⋆

[dewveils]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

࿐ ​layla ༄ she+her. twenties. mdni. ageless blogs will be blocked.

writing tag (work in progress) masterlist (work in progress) ao3

requests are open!

recent works: provider series (ongoing) | firelord!zuko arranged marriage au matcha soft serve | firelord!zuko e-girl (ongoing) | nerdjo x streamer!reader

[jjungkkook]

Jungkook doing the Black Swan choreo - Las Vegas D2 (cr. anh.gcf)

[junk-thunder]

[deeply concerned] whose pussy is this?

[spaceboytoy]

Hello bisexual community

[spaceboytoy]

Begin killing

[tartrazeen]

[dewveils]

will there be a part two to your e-girl gojo fic? I love it sm 😭

yes !! there will be i’ve just been v lazy and haven’t edited the draft </3

[dewveils]

i wanna write abt period sex with choso u guys

[dewveils]

enrichment | husband!gojo x reader

gojo is so, so, so unbelievably fucked.

you can't be more than ten minutes away. ten minutes. and he knows this because you'd texted him when you left work — your first shift back in seven months — and now you're probably driving home, humming to yourself, thinking about what to make for dinner, thinking about the baby, completely unaware that your apartment has more or less turned into a crime scene.

gojo stands in the center of the living room, still. too still. like if he moves too fast, he'll miss something. a sound, a shift, a clue. something that explains where the hell the baby went.

"okay," he says out loud, voice thin and stretched with panic. "okay, okay, okay — "

he retraces. couch? no. playpen? all toys, no baby. crib? untouched since he took the little squirt out of it this morning.

his stomach sinks so violently it feels like his organs are trying to escape his body. lovely.

"oh my god," he breaths. "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

this is it. the last of his days. you're going to kill him. not metaphorically, not lightly. literally end him.

"she's gonna kill me," he mutters, dragging his hands down him face. "she's gonna kill me so fucking hard — "

his brain does that thing it does. that awful, vivid sprint ahead of reality.

door. windows. did he lock them for sure? of course he did. he always does. he checked them twice. three times. he lunges for the front door anyways, and sure enough, it's locked. windows, also locked. sliding door to the balcony, also locked up tight.

so where the hell —

"heyyy," he calls, softer now. like maybe he's been approaching this wrong. like his volume is the issue. "c'mon, little man, this isn't funny. it's actually the complete opposite of funny..."

his voice cracks. that's new.

but gojo doesn't let himself think about it for too long. instead, he drops to his knees, then fully to the floor, flattening himself like a damn sniper as he shoves his head underneath the couch, cheek pressed to the hardwood and scans every inch of shadow.

nothing.

nothing.

more nothing.

then, his phone rings.

it startles him so much he smacks his head on the stiff underside of the couch. "ouch! fuck, oh my — "

your name lights up his screen. he's dead. so fucking dead. but against his better judgement, he answers anyway.

"honey!" he chirps, way too bright and way too fast, voice pitching up as he continues army-crawling across the floor.

"hi, baby," you, his beautiful-stunning-kind-sexy-very-forgiving-and-hopefully-merciful wife. but despite the lightness of it all, the words come out tired.

his stomach twists. "god, it was such a good day," you continue. "i feel like i spent half of it just showing everyone baby pictures and sitting around. i swear, they were treating me like i just popped him out." you giggle.

and he tries to match it, but expectedly, it comes out strained, weird, wrong. you notice.

"is everything alright?" you ask, slower now. "how is he?"

gojo freezes. don't panic. don't panic. don't —

"oh, he's so great! just great!" he says quickly, scrambling up and yanking back an elephant-patterned blanket like it's going to magically reveal your child. it doesn't.

it reveals a stupid stuffed plush of yuji, a gift (from yuji) at your baby shower.

"h-he's..." he swallows, hard. "just finished a bottle, actually, and i, uh, just set him down for a nap...the usual, y'know."

there's a pause. too long.

"are you sure?" you ask. "you sound a bit — "

"ah! wow!" gojo blurts, volume spiking as his brain short-circuits. "look at that! blown out diaper, gotta deal with it right now, i’llseeyouinabitloveyoubye — ” before you can respond, he ends the call, lowering it like a bomb that might go off.

he looks around the apartment again — the toys, the mats, the empty spaces where there should absolutely be a baby.

he claps his hands again, sharper this time.

