persephone

push my love aside

[honeynclover]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ₊ ⊹ nothing to see here

⸝⸝ mainblog : @fishwithsoy ◞ sideblog only for reblogs , shit posts ✧ follow my mainblog

[honeynclover]

imsoooo unmotivated right now, sorry peeps

[fishwithsoy]

⧽ don't panic, it's organic!

── never rely on dad!jo and yuji when it comes to girl emergencies

f!reader, dad!jo, established relationship, itadori yuji mentioned, crack, satoru is a girl dad, fluff

wc : 648

it’s best to say that your daughter being alone with satoru and yuji isn’t the ideal scenario when she gets her first period. 

unfortunately for your daughter, that’s the current matrix she’s in, and unfortunately for you, you’re not there to contend with it.

satoru brought in the trio—yuji, nobara, and megumi—for the meantime while you’re running some errands; satoru reasoned that your daughter may want some company. though nobara and megumi had already left hours prior, leaving only yuji.

the two young ones are seated at the dining table: papers, markers, pens, and pencils are scattered everywhere—on the table and on the floor.

“i’ll get the oil pastels,” yuji nods, focused on what he’s drawing, his tongue sticking out—can you imagine a fifteen-year-old enjoying more of what he’s doing than a twelve-year-old?

“hey kiddos, i—oh. my. god.” satoru tumbles a little, “sweetheart, you’re bleeding!”

“...huh?” she searches all over her body, looking for any signs of bleeding, until she sees the stain that’s been left on the chair she was seated on. 

yuji promptly looks up from what he’s doing—upon seeing a stain on your daughter’s pants, panic sets in. immediately. “oh my days, sensei! she’s… she’s dying!’ he shrieks.

everyone in the room became quiet for a few seconds—well, except for yuji, who is now crying. satoru blurts, trying to stay composed. “she’s having her period, yuji.” he paces around the kitchen.

“sweetheart, i’ll call your mom, okay? don’t panic, it’s organic!” his voice cracking, he inches toward your preteen.

meanwhile, you're strolling through the grocery store, unaware that your phone has been ringing nonstop in your bag.

“she’s not answering! what do we do?!” now two men are losing their minds in the same household. surely, having at least nobara or megumi over would make the situation more palatable, right?

“kugisaki isn’t responding too!” yuji’s hands are frantically shaking, inhaling and exhaling very quickly.

as you push the cart, you’re hearing whisper-soft ringing, making you halt in your tracks.

seventeen missed calls from satoru. he’ll never call you that much in the span of five minutes if it’s not a life-and-death situation.

okay, so it is a life-and-death situation—if what he’s saying isn’t exaggerated. “what do you mean our daughter’s dying?! satoru, where are you?!”

“baby, she got her period!” your shoulders drop, your heart starting to beat at a slow pace after satoru’s news caused you to have a small heart attack.

oh, fucking hell! you were genuinely about to skedaddle on the way to wherever they are. “baby, don’t word it like that. ever. again.” you speak, words firm.

your eyebrows furrowed as you crimp the bridge of your nose. “is nobara not there? or at least megumi—he’d probably handle that better than the two of you.” you suspire, demanding, “hand her the phone.”

yuji had already gone home, but before he vanished, he was apologizing continuously. why? you don’t know why.

knocking softly on the door, you inquire, “you okay in there, sweets?”

“mhm.” the soft-like voice echoes outside the bathroom. “ya need any help?” you ask a follow-up question.

“no need, mom.” upon hearing your daughter’s reply, you’re satisfied enough to leave. peering behind you, satoru stood, typing something on his phone. “we need to talk.”

snatching his phone, his face screams petrification. “wait–” “what? are you hiding something?” you take a glance at his phone—he’s on google.

period pain scale

can you donate blood to your daughter after she gets her period?

how to deal with period as a father reddit

“...seriously?”

“she’s a grown up now,” he huffs, throwing himself onto the bed and caching his face into the pillow. “are you gonna cry?” a teasing smile spread across your face, you understand him, though.

satoru’s voice has gone soft, his voice slightly cracking.. “probably—that’s my princess we’re talking about!” he gapes up, gazing at you with teary eyes.

likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated! ⋆˙⟡

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[honeynclover]

reblog just becoz…………….

[getopilleds]

the bug collector | s. gojo

Satoru isn't afraid of much. You, on the other hand, seem to fear the smallest things. Insects. He starts protecting you from from the tiny beings, tries to prove that maybe you aren't alone in this dangerous world.

content: fluff, angst, grief, heavily inspired by one of my fav songs! duh this is titled after it.

wc: 820

check out my masterlist <3

The first time it happens, Satoru laughs.

Not cruelly, never that. That’s not him. But bright and startled, like the sound escapes him before he can decide whether or not it's appropriate. You’re still as ever at your doorway, a blanket clutched to your chest, staring at the insect inching along the wall like it’s got somewhere important to be.

“‘S just a bug, baby.” He says easily, already stepping past you.

You don’t answer. Your heart is loud enough to drown him out.

That’s when his smile fades.

Gojo’s seen curses born from massacres. From grief so thick it rotted the air. He’s watched people–friends–unravel in spectacular, violent ways. What he hasn’t learned, what no one’s ever taught him, is how quiet fear can be. How it can live in the body like a reflex. Sharp and irrational and impossible to explain without sounding foolish.

“It’s watching me.” You whisper.

He doesn’t laugh again like he normally would.

He rolls his sleeves up instead, grabs a tissue, and scoops the critter up with exaggerated care. He opens a nearby window and gently flicks it outside, brushing his hands together like the problem is solved.

“There,” he grins. “See? Nothing.”

You nod, even if your shoulders are still a little tense.

That night, he insists on staying. Says something about being in the middle of patrol anyway, about how it’d be a pain to leave and come back. He sprawls across your bed like a lazy cat, blindfold pushed up into his hair, one eye cracked open.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs. “I’ll keep the critters at bae.”

More bugs appear after that.

A praying mantis on the bathtub curtain. A millipede coiled in the carpet like it’s waiting. Each time, your fear arrives faster than your logic, and each time Satoru responds the same way. Unhurried, focused, treating the situation with a seriousness that borders on reverence.

He traps the mantis in a jar instead of killing it. Holds it up to the light, squinting. 

“If it starts talking, we’ll worry,” he says. “Deal?”

You huff out a weak laugh despite yourself.

He makes you tea. Adjusts the lights. Opens the windows in the morning and closes them tight at night. He starts checking your room before you can even ask, like it’s part of his routine now. Like protecting you from tiny, crawling creatures is as important as shielding the world from curses.

Once, you apologize.

“I know it’s stupid.” You murmur into his chest, laid in bed with him. He’s got a hand on your hip, squeezing as you speak. “I know they can’t hurt me.”

Gojo pauses, his touch trailing up your side and settling by your ribs. “Hey,” His voice falls into that familiar light-hearted tease. “My job isn’t to decide what’s stupid. It’s to make sure you’re okay.”

You lift your head from his chest and search his face for any humor, any irony. You find none.

You sleep better after that. Not perfectly. But better. The bugs don’t stop existing, but the feeling that they’re after you dulls. Blunted by the certainty that if something ever truly were, He’d notice first.

One morning, you wake to sunlight and quiet. No panic. No movements in the corners of the room. Just Satoru at your doorway, holding an empty jar and grinning like he’s pulled off a magic trick.

“Perfect morning,” he announces. “Told you I’d get there.”

You realize then that he isn’t trying to prove that the world isn’t dangerous. That would be foolish to believe considering the lives you lead. He’s showing to you that you’re not alone in it. That you have him.

He isn’t solving your problems for you, either. You both know with every critter he lets free, they could come crawling back if they so wanted. He’s simply showing you that your problems aren’t so big.

You let yourself believe him.

Because you’d give anything to face this with him. You’d face bugs over and over again. They’re the smallest of your problems. 

That was something to be appreciated.

And when the world has moved on in its cruel, indifferent way. When he doesn’t arrive with a grin or a jar or a lazy comment about the morning. When there are no bugs to fend off, no gentle hands to steady the corners of your room.

When, one morning, something small flutters past your shoulder–a blue butterfly–lands on the windowsill, fragile and alive.

You smile. 

