—about me;; ∘˙○˚.•。.°˚
ryo;; 19;; they/them
posts will be sporadic. i’m just here for the fun of it, so don’t go expecting whole lot out of me.
—masterlist;; unfinished ∘˙○˚.•。.°˚
—recent;; untitled ∘˙○˚.•。.°˚
dirt enthusiast

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Sweet Seals For You, Always
YOU ARE THE REASON
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Misplaced Lens Cap

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Discoholic 🪩
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@ruhesufur
—about me;; ∘˙○˚.•。.°˚
ryo;; 19;; they/them
posts will be sporadic. i’m just here for the fun of it, so don’t go expecting whole lot out of me.
—masterlist;; unfinished ∘˙○˚.•。.°˚
—recent;; untitled ∘˙○˚.•。.°˚
hi my jujuberries
i’m archiving this blog
i don’t really know how to explain how much this account once meant to me. writing here used to make me so happy!!! interacting with people, sharing my fics, seeing everyone’s reactions! it was comforting in a way i can’t describe. ive made so many lovely lovely friends andd i genuinely loved being here, and i loved all of you more than you probably know :c
but over time, things changed sigh
the constant hate, harassment, and the doxxing have drained me more than i can put into words. every time i opened this app, i felt anxious instead of excited. i kept trying to push through it because i didn’t want to let go of something i cared about so deeply, but i don’t think i have it in me anymore guys, im so tired
the burnbook blogs especially have completely ruined tumblr for me, and honestly, they’ve ruined writing for me too. i never thought something i loved this much would start making me feel so frickin miserable. i’ve done nothing wrong, and i think people forget sometimes that there’s an actual person behind the screen reading the things they say, whether on anon or not. please be kinder to people! it costs nothing
mimuju will stay up for anyone who still wants to read my work, and i’ll probably still post on ao3 whenever i can bring myself to write. maybe one day i’ll come back here? but right now i honestly can’t imagine it :c
thank you for every kind message, every reblog, every person who made this space feel safe before it stopped being one for me. those memories are the reason leaving hurts this much
i think i just need peace for a while, theres a lot going on in my personal life atm!
thank you for everything i loveee you guyssss ♡
Let me take care of you
[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything! art by: @/hong_nock
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
synopsis;; you paint his nails. ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
genre;; fluff.
wc;; 1045.
“i didn’t know you liked painting your nails.”
he quietly laughs, and it softens the air around you, adding to the rare tranquility his room experiences. “fair enough. it did come as a bit of surprise to me, too, when i first tried it.”
you find yourself sitting on his bed as he’s beside you, close enough just so you’d be able to reach him, but also with some space set in-between for comfort.
he positions his hand, palm flat, on his knee, and you slip yours just underneath it to steady it, and you have to furtively smother the shiver you feel from the callouses of his palm against your knuckles, the warmth his skin emits alone.
you dip the brush into the bottle, and draw it out just as quickly, sweeping the excess by its neck before you press it against the nail of his thumb.
“there wasn’t really a particular reason why i started,” he tells you. he tips his head to the side, enough to rest it on his shoulder somewhat. he has it set loose, and it fluidly pours over his shoulders. you’d run your fingers through it just so you’d know how it feels. “just when i did, i’d thought they’d look good on me.”
“well, ’course they do,” you tell him, but the words came out more tender than you meant to.
his eyes flit to yours, half-lidded, and the innate warmth in his irises startles you.
you know that it shouldn’t because how many times have you found yourself at the end of it now? for it to be so familiar?
too many times to count, you think, if i know it’s him from the feel of it by itself.
you hear yourself say, “i mean it, you know.”
he blinks, and whatever shade of latent tension existed has dispersed as he tilts his head to let out a chuckle. “i know. it doesn’t hurt to hear some confirmation.”
he presses the back of his free hand up against his mouth to cover up a smile as you finish painting the coat, eyeing it for a bit to see if you’ve missed a spot before moving onto the next one. the rich shade of black draws attention to itself, balancing out the light-colored, loose clothing he has on right now.
“just when i did, i’d thought they’d look good on me.”
you’ve meant what you said earlier, as much as it came off as anything but. it suits him more than he thinks, more than you’d ever say.
you always thought he looked beautiful. that was irrefutable, when every single time you’re with him, you figure out another thing about him that affirms it all over again. it’s an endless little thing with him that you hope doesn’t find its end soon.
that’s what you thought, inwardly. aloud, you snicker, saying, “of course you chose black. couldn’t get your hands on, ah, white and blue?”
he snorts, and shoves his elbow into your shoulder, laughing once again when you yelp, and rush to lift the brush so it doesn’t end up painting his skin, or stain his bed. “stay still!”
