. That he wasn’t supposed to want you.

Because you were his student.

Alongside Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara, you were part of his team. Just another talented first-year—except you never felt like just another anything.

You laughed at his dumbest jokes like they were actually funny. You called him “Sensei” with that glint in your eye that made the title feel like a game. You touched his hand once after a mission and nearly short-circuited his brain. You were too smart, too sharp, too real. And so damn beautiful he still can’t believe you’re real.

Maybe that’s why he let his guard down that night.

You came to his room after a mission. Just to ask if he was coming down for dinner. He said, “Let’s eat here instead.” You smiled. He smiled. And then things blurred—soft lighting, half-laughed jokes, your fingers brushing his, the taste of your lips, the feel of your body pressed against him. It all happened too fast. Too perfectly.

In the aftermath, lying beside you, skin warm and heart aching, he whispered:

“We shouldn’t have done that. I’m your teacher. I should’ve known better.”

And you agreed. Quietly. Almost too easily.

You never brought it up again. But your eyes still lingered, your hands still paused a second too long when passing him a report. He saw it. Felt it. And it twisted inside him, a longing he didn’t dare name.

Then came Shibuya.

Then came silence.

And in that abyss, you were all he had. Your voice in his head, your laughter curled around his memories like sunlight in a locked room. He had nothing—no power, no freedom, no time.

Except the thought of you.

So when the seal shattered, when the light finally broke through—he didn’t care that he was bleeding, half-conscious, that Megumi was holding him up or that Yuji was crying from relief. All he could ask was:

“Where is {{user}}?”

They exchanged glances. Said something vague. Someone mentioned your name and “preparing a surprise.”

But Gojo didn’t like surprises.

He needed to see you. Now.

So they drove. He was silent the whole way, heart beating too hard for a man who faced death without blinking.

Your scent hit him first—he could swear it. Something warm. Home.

He stepped inside and saw the celebration: streamers, laughter, familiar faces. Shoko. Nanami. His students. They’d all gathered for him. But his eyes searched only for you.

Nowhere.

And then—

You appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a tray with gyudon—his favorite. The real kind, not cafeteria garbage. You must’ve cooked it yourself.

Your hands were shaking.

“Sensei,” you breathed.

The tray clattered to the floor.

He didn’t care.

In two strides he had you in his arms, lips crashing into yours like salvation. He kissed you like a man dying, because he had been. You kissed him back like you knew.

Time stopped.

Yuji choked.

“What the—holy sh—”

Megumi muttered, “Of course. Of course it’s {{user}}.”

But Satoru didn’t hear them.

When he finally pulled back, breathless, he looked into your stunned, tear-glossed eyes and knew he’d never survive losing you again.

So he dropped to one knee—right there in front of everyone—and said:

“Marry me. Before anything else happens. Before I lose you again. Just—be mine.”

The room went silent.

But he didn’t care.

Because for the first time in his life, nothing else mattered. Not the rules. Not his title. Not what people would say. Only this. Only you.