“alright,” he says, forcing something like determination into his tone. “new plan.”

a beat.

"...what the fuck is the plan?" gojo straightens slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes sweeping the apartment again. toys everywhere. play mat. couch. blanket. kitchen —

kitchen.

his head snaps toward it. "...no," he mutters. "no way." but he moves anyway, steps quick, then faster, then borderline tripping over a plastic set of keys as he rounds the corner. the kitchen is quiet. too quiet.

his eyes narrow. “hey,” he calls, softer now. cautious. like he’s approaching a wild animal instead of his own elusive child. “hey, buddy…”

nothing.

then —

a faint sound. a tiny thump.

gojo freezes. another thump. quieter this time. followed by a soft, muffled noise that is very distinctly not silence.

the cabinet. the bottom cabinet.

the one he definitely closed.

the one that is now —

slightly.

open.

gojo stares at it. the cabinet stares back. he crouches slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, fingers hovering over the handle for half a second before he yanks it open —

and there he is.

a baby. a wide-eyed, drool-covered, perfectly intact baby. sitting inside the cabinet like he pays rent there, surrounded by a tupperware lid, a wooden spoon, and what looks like a very enthusiastically chewed-on measuring cup.

he blinks up at gojo. then smiles. like this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in his life (it is).

“…you,” he says finally, voice hollow. “you have got to be kidding me.”

his son giggles. giggles. gojo exhales so hard his entire body practically deflates, forehead dropping forward until it taps gently against the cabinet frame.

“don’t laugh at me, you little punk,” gojo mutters, reaching in and scooping him up, checking him over in rapid, frantic passes. “you don’t get to laugh. i just saw my entire life flash before my eyes — "

the baby grabs his shirt collar, gumming it with his little mouth til the fabric turns dark.

“yeah, yeah, you’re cute, whatever” gojo sighs, pulling him close, pressing a quick kiss to his head. “you’re lucky you’re cute. otherwise i’d be fu — uh, in...a lot of trouble with mommy."

he moves fast now, grabbing the play mat, tossing toys back into vague, acceptable positions, kicking a stray pacifier under the couch (he’ll find it later, maybe), adjusting the blanket. he places him back in the pen strategically, like he's been there the entire time.

because he has! of course he has!

gojo points at him, then zips his fingers over his lips.

“not a word,” he warns.

the door unlocks just as he sets himself down on the foam-padded floor.

“hey, you two” you call, slipping your shoes off. “i’m home — ”

your husband smiles back instantly. “hey,” he says, like he didn’t just experience the worst ten minutes of his life. “feeling okay?”

you hum, stepping further inside, gaze flicking to the playpen. “he looks happy.”

“yeah,” gojo says lightly. “we had a great day. didn’t we?” the baby squeals. gojo nods once, like that confirms everything. smart kid.

“yep,” he adds. “super chill.” a beat.

then, you narrow your eyes slightly.

"baby," you tilt your head. “…why is there a measuring cup in the playpen?”

gojo doesn’t even hesitate.

“enrichment.”

[dewveils]

i’m shocked that this is one of my most popular posts bc i wrote it in like 10 min after watching a gojo edit to an eric clapton song

[dewveils]

When’s the next chapter for ur Zuko series ?

i have a draft about 2/3 of the way done but it’s in the works!! i’m just back in nursing school so i’ve been horribly busy 💔 but i have not forgotten abt him i promise !!

[dewveils]

e-girl | nerdjo x reader

[summary] gojo has a less than appropriate crush on his favorite streamer

[content warnings] male masturbation, sexual fantasies, some serious parasocial behavior, yearning but make it sad and desperate

⋆

bamb111_ is online!

a sharp ding from gojo's phone has him groaning, long limbs swiping over the expanse of his ruffled sheets in a lazy search for the device. fuck, what time is it? the blackout curtains make it hard to tell, but judging by the high sunrays that peak through the edges, he can assume it's already well into the day. with half his face still pressed into the plush of his pillow, he forces one slow eye open, scanning the screen.

one look at the top notification is all it takes.

he flips the covers off with lightening speed, nearly tripping over the empty cans of monster and takeout boxes that litter the floor of his dorm as he scrambles to his PC, keyboard clicking up a storm in a desperate attempt to log before the green dot beside your name disappears. the monitor flickers to life, bathing the shadows of his room with a cool neon glow as his heart kicks into something embarrassingly close to a sprint.