Carefully, just like your Satoru would have, you scoop it up into your hands. You hold it gently, as if it were made of glass. You open the window, letting sunlight fall across it. The butterfly takes off, circling once above your head before disappearing into the sky.

And somehow, for the first time since he’s gone, it feels like he’s still watching. Still protecting, still here.

You let yourself believe that, too.

[honeynclover]

guys this is peak.

ava is so peak.

that’s my mootie.

[honeynclover]

jjk fanfics on my mainblog

i write sometimes

pls be my moot

moot me on my main blog: @fishwithsoy

i need someone to talk to sigh.

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[megumismyhusband]

operation: fushiguro .ᐟ chapter 4: partner project!

english class is usually boring. like, you’re not really doing anything kinda boring. the kind where the clock moves slower on purpose just to mess with you and keep you all jailed in school. 

you’re half listening, half doodling in the margins of your notebook, when the teacher claps her hands together.

“alright everyone— we’re starting a partner project today.”

the class collectively sighs.

you sit up a little, mind racing. partner project = social opportunity. social opportunity = megumi possibility.

you look at straight ahead at the back of his head. he’s there like always— sitting straight, quiet, unbothered, looking like he walked straight out of your exact type wishlist.

“i’ll be assigning partners,” the teacher continues.

okay never mind. destiny mode.

she starts reading names. your leg starts bouncing. you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

“—and you’ll be with fushiguro.”

you blink.

wait.

you blink again.

wait.

your brain loads like a slow computer. then:

oh my god.

you look up at the exact same time megumi turns slightly in his seat. neutral face. calm. like this is just another normal moment in his extremely normal life.

meanwhile inside your head: fireworks. marching band. screaming. confetti cannons. a wedding?!?!?

you quickly rearrange your face into your best fake nonchalant expression.

“hey,” you say, way more casual than you feel.

“hey,” he answers. same tone, same face, steady voice.

how is he so normal?

the teacher starts explaining the project some analysis presentation thing and you try to listen, you really do, but your brain keeps going: i’m partnered with megumi. i’m partnered with megumi. i’m partnered with—

you sneak another glance at him. he’s already writing notes. of course he is. like the responsible king he is, what an academic weapon. every second that passes he somehow becomes more your type. 

okay say something. be cool. be normal. be like a normal person.

you rehearse like six different opening lines in your head.

hi — too basic

so — too weird

do you — too intense

you hate everything.

five minutes pass, then ten. you’re running out of time and courage at the same rate.

finally, you inhale and turn slightly toward him.

“so for the—”

RRRRRRRIIIIIIIING.

the bell screams.

you stare straight ahead. betrayed and spiritually wounded.

of course. of course the bell rings right then.

chairs scrape, everyone packing up and leaving.

no. nope. not happening. you are NOT losing this chance. nobara would never let you live it down.

you turn back to him quickly while he’s packing up.

“wait— um—” great start. incredible start actually. love that for you. “for the project— uh do you wanna just, like, text about it? so we can work on it outside class?”

there we go! normal and reasonable. totally not crush motivated.

he looks at you for about half a second, thinking.

“sure,” he says.

SURE.

you keep your face together with the strength of a thousand warriors.

he tells you his number. you type it in. triple check it. quadruple check it. this is sacred information.

you send a text immediately so he has yours.

his phone buzzes. he glances at it, then gives a small nod. “got it.”

“i’ll text you later,” you say.

“okay.”

and then he turns to leaves. like he didn’t just change the trajectory of your entire life.

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[getopilleds]

the queen, the princess & the dragon | r. sukuna

Saeko's a big girl now. No more daddy's little girl. Sukuna thinks he won't survive it.

content: fluff!!! non-curse au, dadkuna x4 wow im on a roll, usual ryomen family dramatics, angst but not very much! as always, likes/reblogs/comments are especially appreciated <3

wc: 4.5k

requested here!

check out my masterlist for more works like this one <3

girldad!kuna masterlist here

Sukuna can remember the day Saeko was born like it was yesterday. 

He can remember the panic clawing at his chest that he hid with his usual scowl and annoyed glances around the hospital room. He remembers the way your hand squeezed his for all it’s worth when it came down to the moment.

Even worse, he can remember the cries and screams of agony that ripped from your throat.

But after that, he can also recall the high-pitched shriek his daughter came into the world with. The way his heart soared and before he could control it, the tears spilling from his crimson eyes as he watched his daughter, your daughter, be placed on your chest.

Even covered in vernix with her face all scrunched up in tiny fury, he thought her to be the most beautiful thing to have entered his world. Right next to you, of course. 

Just one glance at her and anyone could tell she was his, if the pink mess of curls at the top of her head was anything to go by. When she finally opened her eyes, he was stunned to see his own staring back at him.

Sukuna had never thought much of his appearance. He knows he isn’t ugly, but there’s a newfound appreciation for his features when they’re on another person’s face. Especially when they’re mixed with someone else’s, someone you love. 

Everyone always comments about how Saeko’s his carbon copy. You always say your genes didn’t put up a fight at all. But he thinks that’s not true.

He can see you in Saeko’s resting smile. He sees you in the way her eyes light up when he indulges her in the silly little things she likes to do. He sees you in the way she opposes him with a pout and a glare. 

He can especially see you in her right now.

Saeko’s sat at the kitchen island, legs kicking off the tall chair as she intently colors in a drawing. It’s such a mundane task, a common part of the daily routine, but it’s different today. She’s chattering excitedly to you and your husband about her very special day tomorrow. 

Sukuna peers down at her paper and scrunches his nose in distaste. It isn’t the usual family portrait with you, him and Saeko. There’s at least twenty other people in it that Sukuna could not care any less for.

“What’d you draw so many stick figures for?” He’s leaning his elbows on the opposite side of the island, an eyebrow quirked like it’s a casual question and not the investigation he’s subtly trying to perform.

He goes to poke at said figures when his daughter pushes his hand away. “Don’t touch it, daddy. You will ruin it.” Saeko huffs and shakes her head like he’s some inconvenience. 

“Considering I pay for these crayons and paper, I think I can touch it as I please.” The man deadpans, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the paper again. The glare he receives is a vision of your own. 

“I will show if you are patient.” Saeko hums. “Mommy says patience is a virtue.”

Sukuna is not impressed. He is. Saeko’s talking so much now, it’s insane. It’s awesome, but it’s gonna make him cry.

“Mommy needs to stop teaching you big words.” He huffs, glancing back at you.

He’s immediately on his feet when he sees you. You’re balancing yourself on a shaky stool, trying to get some balloons taped on to the archway connecting your kitchen and living room. “She’s a big girl-hey!” Sukuna’s immediately lifting you up and off the stool with a passive look. 

“Didn’t I tell you I’d get to that later?” He crosses his arms to which you shrug.

You’re quick to counter. “You said that twenty minutes ago.” 

Sukuna’s hand comes up to rub at his temples. “I still mean it. We’ve got a whole day to get shit done.”

“I finished!” Saeko proudly beams from her seat, making both of your heads snap over. She stumbles off the tall chair much to her father’s dismay to crash into his legs. In her hands, the earlier drawing she hadn’t wanted him to even peek at. She’s fully displaying it now, holding it up high.

Sukuna recognizes the three of you immediately, always drawn the same. Only this time, it seems Saeko’s added creative touches. You have a big crown on your head, and her a smaller one. Other figures that he can’t make out or unfortunately does recognize. 

Like that boy, Fushiguro, standing next to Saeko’s own little figure and holding what Sukuna assumes to be a sword. A pleased sound escapes him. “Finally seeing his violent nature, I take it?” 

You can’t help the groan that emerges from your own lips. “You’re still on that? It’s getting a little embarrassing now, babe.”

“Gumi is not violent.” Saeko sounds resigned rather than annoyed, a telltale sign on just how long Sukuna’s been trying to keep up this agenda. “Gumi’s a knight.”

Sukuna doesn’t even attempt to hide his scoff. “Could’ve fooled me.” He narrows his eyes as he looks over the rest of the drawing. He assumes–no, he knows–the ugly one with the white hair is that brat’s caretaker, Gojo. He recognizes his nephew Yuji and that other friend of Saeko’s, Nobara. 