“i’m trying to, i promise, but someone’s distracting me right now.”
“yeah, yourself, now come on, or i’m making you do this all on your own.”
his eyes briefly crinkles before he draws near, closing the gap of space, and murmurs, “you won’t.”
the low gravel of his tone has you pause. like he’s so sure you wouldn’t, for one reason or another.
at the end of his mild gaze, you feel your face further heat up, and you dip your head low at an attempt to hide it, as well as to focus painting his nails, now onto his ring finger. “...i’m, like, half-way done, anyways.
he lets out a huff, and he’s rather close enough that you feel it, and it doesn’t help you cool down in the slightest. “it doesn’t look like it.”
you wave him off with your other hand, and he draws back to his former spot with a smile. he lets the quiet settle in after that, and it feels… nice. to just be with him in silence. there’s no need to fill the air with things that aren’t needed at the moment. it feels comfortable with him, anyways; his presence is a calm, mild thing that makes you feel at ease.
eventually, you brush the last stroke on his pinkie, and he regards his nails for a bit while you close up the bottle, getting up, and putting it inside of his drawer.
when you close it, your eyes settle on a frame photo he has propped up on his nightstand that captures satoru, suguru, ieiri, and you pressed up against each other to fit in.
everyone was feeling the heat that day, but it’s so much clearer to see when it comes to suguru. his cheeks were flushed, a soft tint of red, with the heat that day as his face scrunched up with heady delight, brows furrowed. his hair was a mess, his bun practically coming apart, but he didn’t pay it any mind then.
the day wasn’t notable or anything, just one of the many idle ones that seemed to blur into one another, and yet, he kept it like it was a token to remember for years to come.
you feel your lips lift to a small smile as your eyes rove over his expression again, as if committing his very features to memory.
the day wasn’t notable, no, it wasn’t… you didn’t think so, save for the fact that you remember it, too, was when you realized you liked him a little more than a friend.
“looks really good. i might have to start coming to you know whenever they start to get chipped.”
you turn your head just enough to see him from your peripheral vision, and even then, with the window behind him, the sun now setting as it sifts through the foliage, it outlines the contour of his face, and softens his expression a good amount of notches into one of considerable gratitude.
suguru gives you a broad smile, and you return one as well, tucking that bit of himself into your heart, safekeeping it yourself for as long as the picture remains.
synopsis;; you realize you still loved about him after all this time—at the end. ⋆。°·⛆⋆
genre;; hurt/comfort, bittersweet ending.
cw;; descriptions of wounds, mentions of blood.
wc;; 1,507.
sometimes, you have to remind yourself why you became a sorcerer. it's not as if you had to.
you were a non-sorcerer, specifically a window. you saw these cursed spirits at a young age, and had kept it to yourself over the course of years until you found yourself scouted by a sorcerer who didn't last long afterwards. before the semester of your first year, you were taught the bare minimum of jujutsu—its origin, its current society, and whatnot.
and the first thought you had, in all of your optimism, was: maybe i can help others this way. you remember feeling so hopeful, anticipating it, really, now knowing what direction to take your life with such unfamiliar conviction.
but, a little over a decade later, when you have to constantly reinforce that idea onto yourself again and again, as though grasping for it, as abstract as it is, you have to quietly admit to yourself that it was… naïve of you. but if you don't have that to tether you, what else do you have?
you don't know the answer to that, not even as you stare skywards. the skies are rather nice today, rich tones of warm-hued shades shifting as stipples of thin clouds drift, overspread. the air is balmy, fine—it was, at least, but now it felt a fair bit cool, every single wisp of wind that brushed your skin brought a shiver.
everything felt too familiar. like you're back to that one day, eleven years ago.
it was supposed to be a grade one cursed spirit. it was supposed to be this, to be that, but something's happened, and it was a special grade instead. it was above your assigned grade, and to deal with it, it costed you.
every breath you take pulls your chest taut, and you sputter spurts of blood from your mouth, tasting heavy hints of copper. your nerves died somewhere along your lower abdomen, you think. you can't quite feel anything there, and that's saying something when everything else aches twofold.
you felt like you weren't going to last long. you knew that, but it's just knowing doesn't help you when the real thing comes.