"c'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

the loading screen lags — because of course it does, it had to be today of all days that his internet decides to act up — and he hisses under his breath, leg tapping impatiently beneath his desk. he sifts through the clutter on the table until he finds his glasses, shoving them onto his face just as the webpage comes into view. he makes a mental note to clean over the weekend.

welcome to joyixa, the #1 place to watch and interact with your favorite streamers, gamers, and more! please enter your login information or create a new account.

gojo types in his username with a speed that borders on frantic. it's muscle memory, automatic at this point. he's lost count of the amount of times he's put himself through this exact routine, he could probably do it blindfolded. he glances at his phone, heart dropping when he sees you've already been online for a whopping 5 minutes and he still hasn't made it past the front page of the site.

then, the unthinkable happens.

oops!

your password has expired and must be changed. please enter your email address to start the password restart process. you may —

"are you fucking kidding me, again?" gojo sighs so hard he thinks his lungs flatten, one shaky finger pushing up the center of his glasses as the others continue to do their best to get this grueling task over with as fast as possible.

even in his haste, he still has half a mind to wonder what you're doing. he always is. he wonders what cosplay you've got on. if your hair is still in those pretty little pigtails like they were last week. if you've opted to go for coffin or square nails (he voted in chat for coffin). he wonders what music you're listening to so he can swiftly add them to the playlist he's made of every song you've ever had playing in the background.

when the reset link hits his inbox, he clicks it so fast he nearly misses, hands just unsteady enough to be annoying. new password. confirm password. something secure, something he won’t forget — no, something he can’t forget.

done. enter. load. load. load.

"i swear to god, if this — "

the page refreshes and he doesn't breathe until he's back in, cursor speeding to his favorites tab and obediently clicking on the only profile on the list. yours. always yours.

when he sees that you're still on, he finally lets the air in. but the feeling doesn't last long. the second his pale blue eyes land on your webcam, it's like the wind's been knocked clean out of him, pupils blown wide.

you're sitting in your signature baby pink chair, one leg bent up for comfort, and a pair of soft kitten ears resting on top of your head. he leans in, taking in every detail like he expects you to vanish if he looks away too long. your top is decorated with intricate lace and shining silk, puffed sleeves, and printed cat paws resting on your chest, practically taunting him. you've got a wig on this time, a rare sight nowadays, with soft curls flowing gracefully down your shoulders and framing your face like art. if he was a complete creep, he'd take some screenshots.

he only takes one.

gojo shoves his headphones on just in time to catch you let out a gentle laugh at someone in chat. something selfish in his chest twists. tuh. can't be that funny. chat's moving fast. too fast. the message box blinks up at him, waiting.

say something. anything. don't overthink it. just...be cool. yeah. be cool.

certified_6ixeyes: joyixa tried to lock me out again.

the second he hits send, he wishes he hadn't, a sharp wave of regret washing over every cell in his body. wow. real fucking smooth there, satoru. couldn't think of anything better to say? a stressed hand runs through his already disheveled white hair, mussed from a rough night sleep he can only discern is caused by his endless, persistent thoughts of you. part of him hopes you respond or at least see it in passing so he knows his awkward admission earned a moment of your attention. the other part of him hopes it gets lost in the sea of other chatters. you'd look beautiful doing either, he's sure.

he watches you take a sip of your drink, glossy pink lips wrapping gently around the plastic straw in a way that makes his breath catch, a small tent growing beneath the cotton fabric of his sweatpants. he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a little guilty about all this. but he can't help it. from the moment he first wandered into your stream, he was hooked.

you were playing one of his favorite games of all time, making the same comments he would be making, raged at the same moments where he felt like he was losing his shit, shed tears at the same cutscenes that had him blubbering like a baby. you were completely engrossed in the gameplay and the story. so much so that he felt like he was right there with you.

all those years of sitting alone at lunch with a nintendo switch being his only source of companionship. being picked last for the team games during gym because he was too tall and lanky. standing against the wall during prom in his too-expensive rented tux and watching every other guy in his class slow dance with their dates. the hours upon hours spent cooped up in the darkness of his bedroom playing that very same game for the nth time in a row.

for the first time in his life, satoru felt seen.

and see him you did.