But then his gaze zeroes in on the stick figure portrayal of his daughter and her so-called protector. “Are you holding hands?” He hisses, snatching the paper up. 

Saeko is as unashamed as her father and nods cheerfully. “Yes! The knight protects me. I’m the princess.” 

Sukuna looks hurt and disgusted. “Shouldn’t I be the knight?” Or the king at least, he thinks. But when he looked there was no fancy crown on his head. Just horns. 

His pink-haired menace of a daughter giggles. “No. You’re the dragon, daddy.” 

You purse your lips to conceal the laugh that so badly wants to tear from your throat and fail, lifting a hand to your mouth instead. 

“The dragon.” Sukuna mutters, shaking his head. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

Saeko shrieks with delight when he effortlessly scoops her up by her armpits, holding her face to his. She can see right through his feigned serious expression. She knows he could never be truly mad at her. “Yes! You have to be the dragon, daddy. Sorry.” 

Her hands come into his hair to try and shape it into two horns. It doesn’t stick and she huffs. “Mommy will do it better tomorrow.”

Your brows lift at her words. “Do what, honey?”

Sukuna tries to place Saeko down, but she clings anyway, arms tight around his neck. “You make daddy into a dragon. Tomorrow. For my birthday!”

“So I’m just the source of your entertainment now?” He grunts.

“And mommy is gonna be a queen. I give you a crown.”  She’s rambling now, going on a tangent she certainly had not informed you of until now. You and Sukuna share a dreadful look. Once your daughter gets something into her mind, it must be done.

The last time you didn’t comply with her wishes she’d given you the silent treatment all day. 

“Well, if you insist.” You feign a dramatic sigh. 

And okay, it is seven-thirty pm and the closest costume store to you closes at around eight and it’s a twenty minute drive.  But it’s her birthday. Saeko’s only going to turn four once, and you’ve already let all the other birthdays fly by with a simple blink. 

You’re sure you can make this work out. 

You think you might have to convince your grumpy husband, is all. He beats you to saying anything when he lets out a sigh. His usual surrender. 

“You’re lucky I love you.”

‿୨♡୧‿

Sukuna’s not sure he’s ever felt so humiliated in his life.

When did he get to this point? People respected him, feared him. And here he is wearing a a fucking dragon onesie. 

He hadn’t been aware of how hard it’d be to find a last minute costume of such a thing. The things he does for love. 

He’s in the middle of setting up the last of the balloons–yes, he’d forgotten yesterday. No, you weren’t aware–when the familiar chime of the doorbell rings throughout the house. 

“Fuckin’ great.” he murmurs to himself, scarlett eyes finding the clock in the corner of the room. Two p.m on the dot. Did these guests have to be so punctual?

“Kuna!” Your voice calls from up the stairs. You’d taken Saeko up to get her ready about an hour ago. He’d wanted to come with, but his daughter frankly denied him.

“‘S a surprise, daddy.” she’d beamed, and how could he be mad? Even if he’d already seen the dress and crown and all the other dramatic accessories you’d told him to get, he’d pretend to be shocked for her. 

“What, woman?” He barks back, taping the final balloon to complete the overdramatic archway you insisted on having. A mix of purples and pinks that Saeko adores. 

“Could you get the door? We’re nearly done here!” 

He can hear your laughter mixed with his daughter’s and his resolve softens ever so slightly. It’s the little things that always seem to get him. He doesn’t call back a response. Simply takes a deep breath and pulls his hoodie with the horns over his head and makes his way to the front door.

For once, he tries to fix his usual scowl into a smile. It ends up looking more like a grimace. 

Ah, Fuck this.

He tears the door open.

Blue, glowing eyes widen at him. Gojo’s stupid usual grin spreads on his face as he takes Sukuna in. Megumi is beside him, reluctantly holding onto his hand and clad in a dramatic knight get-up that Sukuna decides is overkill.

It’s clear Gojo’s the one who dressed him. Sukuna almost feels bad for the kid.  Gojo opens his mouth to speak, but Sukuna is quicker. 

“We don’t want whatever you’re selling.” 

The door shuts in Satoru’s face.

Sukuna can’t help the smirk that finds its way onto his lips at Gojo’s baffled expression. Serves him right, always looking so damn pretentious. His attention is stolen when he hears the familiar creak of footsteps emerging down the stairs, his eyes quickly locking with yours.

As per your lovely daughter’s request, you’re all dolled up. He’s trying hard to hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The way you descend down the stairs in a ridiculous red dress–puffed at the shoulders and trailing sleeves–makes him shake his head. 

“Is it to your taste?” You grin, getting to the bottom of the flight of stairs to dramatically curtsy at him. 

“Oh, yeah. Perfect.” Sukuna replies, his tone dripping in exaggerated seriousness. Once you get close enough, his hand finds your waist to pull you in. “Where’s our princess?”

He’s being overly affectionate, digging his nose into the crook of your neck and holding you to him. Almost like he’s trying to compensate for something, or distract you.

Your hands find his shoulders to pull him back slightly, “She wants to make her own grand entrance when the guests start coming in.” your mouth quirks up at the dramatics of your daughter. 

You try to peek past Sukuna and towards the front door, but he steps right back into your line of vision. “Speaking of guests.”  You lock your gaze onto him with intense scrutiny at his guilty action. “Who was at the door?”

Sukuna is quick to scoff. “Mormons.”

His words are followed by a series of obnoxious songs from the doorbell. It’s ringing so much it doesn’t even have time to finish its tune before another overlaps it. 

You feel the grip of Sukuna’s hands on your hips tighten just slightly. “They’re persistent.” He excuses his lazy lie, trying to wave it off. “They want to ruin Saeko’s special day-”

“Kuna?” You grant him your prettiest smile as you cut him off, letting your head tilt slightly to the side as you flutter your lashes up at him, the picture of a perfect and patient wife.

Your husband’s stern look falls apart. “My love?” He counters, half hoping the pet-name would lower your defenses and half utterly taken with you.

You let your face deadpan, tone dropping into a lower octave. One that Sukuna knows means business. “Move.”

And move he does. He kinda has to. But he lets you know he isn’t happy with it, grumbling under his breath as he’s pushed aside. It’s adorable with the add-on of his stupid costume/onesie set. You don’t share that thought lest he rip it off.

You rush for the door, an apology already on your lips when you swing it open to reveal a rather delighted Satoru Gojo and a puzzled little Megumi. “I am so sorry about that.” Your eyes roll as you let out a sharp huff. 

“That’s okay. It’s pretty on theme, right?” Satoru grins, and his eyes find Sukuna’s behind you like he’s taunting him. “The evil dragon holding the princess and queen hostage.”

Sukuna swears he could lunge at the tall man when a sweet giggle tumbles from your lips. Satoru seems to think their little rivalry is light-hearted. Nothing has ever been more serious for Sukuna.

You’re unbothered by or don’t notice the tension, crouching down to Megumi’s level with a small, excited gasp. “Gumi! You’re all ready for battle.” You beam, your tone taking on that tooth-rotting sweetness usually reserved for Saeko. 

Your words somehow pull a scarce smile from the gloomy little boy. He nods, taking his role seriously. He’s so non-talkative that his next words have you squealing at the sheer cuteness. “I’ll protect the princess.”

Sukuna can feel his eye twitch. He can never catch a break.

‿୨♡୧‿

The birthday party is in full swing just an hour later.

The house is disturbed, in Sukuna’s opinion. It’s normally quiet aside from the occasional hell that seems to follow Saeko around. 

Now, echoes of shrieks and laughter pierce through the halls. Footsteps padding on the floors as children run around. They’re loud, happy, and constantly in motion. The way they run from games you set up to the sweets table to the little playset in your backyard and back has him dizzy.

You find him brooding in the corner of the living room and can’t help but chuckle. The dragon onesie seriously takes away from the intimidating presence he’s tried to build. Like he can sense you, his eyes immediately find your approaching form. 

And while he does soften, he tries to keep the glare in his eyes. He’s still upset about you laughing at Gojo’s stupid joke, clearly.

“Sulk any longer and you’re gonna start breathing fire.” You tease, settling beside him and taking in the scenery. Saeko isn’t too far away, giggling and throwing herself face-first into the small ball pit meant for the kids, pulling Megumi in with her. 

“Ha ha. Hilarious.” Sukuna mutters, leaning further against the wall behind him. Another snicker escapes you as you reach up to tug at the hood of his costume. 

Your voice softens despite the light-hearted ridicule. “Why’re you so tense, hm?” 

He snorts, a dry, dismissive sound. “I’m not.”

Your answering look could make him shiver. “I know you, kuna.” 

“Unfortunately.”

His blunt words would make anybody else turn away. But you’re his wife for a reason. You push through and see him behind his defenses. You’re expert enough in the subject that is Ryomen Sukuna to know he’s put up walls to conceal what it is he’s really feeling: sad.

You can feel it, too. 

You squeeze your hand through his arm, and he loosens up to allow the affection. “She’s getting so big, isn't she?” You pry, motioning with your head toward your only daughter. You don’t miss the way Sukuna visibly swallows.

“Yeah. It’s called growing. Happens every year.” 

He hisses exaggeratedly when he receives a swift smack to his chest. He peers down at you and accepts your glare. It’s cute. Like when Saeko stomps her little foot and demands he toss her onto the couch again. 

“Shit, woman. Fine, yeah.” He huffs in defeat. His features tighten. “Too big.”

He supposes that’s why he feels this foreign ache in his chest. Because every time he looks at her, he sees his precious baby girl. A tiny, swaddled up, bundle of utter fury wailing at him. But then he blinks and he sees what he sees now. Saeko reaches his waist when before she could barely even reach his knees. 

You watch as Sukuna’s gaze follows her. Saeko barrels through a group of kids, her crown slightly twisted off her head and uncaring as she laughs loudly. It’s bright and loud and still so baby-like that it hurts if you linger too long on it.

You let the silence of the moment linger a little bit longer, not saying anything just yet. You simply lean into his side, grounding him the way you’ve learned to over the years. “She still looks at you like you hung the sky.” you murmur, a quiet comfort.

His responding scoff is weaker than usual. “That’s ‘cause she doesn’t know any better yet.”

You tilt your head, studying him. Sukuna’s jaw is tight, vermillion eyes sharp but not unfocused. Like he’s bracing for an impact that hasn’t yet hit. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.” You hum.

Another silence falls between you. Well, as much silence as can be managed given the party going on around you. But you’re giving him a choice. Letting him come to you rather than try and push it out of him.

For a moment, you think he might let the chance pass. Sukuna has always been many things. 

Loud, violent, devoted.

But being vulnerable is something that doesn’t come as easily. His eyes flick back to Saeko.

“She won't need me soon.” he says, his voice low enough it almost drowns in the ocean that is the noise of the environment. “Not like before.”

Your chest tightens at his revelation. 

“She already doesn’t.” he continues, words traced with barely restrained bitterness. He could smack himself. He shouldn’t be bitter. He should be happy for his little one. Cheer for the friends she’s making and how independent she's becoming. She’s his daughter, after all. “She’s got friends. Knights.” his lip curls.

“People who’ll stand next to her without scaring the whole room silent.”

You’re silent now, no tease or giggle to break this tension. 

“Lately she’s just running off and not looking back.” Sukuna purses his lips. “I taught her that and now it’s biting me in the ass.”

You slide your hand into his and lace your fingers together. His grip tightens immediately, reflexive.

“Kuna.” You say gently. “She runs back to you every single night.”

You can see the way his hardened expression cracks just a touch. You watch as he presses his free hand to the space between his shoulder and his neck. “She used to fit right here,” he mutters. “I could keep her safe just by holding her.”

His jaw flexes. “Now I can’t fight the things that are gonna hurt her. Time, people, the world.”

You open your mouth to respond when a sudden squeal cuts through. 

“Daddy!”

Saeko comes full speed towards you both, nearly tripping over her long dress. You avoid a tearful birthday tragedy as Sukuna scoops her up like it’s second nature. She squeezes her face to her father’s, gushing at you. 

“I won!” She announces proudly, struggling to catch her breath. 

You reach over to peck her nose, pinching her chin as an extra token of affection. “Oh, yeah? What’d you win, Princess Saeko?”

“Save the princess! I save myself.” She’s quite proud of the news, little chest puffing out in pride. 

Sukuna hums. “Obviously.”

Saeko sighs contentedly as Sukuna presses his forehead to hers. “I–uhm, I wanted you to be the dragon but you’re talking with mommy.” she rambles, hands tugging down the hood of his onesie to play in his hair. “But you can still be it. You can be my dragon forever. For all my birthdays! When I’m bigger, too.”

Sukuna freezes ever so slightly. “Forever’s a long time, princess.”

“Yes?” Saeko says it like it’s dead obvious. “Dragons live a long time. Duh, daddy.”

He doesn’t say much. Just hugs her closer, burying his face in her hair. “Yeah.” His words are rough and unsteady. “I can do that.”

You watch your husband and daughter, heart so full and aching to the point you fear it might burst and you’ll be the one to end up sobbing.

Thankfully, Saeko decides she’s over the hugs when she hears Yuji’s voice shout to her from the other room. She wiggles free, planting a quick kiss to Sukuna’s cheek and then yours before she’s sprinting away, already distracted before either of you can stop her.

“Attention span of a goldfish.” Sukuna shakes his head.

You smirk at him, reaching up to pull his hood back over his head, horns and all. “She’s your daughter.”

Your husband snorts, pulling you in to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Yeah, she is.”

The party reaches it’s conclusion thirty minutes later, when the lights in the kitchen are dimmed. Sukuna’s brother, Jin, kills the overheads and the room falls into a warm glow lit up by four flickering candles. 

“Okay!” You call, clapping your hands once. The sound echoes through the room as everyone falls silent. You motion towards Saeko, encouraging her forward with a smile. “Birthday girl, front and center.”

She scrambles onto the chair you’ve placed for her behind the cake. She nearly tips over if Sukuna wasn’t observant enough to steady the unsteady seat. He rolls his eyes fondly. Like mother, like daughter. 

He smacks away a little Yuji’s hand as the boy tries to steal a swipe of frosting. Kids these days have no shame. Sukuna stands just behind his daughter, a hand on her waist should she take a tumble from her sheer excitement alone. He’s looming over her quite ridiculously in his dragon onesie.

You slide in right beside him, shoulder brushing his arm casually. “Make a wish.” You murmur by Saeko’s ear. She squeezes her eyes shut so hard her features scrunch up. Both you and your husband watch her like the world has narrowed down to this particular moment. 

Saeko inhales sharply and blows, and the candles go out all at once. The room erupts into cheers and giggles and applause as she shrieks in triumph. She nearly faceplants into the cake, saved only by Sukuna hauling her back with a startled, “Shit!”

Saeko giggles, completely unbothered. “Daddy! Did you see!? I blew them all out!”

“You kidding me? Of course I saw.”

You glance at him, and his eyes are shining brighter than you’ve seen them.

‿୨♡୧‿

By the time the last of the guests pile out and the house can finally breathe, it’s well past Saeko’s usual bedtime. 

Sukuna’s surprised at how long her sugar-induced rush lasted before she finally crashed in his arms. She’s got her cheek smushed into his chest, still wearing her fancy and not at all comfortable princess gown.

You’d tried to convince her to change into something less scratchy–as she described it–but she stomped her foot and crossed her arms. Definitely still your baby, in some ways.

You follow behind Sukuna as he carries her throughout the house and up to her bedroom, shutting off the lights behind you as you go. You pass rooms and shut doors, leaving the aftermath of the party for tomorrow.

You both pause just outside your daughter’s door, basking in the simplicity of it all. 

“She’s out cold.” Sukuna grumbles, poking at Saeko’s bottom lip to push her mouth closed. He takes his thumb and wipes up her drool like it’s nothing. 

“Long day.” you hum in response, smiling. 

Sukuna tenderly lowers her onto her bed, unusually gentle. You help him out, pulling the blankets to her chin and tucking her safely in. The door clicks shut gently as soon as you both place feather-light kisses to her cute little face and exit the room.

You can see the blur of the nightlight just beneath the wooden door as you step out of her room. You pause in your tracks, tugging Sukuna to a halt as well. “You were good today.”

Sukuna shrugs his broad shoulders. “Didn’t get to scare any of the kids.”