"oh no! hey, um...certified six eyes, is that how you say it? i'm sorry to hear that, that totally blows," you pout into the mic, and for a second, gojo can't believe what he's hearing. did she just...no. no way. no fucking way. he leans back in his chair, arms raising to grip the hair on his head in disbelief, jaw nearly dragging across the floor.

"holy shit, she's talking to me," he gawks in pure awe, absolutely glowing. "sh-she's really talking to...to me! why the — "

"i hate when that happens, and it's always, like, at the worst times, too!" your voice tilts, light and sympathetic to his very real, very serious struggle, "did you get back in okay?" his stomach flips, snapping himself out of his daze and throwing his hands back on the keyboard to respond before your attention gets yanked elsewhere.

certified_6ixeyes: barely. almost died.

what the hell does that even mean? almost died, seriously? she's gonna think you're such a loser —

but then you laugh. actually laugh. and he's watched you long enough to know when it's out of pity or actually something you find funny. the sound spills through his headphones, warm and easy.

"almost died?" you repeat, smiling now, eyes sparkling. "a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

gojo doesn't realize he's smiling too until his cheeks start to ache. he takes a deep breath.

certified_6ixeyes: you wouldn't get it.

it's a bit of a risk if it doesn't read well, he knows. testy. but you've got him feeling bolder.

your brow lifts at the message, all other chatters forgotten. he watches your lips part ever so slightly, like you're about to say something. you lean closer to the mic, tone dipping just enough to make it feel like a secret, shared just between the two of you.

"oh yeah?" you whisper. "try me."

his pulse spikes, hot and needy. is this real life? what the fuck is going on? the chat explodes, simps flocking in droves, trying their luck at garnering the same reaction out of you. but you're looking right at the camera, like you're waiting for him specifically to respond.

like no one else is there.

he shifts in his seat, a hand coming up to scratch at the bare skin of his neck, suddenly too warm, too aware of himself. his bare torso radiates a heat he knows all too well. it's the same feeling he gets when he's laying in bed after a long day of nonsensical lectures of bullshit he already knows, phone clutched in his right hand as his thumb combs through your instagram, the left palming himself through his thin boxers.

certified_6ixeyes: if i missed, you, yeah. kinda life or death.

certified_6ixeyes: but don't let it get to your head.

"i dunno..." you tease, voice almost sing-song now. "kinda already has."

your stream carries on as usual, but gojo can't seem to focus no matter how hard he tries, head still spinning from the rush of your interaction earlier as you curse at a player that's been spawn camping for the better part of an hour. deep down, he knows you'll probably forget it ever happened at all by the time you shut off your webcam. if he were a normal person, that feeling should settle him, ground him in the nature of what your relationship actually is — a creator and a viewer.

but every so often, he sees you look back at chat. and every time you do, his eyes lock. like there's a chance you're looking for his username again.

ridiculous. completely and utterly delusional.

he picks up on a catchy melody playing distantly in the background, instructively running it through a song detector and adding it to his collection. but when you respond to some random, his jaw tightens. even worse, they manage to get a giggle out of you with some stupid joke.

of course she's not waiting for you, dumbass. he scoffs under his breath, leaning back in his chair as if creating physical distance between himself and the screen would make it hurt less.

"get a grip, dude." he mutters, pinning his lip between his teeth when you laugh again.

then, like you can hear him, your gaze flicks back up.

"chat's a little brave today," you hum knowingly. "i don't know if i should be encouraging this behavior."

he takes this as an opening.

certified_6ixeyes: that depends.

"oh?" you respond almost too quickly. gojo fights with everything in him to not type 'so what are we?' you go on. "depends on what, six eyes?"

something about having your full and undivided attention again has him feeling dangerous. like he could get away with anything; rob the louvre, hijack a plane, dine and dash (the latter is probably more his speed). still, he bites the bullet.

certified_6ixeyes: only if you can handle it.

"handle it?" a look of mischief flashes over your face. he thinks he even sees the ghost of a smirk. "huh."

there's a beat of silence. then another. had he overstepped? gone a step too far? gojo bites his fist, teeth digging into the skin.

"you're kinda feisty, six eyes," you murmur. his stomach drops.

"i might have to keep an eye on you."

⋆

you're offline for a few days, longer than normal. it's not alarming, but it does have gojo checking his phone like an anxious boyfriend waiting for a text back. he should be fully immersed in the DND campaign playing out before him, breaking down the story arc that's been building over the past few weeks. but the anticipation of your name potentially lighting up his lock screen is enough to keep him half here, half somewhere else entirely.

" — and that's when you hear the door behind you slam shut," geto proclaims, fingers steepled over the table. "something moves within the walls of the — "

"wait," gojo cuts in. two pairs of eyes snap towards him.

a scoff. "you've said 'wait' like six times now," shoko mutters, flipping over her character sheet. "either make a move or die, satoru."

"i will, i will, just..." he trails off, phone already vise-gripped in one hand, thumb flicking down the screen yet again to refresh your page.

no updates.

"if you check your dry ass phone one more time," geto slows. "i'm killing you myself. in this reality."

"alright, fine. i, uh...attack."

"with what?" shoko questions flatly.

"...my sword."

the lukewarm answer earns him a dull hum. "wow. such riveting gameplay."

he hates the way his brain insists on replaying that last conversation with you, if he can even call it that. like some endless loop. picking it apart, analyzing every word, sound, look. glance.

oh yeah? try me.

you're kinda feisty, six eyes.

i might have to keep an eye on you.

he refreshes your page again. nothing.

could it have all just been an act? a playful bit to cater to your male-dominated audience? some kind of sick joke to mess with his feelings? all very likely possibilities. he tells himself to face the facts. you were a highly regarded, highly successful, highly sought after streamer that made a living off of guys like him. you know it. he knows it. he'd be an idiot to believe for a second that he stood any kind of real chance with you, especially after what could only be described as a minute worth of dialogue exchange from a chat box.

"idiot," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. geto rolls his eyes so hard they hit bone.

"look, if you're gonna keep neglecting the party, we might as well just call it quits now and pick back up next — "

"good idea!" gojo chirps, too eager as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and pushes his chair in. "i'll see you guys next...whenever. i'm gonna — i gotta go check, uh...something. later."

he leaves a puff of smoke behind with the speed he leaves the table with, the doors of the student union swinging shut behind him. shoko pinches the bridge of her nose, a futile attempt to rub away the headache the nerd has so generously given her.

shoko sinks in her seat, palms pressing together in prayer. "please, lord. if you can hear me, give that man some pussy before i lose my mind."

⋆

gojo is very thankful to be one of the few students in his building to have a dorm without a roommate. not only for the luxury of peace and quiet whenever he pleases, but also for the ability to lock his door, strip himself naked, and work up a sweat in the comfort of his own bed with your clips playing on the speakers.

it's mostly for the relief. just something to take the edge off. because yes, your radio silence has been torturous. he can't focus. his sleep schedule's more fucked than it usually is. he can't even indulge in a good campaign without you pounding at the back of his mind. if he was a religious man, he'd think the epitome of hell would be the absence of your voice, your laugh, your teasing lilt that both soothes his nerves and sparks them up like fire. your presence, or lack thereof, has bled into the quiet corners of his life with ease.

he exhales slowly, head tipping back against the pillow when he hears you sigh out of frustration, an arm thrown over his eyes. he thinks of you looking up at him with that pretty smile, on your knees, a soft hand wrapped around his cock. he imagines the grip of his slick fist is the warm, wet suction of your mouth sliding up and down his length.

"ah, fuck...y-yes, baby, just like that," he begs to an empty room, eyes screwed shut, but he sees you in his mind clear as day. he's rock hard, almost solid from the rush of blood pulsing through his body, skin growing damp with want, with need. he rubs a shaking thumb over the angry, leaking tip, gathering the wetness and pretending it's the gloss of your lips. the mere thought has his hips bucking like an animal, wild thrusts into the curve of his hand.