You huff a small laugh. “Well, Saeko had fun. That’s all that matters.”

Your bedroom is dim when you step inside, moonlight from the window with drawn curtains stretching across the floor. Sukuna sits on the edge of your mattress, forearms braced against his thighs. He looks miraculously bigger this way. 

“She’s too big.” Sukuna gruffs out his words from earlier. 

You settle down beside him, letting your knees bump with his. “She’s four.”

He exhales heavily through his nose. “Exactly.”

A comfortable silence stretches between you. You reach for his hand for the millionth time today, thumbs tracing over the expanse of his knuckles. He turns his palm to engulf your hand in his.

“She used to fall asleep right here. Right with us, on my shoulder.” He taps it for extra emphasis.

You smile faintly at the memory. “I remember.” You mumble back. You remember the way she’d babble nonsense and giggle until the late hours of the night because you just couldn’t stop indulging her.

Sukuna would always snatch her up, lay her against his chest, and she’d be out like a light. You miss those days, too. “Kuna?”

He casts his gaze upon you curiously as you call out his name. 

“If that's what you miss,” You say tenderly, carefully. “It doesn’t have to be gone forever. We could…do it again someday.”

He stiffens slightly, but doesn’t make a move to pull away. He’s only taking in your implication, thumb brushing over your knuckles steadily. For a heartbeat, he can picture it all over again. Tiny fingers, little cries, a new life between you.

“What’re you saying?” he asks, a tad guarded, and voice low.

You continue to keep your tone light, so as to not spook him. “Look, we don't have to rush into anything. Or decide anything right now. Just…life’s long. Maybe some things are worth doing again.”

He doesn't speak. His hand tightens around yours, a small, protective, and almost hopeful squeeze.

“Not…not now.” he finalizes.

“I know.”

A breath, deeper this time. He leans into touch your foreheads, cupping your face. 

“Maybe.” he decides, barely audible.

Your chest feels warm. Before you can move, Sukuna tilts his head down and takes your lips into his. It’s not quick like the ones he usually offers you throughout the day. It’s slow and gentle. The kind of kiss that says everything he won't always speak. 

Love, hope, longing. The quiet acknowledgement of all that's possible with you.

When your lips part slightly, Sukuna takes the opportunity to whisper against your mouth. “I love you.”

You press together, letting the outside world disappear for just a little longer, and your own voice finds him, quiet and steady. “I love you, too.” 

a/n: wowwowowow i hope u guys like <3 im unsure how they keep getting longer and longer but HUZZAH it is here. i love u my lovely angel who reqd this i commend u for ur patience i wanted to make it super special for u!! mwuah mwuah mwuah!

[honeynclover]

this is amazing people, trust 🤗

[espresso1patronum]

𝜗ৎtoji isn’t really the thoughtful type.

not in the way that remembers anniversaries or buys little gifts “just because.” he loves you, sure—but he also forgets where he put his keys half the time and thinks romance is just staying instead of leaving.

so you never expected much.

never expected flowers. never expected surprises. never expected anything, really.

which is why it catches you off guard when he comes home one evening, drops his jacket on the chair, and wordlessly tosses something onto the table in front of you.

it’s a keychain.

cheap. plastic. a tiny panda with slightly too-big eyes and a round little tummy.

you blink. once. twice.

“…what’s this?” you ask, picking it up carefully, like it might disappear.

toji shrugs, already heading for the fridge. “saw it.”

that’s it. no explanation.

you look at him, then back at the panda. it’s kind of stupid. kind of cute. very random.

you’re about to tease him when he adds, almost reluctantly, “reminded me of you.”

you freeze. because aw.

“the eyes,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, not looking at you. “and… it’s got that little belly thing going on.”

your heart does something embarrassing and traitorous.

you stand up, walk over to him, still holding the keychain. “you think i look like a panda?”

he hums. “cute. soft. looks harmless but probably isn’t.”

you laugh, and before he can react, you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

toji stiffens like he wasn’t expecting that at all.

“…what was that for?” he mutters.

you smile, looping the keychain onto your bag like it’s the most precious thing you own. “nothing. just… thanks.”

he watches you for a second longer than necessary, then turns away, ears faintly red.

yeah. maybe he doesn’t always care in obvious ways.

but somehow, this—this stupid little panda—means everything.

[dejavew]

[r/dating]: I have a long term crush on my coworker, and now she’s resigning. Please help! (17hrs)

a suguru geto fic | suguru geto x reader | fluff | ft. satoru gojo, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, sukuna

I (M29) have been working at this company for five, ongoing to six, years now, and to say the least this is not where I wanted to be ideally. My occupation has been keeping me afloat, dare I say, living comfortably. However like all jobs—there are a few flaws and imperfections in certain areas, but hey, a check is a check.

But moving on, there was a period in my career where I wanted to do more. As if I was missing something in my life. There was zero excitement in my day to day routine, like watching the same movie on repeat and expecting a different outcome every. Single. time. To that, I decided to pursue a different career. Maybe learn something new or develop an existing skill. Maybe go for something that kept me on my feet, or I don’t know, something that had me touching the grass or talking to the the trees.

The day I gained the courage to place my two week notice, just so happened to be the same day my coworker (F24), lets call her Moon, had been initiated into the company. I was assigned to train her on some of our operations and procedures, in which resulted with me forgetting about the resignation letter.

We spoke a lot throughout the day (you know, maintaining morale within the work environment blah, blah, blah). And I got to learn a few things about her. She honestly confessed that she was only going to be here for at max, five years, as she was still working on getting her bachelor’s degree. Funny enough, she was the same person who helped me open my eyes and remember that my life was mine. I had no kids, no significant other, no debt, I was still young and most importantly I was living comfortably.

So you know what I did? I stayed for another three years! Yup, I ripped the damn paper to shreds after hearing her encouragement. Which to my realization, only happed because I think she was something that I needed in my life.

Well, during those three years, her and I got close. Moon and I would go out with a couple of other coworkers after work, sometimes we’d eat lunch together, and we would even text throughout the day during and outside business hours. Like two peas in a pod. We made sure to have each others back, and honestly we built a sturdy bridge of trust between the two of us. Enough to the point where we could be vulnerable to each other.

Now, since I really want this to by anonymous I won’t be sharing anything personal. She helped me realized that there was more to life, wether it was to become a husband, father, a friend, or someone in general, life has more to offer. She didn’t judge me like the others did or laugh to me to the point of humiliation. She’d always had something positive to say, and when I did need to correct something she made sure she wasn’t sugarcoating anything. She’s my pillar, my rock, and well—the Moon in my life. (call me cheesy all you want but—I don’t care.)

Which is why I planned to ask her out after work. Listen reddit. You don’t know how serious this is. I wrote a love note because she has mentioned that she wanted to be courted. I even brought her the freshest bouquet of her favorite flowers, and planned out a confession (as I am not good with words).

This girl drives me insane, and yet, I wouldn’t mind if she ruin me to the point of irreversible insanity.

I woke up today feeling energized, and antsy. My limbs were jelly, and my heart rate matched the pattern of a track racer. I made my way to work, leaving earlier than usual, and placed my flowers into the mini fridge by my desk. I repeated my prepared lines in my head over a thousand times to the point where if you asked me anything, those exact words would leak out my mouth. I was over the moon. There were some instances where our coworkers, especially the women, would tell me that she and I would look good together. (lowkey a confidence boost).

However, when 7am arrives, all of my confidence dies inside me when I see her go straight to our general manager slip a paper to him, and leave in tears. She couldn’t spare a passing glance at me and simply made her way to her desk.

We did not talk at all. (Stupid on my part, I know)

Not even a good morning, or see you tomorrow. The only words that involved her didn’t even come from Moon, but rather my boisterous coworker who looked me dead in the eyes and said “I heard that she’s resigning.”

Man, I felt like someone threw a bucket of ice cold water at me. Maybe even left a few ice cubes that hit me on my head as if to scold me for not being there for her.

It’s been about five hours since I left work, and I have a the urge to text her or to call her up and talk. And before you ask, no, if I do call or text, I will not be asking her out and making her resignation about me, but rather talk about what her plans are and to share my support.

But honestly reddit, I don’t know if it’s the best move. Please help me!

6eyedfreak: you’re lame lol. If you genuinely liked her and know her for real, you would’ve comfort and spoke to her as soon as you saw her tears. #shedeservesbetter

Bread7ov3r: while I somewhat agree on your standpoint, I think it’s safe to say that op had good intentions. She was probably overwhelmed that day, and remember we don’t personal know these two. So who knows what she could have wanted from him.

Bread7ov3r: You should go for it. Text, call, maybe even visit her if you two are as close as you claim. Women are often seen as complicated beings, when really all they want is attention, love, support, and understanding. Assuming you didn’t bring the flowers and the letter back home with you, you should put your memory to the test and recite the words you’ve written out for her. Oh! And don’t forget to apologize for not checking up on her.

darkhair2.3 OP: Fuck you’re right. Who knows if she’ll move out of the city or the country. I like her a lot and if I lose her, I may lose what life means to me.

thekingofcurses: cheesy motherfucker.

nocashbutalottass: showing up definitely works, especially if you wear a compression shirt to show off your muscles. Here’s a link if you want to check it out: gympic.png

6eyedfreak: what the fuck! did you try to scam me?!!?!

nocashbutalottass: damn, so it didn’t work.

thekingofcursingyouout: there goes lover boy. Love is strange.

6eyedfreak: damn so no update?

thekingofcursingyouout: it hasn’t even been a fucking day yet.

6eyedfreak: woah, who shit in his cereal?

lunareclipse: hi guys! I can’t believe I manage to find this reddit entry! Before I start, let me just say that I’m moon in op’s story, and I am here to update on what happened and to state some facts:

yes! I will be quitting from the company. I no longer have passion for what I do currently, and I also finished my bachelor’s yippee!

No, I will not be moving out of country, I will be moving to another area but within the same city. (yes, I am living closer to him)

And yes, I was a bit mad when he didn’t come to check up on me, however I come to understand that he wanted to give me time and space, and by his desperation of posting a reddit story he is so down bad for me lol. (@/6eyedfreak, thank you for your concern. @/Bread7ov3r, thank you for being so caring).

Now. What you guys have been waiting for. He literally ran to my place. Heavy breathing, sweat can be seen on his forehead, couldn’t even talk for a minute, just selfishly taking up my oxygen (and in my apartment???) I welcomed him in, offered a glass of water (which he chugged down by the way) and let him catch his breath.

When the opportunity arrives, we spoke about what’s to come. I apologized for not telling him that I was leaving, and he apologized for not being there when he saw me in tears. And so, to cancel our wrongs, we both forgave each other, and then came to the real questions. Would we still see each other? Yes, our schedules won’t be too complicated to the point where we can’t have any free time. What did we want in the future? I answered as clear and as transparent as I could: “I don’t know.”

We had a couple more questions for each other, which by the looks of it we both are supportive of, and that’s when the unexpected happen. He had me sit down, and that’s where he recited his confession. A short but simple speech. Now, I am not him, so I will not be recited his words, I do however have his hand written note and will share with the class (he gave me permission to post this btw):

To My Lunareclipse,

The concept of time will never be fully understood in my mediocre brain. To me, it felt like it was only yesterday you had entered my life and make me feel as though life had a variety of opportunities, and no matter how hard and long it will take—it will all be worth it.

It took 25 years just to meet you, and honestly, if put into that position again, I would wait as long as the age of time if it meant you were my grand prize every single time.

As I write this love note, I imagine your soft smile, and your silly comments on life that make me feel light. Damn, the things you do to me. You make me feel more like a man, and seeing you is enough to make my day.

If you haven’t guessed it already, this is just a start of the unlimited amount of adoration I have for you. Your views on life make me feel as if a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders, there’s so much more than working in a box full of white lighting with coworkers who are just as miserable as the guy I was years before meeting you.

If given the chance, I promise to give, provide, and care for all your needs and your wants. I want to protect the light that you hold inside you, and never let anyone to dim that light or put you under a shade. Everything about you is admirable, and if anyone says that your light is too bright, than I’ll put on some sunglasses and apply some sunscreen instead of sunblock, because at least with sunscreen it will be most prominent that there is a sign that you left your mark with me.

All yours,

darkhair2.3

That’s the update guys! we are together now, and honestly I couldn’t be any happier!

p.s he quit his job (sent a text an hour ago lol), and yes he has a job interview next week which requires him to travel (we will work through this guys I promise!) and also, I’ve had a crush on him for years too! Thank you and love you all (but not as much as I love darkhair2.3)

6eyedfreak: am I about to cry in the club right now?

Bread7ov3r: glad to see another one of my clients made it through.

6eyedfreak: ugh this reminds me of a similar story at work, two of my coworkers just quit and—HOLD ON!!

darkhair2.3: @6eyedfreak stop calling me it’s too damn late

6eyedfreak: you have to tell me all the details!!!! ;(

lunareclipse: i’ll tell you tomorrow at lunch

6eyedfreak: YAYY!!

please do not steal, repost on other platforms, translate, and feed my work to AI.

[fishwithsoy]

⧽ sukuna has yoga classes

── try to convince your husband, sukuna, to join the yoga class

f!reader, fluff, established relationship, softkuna

wc : 509

you entreat, sighing. “kuna… please?” you had just signed yourself up for yoga class—correction, not just yourself, but your husband too. he’s sitting on the bed, eyes on the phone—for a second, he pulls away from his device to look at you.

he dismisses, “i‘m not available this week, wife,” his voice sonorous, face not showing any expression.

“awe, but i got us matching clothes, look!”  you gush, prying out all the clothes from the paper bag—you just returned from the mall after investing in equipment for you and sukuna for the imminent yoga class.

his eyes darted on you as he placed his phone on the nightstand. “i’ll go with you next week, baby. i promise,”

that settles everything.

a question of his slips out, “what time is your yoga class tomorrow, baby?” you suspire, inching to him as you sit on your bed. “around ten in the morning.”

“okay.” he replies in a hush, sluggish tone.

on the phone is sukuna: “take care, wife.” he sounds sapped—well, that’s pretty axiomatic after working for hours, but still.

“mhm, and how are you?” you inquire, eyes still glued to the road. before he replies, you hear a deep, deep sigh from him. “‘m okay, workload is quite hectic.”

there’s a long pause between the two of you. you can’t cogitate on what to say, peculiarly when you’re focused on driving “... oh, by the way, what are you wearing?” he asks.

he never asks what you’re wearing, but you don’t question it anyway.

“the one we were supposed to match in, why?”

he ignores your ‘why,’ and proceeds to ask another question, “okay… mine’s in my closet, right?” he lagged a little.

one of your eyebrows furrow, “yeah…?” you respond, quite skeptical.  “okay. focus on driving now, baby. i love you.”

it’s only been like, what? ten minutes in… but you’re crazily drenched. like drenched, drenched. “keep it up, ladies!” the instructor paeans, clapping.

“and for you here…” her voice falters, approaching you to adjust your position—she pushes your lower back slowly, earning a grunt from you.

“there we go, that’s more like–” and afore she finishes her sentence, the vibe of the room immediately changed. the collective in the room loosened in their position, looking up at the disturbance of the calm.

“hey, sorry, got caught in traffic.” that voice is too familiar for you to ignore, instantly; you look up—and seeing that smirk of his makes your limbs go soft.

the instructor assures, “no worries, just find a spot and settle in.” her voice had gone soft, really soft.

sukuna waves at you, a gym bag hangs loosely on his shoulders, and as you observe him, it strikes you.

he’s wearing the matching shirt you bought for the two of you. and you swear on your life you saw it—he winked at you.

slowly, he strides toward your place and sets a mat. “why the hell are you here?” you whisper, a crack coming through your voice.

“you wanted me here, right? then i’m here.” 

likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated! ⋆˙⟡

masterlist taglist

[warmsatoru]

soft spot ⟡ gojo satoru/reader ⟡ fluff, just so much fluff, reader has a big fat crush on him | 2.6k

You don’t tell anyone about Satoru.

Not because he’s a serial killer and you’re the only one who knows about it or anything, it’s just that he’s yours in a way that feels too delicate to mention in explanations, especially the ones where you have to clarify that no, you’re not dating… you’re just… really close.