"n-need you so bad right now, baby p-please." his breathing is rapid, gasping as he hurls himself towards the pleasure, desperate to soothe the ache. then, the mental image shifts.

he's flipped you over onto your stomach, folding up your little maid skirt and raising your hips until you bend at the knees. a clear, sticky tear drips down the inside of your thigh as you look back at him, doe-eyes glazed. "you want this cock in your little pussy? yeah? y-you need me to fill you up?" you nod in his dreams, ass swaying like you're some little puppy, wagging your tail just for him. "hah, i - oh, i think i like that."

in the real world, he grips himself tighter, almost violently, milking himself for all he's worth. the thought of being wrapped in your warmth, feeling the pulse of your walls growing tighter around him, the gasps and whines that escape your lips when he hits that sweet spongy spot inside over and over and over again.

he thinks of how you'd sound when you come undone. when he unravels you beneath him, body spent, pussy fluttering around him and holding him inside like a warm hug. that's all it takes for him to start gushing, thick white ropes shooting from his tip and onto his tense abs, a drop hitting the tip of his chin.

"oh my -ah, fuck! fuckfuckfuck. take it all. a-all for you, all for you," he chokes on his words, toned body coated in a wet sheen as he wills his heart to slow back down. your voice through the speakers and the distant sound of his breathing echo through the room. birds chirp outside his window. the muffled chatter of students walking down the hall. gojo sighs.

no matter how close to you he feels in his heart.

he's still just some nerdy college loser alone in his dorm room.

until his phone dings.

chest still heaving, he leans over to grab it from his bedside table, careful not to let the cum on his chest drip onto his sheets. at the sight of his face, the screen lights up.

and it's like the world stops spinning.

bamb111_ has followed you back!

[ahhrenata]

they mad.

[lloeydd]

Megumi!!!

[ndsoda]

The Tiger of West Junior High

[f-tality0]

Gojo csp test

[rice5x]

please vampire gojo please one chance plsssplslsppsl on e chance

[dewveils]

enrichment | husband!gojo x reader

gojo is so, so, so unbelievably fucked.

you can't be more than ten minutes away. ten minutes. and he knows this because you'd texted him when you left work — your first shift back in seven months — and now you're probably driving home, humming to yourself, thinking about what to make for dinner, thinking about the baby, completely unaware that your apartment has more or less turned into a crime scene.

gojo stands in the center of the living room, still. too still. like if he moves too fast, he'll miss something. a sound, a shift, a clue. something that explains where the hell the baby went.

"okay," he says out loud, voice thin and stretched with panic. "okay, okay, okay — "

he retraces. couch? no. playpen? all toys, no baby. crib? untouched since he took the little squirt out of it this morning.

his stomach sinks so violently it feels like his organs are trying to escape his body. lovely.

"oh my god," he breaths. "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

this is it. the last of his days. you're going to kill him. not metaphorically, not lightly. literally end him.

"she's gonna kill me," he mutters, dragging his hands down him face. "she's gonna kill me so fucking hard — "

his brain does that thing it does. that awful, vivid sprint ahead of reality.

door. windows. did he lock them for sure? of course he did. he always does. he checked them twice. three times. he lunges for the front door anyways, and sure enough, it's locked. windows, also locked. sliding door to the balcony, also locked up tight.

so where the hell —

"heyyy," he calls, softer now. like maybe he's been approaching this wrong. like his volume is the issue. "c'mon, little man, this isn't funny. it's actually the complete opposite of funny..."

his voice cracks. that's new.

but gojo doesn't let himself think about it for too long. instead, he drops to his knees, then fully to the floor, flattening himself like a damn sniper as he shoves his head underneath the couch, cheek pressed to the hardwood and scans every inch of shadow.

nothing.

nothing.

more nothing.

then, his phone rings.

it startles him so much he smacks his head on the stiff underside of the couch. "ouch! fuck, oh my — "

your name lights up his screen. he's dead. so fucking dead. but against his better judgement, he answers anyway.

"honey!" he chirps, way too bright and way too fast, voice pitching up as he continues army-crawling across the floor.

"hi, baby," you, his beautiful-stunning-kind-sexy-very-forgiving-and-hopefully-merciful wife. but despite the lightness of it all, the words come out tired.

his stomach twists. "god, it was such a good day," you continue. "i feel like i spent half of it just showing everyone baby pictures and sitting around. i swear, they were treating me like i just popped him out." you giggle.

and he tries to match it, but expectedly, it comes out strained, weird, wrong. you notice.