Plus he’s already loud everywhere else. Everyone already knows him or of him. He’s the kind of presence that bends rooms around him, the kind that never has to ask for space because it’s already been made specifically for him. You see it every time you’re out together, the way people look at him, the way he fills silences like he was built for attention.

But your version of Satoru is quiet. He sits closer to you than necessary, listens to you in a way that feels intent, and almost reverent. It’s not that his confidence disappears; it just stops becoming a guard and settles into something more tranquil.

And you don’t mean to reach for him on purpose, you just find yourself leaning in without thinking. You let your guard drop in ways you never do with anyone else, letting the noise of the world and your worries fall away when he’s near. He has this way of grounding you, of drawing you in just by being there. He brushes past you in narrow places, and he says your name like it belongs to him. Unfortunately, you start to realize you don’t like the sound of it in other people’s mouths.

You also hate how safe he feels. You hate it because you don’t feel safe often, you’re careful, you’re measured, you keep pieces of yourself tucked away, and you only really ration yourself to people you truly trust. But Satoru slipped past all of that without even trying, and you got to know him faster than you expected; it happened quicker than anyone else, even faster than any passing silly crushes that you had before that weren’t supposed to mean anything. 

He’s the person you look for in rooms without realizing you’re even doing it. The one whose absence you feel before you can explain why. You don’t need him to promise you anything, to owe you anything; you don’t even need him to stay.

You’re just addicted to the way your shoulders relax when he’s close, the way your heart slows when he laughs softly instead of loudly, the way your thoughts soften around him, edges blurring, and defenses completely gone. 

But this terrifies you. Because you know what it means to have a soft spot, particularly if that soft spot is Satoru. You know how dangerous it is to let him in that deep without asking him to carry the weight of it.

He’s your weakest point.

But your favorite one nonetheless.

You don’t really go out.

You like nights that end early, rooms you memorize the layout of, and music that stays low enough to think and study over. When people invite you to places, you usually have an excuse ready: too tired, busy with work, maybe another time?

But when Satoru asks, you say yes before you remember yourself.

It’s louder than you expected. A bar you wouldn’t have chosen on your own, all flashing lights and overlapping conversations. Half of his coworkers are already there when you arrive, clustered around a table near the back, loud laughs, someone arguing about something pointless, empty glasses stacked where they shouldn’t be. A few mutual friends drift between groups, faces familiar enough that you don’t feel entirely out of place.

You hover near the bar counter, drink in your hand, shoulders tight. And in true Satoru fashion, he notices immediately. He doesn’t say anything, he just shifts closer, close enough that your arm brushes his. It’s comforting, like a hand at your back without the hand actually being there.

“You good?” he asks, quiet, leaning in so only you can hear. His tall frame angling toward you, his hair falls loosely around his face, too white under the bar lights, but just messy enough to look intentional. Up close, he’s all warm solidity and sharp lines.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He watches you take a sip of your drink. His gaze lingers on the glass a beat too long. “Hey,” he says gently, thumb tapping the side of your cup once. “Slow down.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He smiles, soft but firm. “You don’t drink much. Don’t start now.”

You should argue. Usually, you would. You hate when people mischaracterize you, hate when anyone assumes softness where there’s typically sharp edges, when your restraint is mistaken for fragility.

But you don’t. Because he isn’t assuming, he isn’t guessing or projecting or trying to tame you into something simpler. He already knows where you’re sharp, where you push back, and where you hold your ground, and he doesn’t mistake any of it for weakness. And that, more than anything, you know he knows you best.

You look at him once more, then set the cup down.

When the music changes, you barely register it. Unlike half the people around you, you stay at the bar counter, elbow tucked in, letting the moment pass without feeling the need to follow it. You don’t dance. You’ve never been the kind of person who gets pulled out by a beat or a crowd, and you’re not about to start pretending now.

Satoru shifts closer anyway. Not inviting you, and definitely not dragging you to the dance floor. He’s just aligning himself with you, like that’s where he intends to stay in the first place.

Then someone bumps into you hard enough to jostle your glass, your drink sloshing over your knuckles.

“Hey,” Satoru says immediately, already stepping half a pace forward. It’s temperate, but there’s no mistaking the edge in it. The guy mutters an apology and melts back into the crowd.

Satoru glances down at your hand. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you say. You wipe your fingers on a napkin. “Just annoying.”

He reaches for another napkin without looking and sets it by your hand. His wrist brushes yours, brief and uncalculated. He freezes for a split second, then pulls back, like he caught himself doing something instinctive.

You catch the look that flickers across his face. Boyish. And to your dismay, gone almost immediately.

He settles beside you again, shoulder nearly touching. “I wasn’t trying to get you to dance,” he says calmly. 

“I know,” you reply. That seems to loosen something in him. He rests his forearm against the counter, body angled toward yours, attention fully anchored. Around you, the bar keeps cruising; laughing, shouting, clinking glasses, but your corner stays claimed by the quiet and deliberate way he does things.

You don't move to dance, and you don’t leave the bar completely. He stays with you regardless.

And somehow, that tells you everything.

You really don’t like people like that, you haven’t before. And definitely not in a way that asks for more. Not in a way that rearranges your life or makes you believe in horoscopes, timing, or fate, or whatever people use when they want their feelings to sound inevitable. You’ve always thought love was something other people were better at, louder people, braver people, people who didn’t need so much space around their hearts.

You’ve never felt wrong about that, until him.

It’s not that you suddenly believe in love now. You still don’t think it arrives cleanly, fixes anything, or makes sense just because it should. But you don’t want to label things and then watch them get weighed down by expectation.

But literally no one else does this to you. No one else makes you pause mid-thought just because they’re nearby. No one else settles you without trying, draws something quiet out of you just by existing in the same space. With Satoru, you don’t feel pulled or chased or cornered; you feel chosen and important even when nothing has been said out loud.

That’s what scares you. You don’t believe in love.

But whatever this is… whatever he is…

No one else has ever made you feel it.

You’re awake when you shouldn’t be.

Your room is dark, phone face-down on your mattress, city noise filtering in through your cracked window. You’ve tried the usual things: counting sheep, turning pillows, convincing yourself sleep will come if you stop thinking about it.

It doesn’t work. Because every quiet thought circles back to Satoru. You replay moments of nothingness. The way he stood a little closer than necessary at the bar. The way he looked at you like he wasn’t trying to impress the crowd. 

It bothers you more than it should.

You don’t get like this. You don’t lie awake wondering what someone means to you; you don’t let hypotheticals take root in your heart. You’ve always been good at keeping things in a way you can understand. Feelings, especially.

Yet you catch yourself thinking about how easily he fits into your life. Not your schedule. Just… everything. Like something inside you recognizes him before you have the chance to argue. You hate that. You don’t like anyone like this. You’ve never needed to. You’ve built a whole life of moving through the world without that kind of attachment, without believing that one person could shift significant beliefs.

You turn onto your side, staring into the dark. You don’t know if he could change your heart, but you just know no one else has ever made you wonder if it’s even possible.

It’s not dramatic when it happens.

There’s no moment where the room goes still or where you suddenly feel brave, like in the movies. You’re just sitting together, late again, the kind of hour where words matter less than presence. His shoulder is close, close enough to be familiar, like always.

You realize, suddenly, how long this has been true. How you have assumed he knew, how you never explained yourself to him because it felt unnecessary, like explaining why gravity is essential. It feels like saying your feelings out loud would cheapen the way it’s always lived between the two of you.

He reaches for something, your charger, his phone, you’re not even sure, but his fingers curl loosely around yours by accident.

He doesn’t let go. Neither do you.

It hits you then, soft and undeniable. The way you give in without resistance, the way you adjust your life around him without noticing you’re doing it. The way he can pull you in with nothing more than just being himself, like your heart’s rhythm learned his own before your feelings did.

You don’t say it. You probably never will. Because part of you thinks he already knows.

The way he smiles, relaxed and confident. The way he keeps his hand where it is, thumb tracing an idle circle like he’s allowed to. The way he glances at you, not seeking permission, not asking questions. You’re wrapped around his fingers in ways that don’t require touch but in choices, in attention, in the quiet ways you always come back to him.

And when you finally meet his eyes, there’s no surprise in them. You don’t believe in love the way people like to describe it. But you believe in this. In the way your chest softens when he’s close, in the way you stop guarding yourself without meaning to, in the way everything steadies, like this is where you were supposed to end up, and not because it was written somewhere, not because of timing or fate, but because you chose this.

“You know,” he says after a while, voice low, “I’ve been holding your hand for a long time now.”

You glance down, like you’re just realizing it too. “Yeah.”

“You gonna tell me to let go?”

You shake your head.

He hums softly, pleased, “Good,” he murmurs. “Didn’t feel like stopping.”

“I don’t usually do this,” you say after a moment.

“Hold hands?” he asks lightly.

“Let things sit like this,” you correct. “Without defining them.”

You shift slightly closer. “When did this start for you?” you ask quietly.

He ponders the question. “I don’t know. Somewhere between realizing I looked for you first and then realizing I relaxed when I found you.”

Your chest tightens. “You think about that kinda stuff?”

He smiles faintly. “I think about you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“I was worried,” he continues, softer now, “that if I said something wrong, I’d make you pull away.”

You stare at the place where your hands are still joined, thumb resting against his knuckle. “You’re not wrong,” you admit. “I probably would have.”

“But I know you,” he replies. “You don’t pull away unless you feel pushed.”

You look at him then. “You watch me a lot.”

“Someone has to,” he says lightly. Then, quieter, almost careful, “You don’t make it easy to let people in.” You don’t deny it.

“I’m not trying to change that,” he adds. “I just want you to know you don’t have to do everything on your own when I’m here.”

“You don’t need changing,” he continues, thumb brushing your knuckle once. “But I don’t mind being the one who notices when you’re tired. Or when you’re pretending you aren’t.”

You swallow. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

He smiles, warm and unbothered. “I’m not afraid of it.”

Normally, you would wince at that. You would hear noticing and assume it meant watching too closely, mistaking care for control, softness for something you didn’t earn. You hate it when people think loving you means sanding down your edges.

But with Satoru, it doesn’t feel like that. He doesn’t say it like you need fixing, and he doesn’t offer care like a correction. He says it like noticing you is simply part of who he is. Having feelings for him is not something that rearranges your life or asks you to believe in horoscopes, timing, or fate. You’ve always thought love belonged to people who are not you, people who move faster, who ask less space of the world, who don’t flinch at the idea of being seen too clearly.

You’ve never wanted something that demanded reshaping, or surrender, or faith in anything other than what you believe in. But being with Satoru wasn’t that. It’s him meeting you where you already are; it’s him not asking you to soften or trying to hold you still. He is choosing to notice you without claiming ownership of what he sees. And for the first time, that kind of feeling, that feeling of love, doesn’t feel like something you have to restrain yourself against.

He’s quiet for a long moment, like he’s lining something up carefully in his head. Then he exhales and says, “I don’t think about leaving when I’m with you.”

You look at him, confused.

“I think about staying,” he continues, voice low and steady. “Even when things get hard. Even when I’m tired, you calm things down for me in a way nothing else does.”

Your chest tightens.

“I notice when you’re not okay,” he says, thumb brushing your knuckle again. “Not because I’m watching for it, but because it matters to me. Because your bad days feel like mine too.”

He glances down, then back up, almost shy now. “You make things feel… more real. Like, I don’t have to be anything extra.” A small smile tugs at his mouth. “And I don’t need a word for that. I just know it’s you.” He pauses, letting it settle.

“That’s how I feel about you,” he finishes softly.

You don’t rush to answer. Your hand tightens in his. And he smiles, because he knows you heard exactly what he meant.

You might love Satoru in the way people usually mean when they say love, the way people expect love to be. But what you feel for Satoru comes from being met where you stand, from recognizing yourself in the way he sees you, from knowing you both chose each other. 

author's note: oh wow i was not planning for this to be long . but now ive spent hours writing this instead of studying. oh well :P this healed me and is probably all self indulgent... oh well!!! ┐(´∀｀)┌ regardless i hope u all enjoy it too <3

[peanutslice]

Bf!Sukuna who loves the taste of your bitter coffee in the morning

A/n: back at school so less time to write but wanted to throw this into the abyss while i work on a longer piece :>

You walk back into your room after making your weekend breakfast: blueberry bagel with cream cheese and a mug of coffee with light creamer. The slight sweetness so the coffee isn't completely bitter.

Placing your breakfast on your bedside table, the lump that is your boyfriend grumbles and turns over, your body covering his face from the early morning light. Sukuna sits up slights and places a hand on your upper arm, signaling you to move down into a kiss. After he's had his fill, he moves back down under the covers and goes right back to sleep.

As the morning creeps on, you start eating your breakfast, scrolling on your phone as you do. It's only a Saturday and, while you do have a short list of tasks to get done this morning, your main goal is to let yourself relax and stay in the company of your sleepy boyfriend.

30 minutes into your breakfast, Sukuna reluctantly rolls out of bed, plants a quick kiss on your head, and trudges to the bathroom to get refreshed for the day. You hear the sink start and stop a couple of times before he reemerges into your shared bedroom and resits himself next to you on the bed. Covers placed back over his lap, head on your shoulder looking at your phone screen as you scroll.

With your bagel finished, you bring your mug back up to your mug back up to your mouth to take a few sips of your warm, bitter coffee. Watching you carefully, Sukuna lightly sets his fingertips on your chin to turn your face towards him where he firmly sets his lips on yours before gently sliding his tongue between to meet yours. When he tastes your coffee he groans. Sukuna groans. You knew he liked sitting with you and observing your routine in the morning, especially since you weren't loud or talkative in the morning. He liked existing next to you, his calm oasis amidst his hellish weeks. You knew all of this and accepted it. You let him lean into you in the morning, steal the occasional bite of bagel, and even make him his own cup of coffee in one of your cutesy mugs on the mornings he follows you into the kitchen.

What you didn't know (yet) was how much he loved the taste of your coffee on you. He'd never told you, but the first time he kissed you after a sip of your morning coffee, he'd almost begged for more. The bitter roast of the coffee mixed with the sweet taste of you that he adored energized him more than adrenaline injected straight to his veins. That taste became his new internal motivation for making it through the week without ripping someone's head off or driving into a guardrail in frustration. That taste became his new reason for life and for waking up on the weekends. He'd been treating you extra sweet on Friday nights for the past month or so and you'd had no clue it was because he knew he'd be able to kiss your coffee tainted lips silly for the next 48 hours.

Sukuna never thought he'd have soft or happy mornings even less than he thought he'd ever deserve the prettiest girl sitting next to him in bed letting him steal all the coffee-infused kisses he could ever dream of off her lips.

[espresso1patronum]

𝜗ৎtoji isn’t really the thoughtful type.

not in the way that remembers anniversaries or buys little gifts “just because.” he loves you, sure—but he also forgets where he put his keys half the time and thinks romance is just staying instead of leaving.

so you never expected much.

never expected flowers. never expected surprises. never expected anything, really.

which is why it catches you off guard when he comes home one evening, drops his jacket on the chair, and wordlessly tosses something onto the table in front of you.

it’s a keychain.

cheap. plastic. a tiny panda with slightly too-big eyes and a round little tummy.

you blink. once. twice.

“…what’s this?” you ask, picking it up carefully, like it might disappear.

toji shrugs, already heading for the fridge. “saw it.”

that’s it. no explanation.

you look at him, then back at the panda. it’s kind of stupid. kind of cute. very random.

you’re about to tease him when he adds, almost reluctantly, “reminded me of you.”

you freeze. because aw.

“the eyes,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, not looking at you. “and… it’s got that little belly thing going on.”

your heart does something embarrassing and traitorous.

you stand up, walk over to him, still holding the keychain. “you think i look like a panda?”

he hums. “cute. soft. looks harmless but probably isn’t.”

you laugh, and before he can react, you lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

toji stiffens like he wasn’t expecting that at all.

“…what was that for?” he mutters.

you smile, looping the keychain onto your bag like it’s the most precious thing you own. “nothing. just… thanks.”

he watches you for a second longer than necessary, then turns away, ears faintly red.

yeah. maybe he doesn’t always care in obvious ways.

but somehow, this—this stupid little panda—means everything.