"is everything alright?" you ask, slower now. "how is he?"

gojo freezes. don't panic. don't panic. don't —

"oh, he's so great! just great!" he says quickly, scrambling up and yanking back an elephant-patterned blanket like it's going to magically reveal your child. it doesn't.

it reveals a stupid stuffed plush of yuji, a gift (from yuji) at your baby shower.

"h-he's..." he swallows, hard. "just finished a bottle, actually, and i, uh, just set him down for a nap...the usual, y'know."

there's a pause. too long.

"are you sure?" you ask. "you sound a bit — "

"ah! wow!" gojo blurts, volume spiking as his brain short-circuits. "look at that! blown out diaper, gotta deal with it right now, i’llseeyouinabitloveyoubye — ” before you can respond, he ends the call, lowering it like a bomb that might go off.

he looks around the apartment again — the toys, the mats, the empty spaces where there should absolutely be a baby.

he claps his hands again, sharper this time.

“alright,” he says, forcing something like determination into his tone. “new plan.”

a beat.

"...what the fuck is the plan?" gojo straightens slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes sweeping the apartment again. toys everywhere. play mat. couch. blanket. kitchen —

kitchen.

his head snaps toward it. "...no," he mutters. "no way." but he moves anyway, steps quick, then faster, then borderline tripping over a plastic set of keys as he rounds the corner. the kitchen is quiet. too quiet.

his eyes narrow. “hey,” he calls, softer now. cautious. like he’s approaching a wild animal instead of his own elusive child. “hey, buddy…”

nothing.

then —

a faint sound. a tiny thump.

gojo freezes. another thump. quieter this time. followed by a soft, muffled noise that is very distinctly not silence.

the cabinet. the bottom cabinet.

the one he definitely closed.

the one that is now —

slightly.

open.

gojo stares at it. the cabinet stares back. he crouches slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, fingers hovering over the handle for half a second before he yanks it open —

and there he is.

a baby. a wide-eyed, drool-covered, perfectly intact baby. sitting inside the cabinet like he pays rent there, surrounded by a tupperware lid, a wooden spoon, and what looks like a very enthusiastically chewed-on measuring cup.

he blinks up at gojo. then smiles. like this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in his life (it is).

“…you,” he says finally, voice hollow. “you have got to be kidding me.”

his son giggles. giggles. gojo exhales so hard his entire body practically deflates, forehead dropping forward until it taps gently against the cabinet frame.

“don’t laugh at me, you little punk,” gojo mutters, reaching in and scooping him up, checking him over in rapid, frantic passes. “you don’t get to laugh. i just saw my entire life flash before my eyes — "

the baby grabs his shirt collar, gumming it with his little mouth til the fabric turns dark.

“yeah, yeah, you’re cute, whatever” gojo sighs, pulling him close, pressing a quick kiss to his head. “you’re lucky you’re cute. otherwise i’d be fu — uh, in...a lot of trouble with mommy."

he moves fast now, grabbing the play mat, tossing toys back into vague, acceptable positions, kicking a stray pacifier under the couch (he’ll find it later, maybe), adjusting the blanket. he places him back in the pen strategically, like he's been there the entire time.

because he has! of course he has!

gojo points at him, then zips his fingers over his lips.

“not a word,” he warns.

the door unlocks just as he sets himself down on the foam-padded floor.

“hey, you two” you call, slipping your shoes off. “i’m home — ”

your husband smiles back instantly. “hey,” he says, like he didn’t just experience the worst ten minutes of his life. “feeling okay?”

you hum, stepping further inside, gaze flicking to the playpen. “he looks happy.”

“yeah,” gojo says lightly. “we had a great day. didn’t we?” the baby squeals. gojo nods once, like that confirms everything. smart kid.

“yep,” he adds. “super chill.” a beat.

then, you narrow your eyes slightly.

"baby," you tilt your head. “…why is there a measuring cup in the playpen?”

gojo doesn’t even hesitate.

“enrichment.”

[onstoryladders]

it's just so special to me when like a character is a massive loser and yet they get someone who falls head over heels for them. like yeah boy pull some bitches with your weak-ass game and cringefail demeanor

[i115ve]

iloveher