your eyelids grew heavy, and just for a moment, you consider closing it just for some peace of mind. you felt tired, and you wanted to rest, if just a bit. you wanted to sleep, and let this pain fade into the backdrop, nothing more.
but then you felt something on your face, something warm cupping the crest of your cheek, and it thaws the cold that started to grow on you. you instinctively lean into the palm of his hand, and exhale a soft quiet, breathless, nearly.
kento.
he bends down, hovering over you, and strands of his tousled hair falls over his lenses. he opens his mouth to say something, but you don't hear it, and in its stead a dull, consistent ringing in your ears. he notices that, and tilts his head up, shouting a series of words.
grazes scratch his face, dusting his weary features; grit from the debris catches in the wrinkles of his frayed clothes; dried blood encrusts the corner of his lips as he turns towards you again. you want to wipe it from him, just because.
it was you and him on this mission, as it's always been. even when he left, then came back, he was with you. that gap in years changed so little, yet so much at the same time.
you were friends with him back then, in your school years, and with… with yu, too. it was the three of you, it never wasn't.
yu tugged you and kento along for a drink from the vending machines on school grounds, and let him, brightly smiling, and he sighed, but he felt at peace then, too, you know it; you grabbed the two for a hug, and yu tossed an arm over your shoulder, laughing, and kento only caved in, leaning into your shoulder; kento offered to buy some sweets from a nearby bakery, and you and yu tackled him out of glee for it, nearly toppling him over.
you held a great deal of love for each of them, albeit of the different sort. for yu, it was platonic, the type that one holds for their closest friend, and for kento, it was just… different. you didn't see him reciprocating it, no, and you made amends with that; he was, first and foremost, a friend to you. you believed, with everything you had, that you three were going to stay together for years to come.
and then that mission happened.
yu died. you were heavily injured. kento was the only one able to move, and he carried the both of you back onto school grounds; he did it by himself, and if there's one you regret more than anything, it was that.
after what happened to yu, you just… kept it in. you didn't say anything about how you felt, much less delve deeper into it for what it could've meant. you stood next to kento when he lets you, as seldom as it was, so you could quietly let him know that you were there.
and when he left once he graduated, you didn't take any offense to it, not at all. he left you a single text that consisted of two words: thank you.
that was more than enough for you. it didn't matter how much it had hurt then. he needed distance as much as you did, but the difference was that he sought it out, while you stayed. because, again, what else would there be left for you if you did?
it was the least you could to for yu, too. if you can do something at all, then you might as well give it all your all. if he saw you now, would he be proud? you can only imagine.
and when kento came back? years later, when gojo introduced him in that light-hearted, airy way of his, and when kento took but a few strides to stand in front of you, and held out his hand for a polite handshake? you held it, of course, with more relief than you felt your whole life compared to then because he was here.
you were content just being near him. you can't say the same for now.
ieiri will take care of me, as she always had.
i'll be back on my feet before you know it.
i won't leave you by yourself again.
you barely hear yourself cough a groan when kento tucks his arms underneath your body, and hefts you up against his chest. it further stains his shirt, gore saturating the thin material, as he adjusts your arms to rest on your chest to prevent it from dangling.
he tilts in a bit, lips near your ear, and you feel his breath waft towards its shell as he murmurs, "keep your eyes open. don't move too much, don't do anything other than staying awake. i'll handle this."
he draws back, and you nearly whine, missing his warmth already, how close he was, when you catch sight of his expression. his brows deeply furrows, lips pressed firmly enough you would think he's trying to suppress something, as a sheen of sweat appears on his skin. his fingers dig into your clothes, trying to rein in the tremor you can feel, alongside with your own.
because he knows it too, doesn't he? how similar this all feels. if it's too close for comfort to you, then how does this feel to him?
sometimes, you have to remind yourself why you became a sorcerer. for now, you tell yourself it's because you could do at all that you might as well should.
why you stayed as one, though, is something you now realize with a start.
maybe it hurt a little more than you let on when kento had left all those years ago. maybe, with that, you'd hoped that he would come back, and, again, as if it hadn't hurt you the first time you've wholeheartedly put your trust in something, you believed it.
you think you waited for him to come back. you think you still feel the same for him as you did back then because you can't see any other reason for it.
you stare ahead, and see a figure you haven't seen for years now, but always imagined.
yu perks up, and smiles at you, radiating that youthful energy he's retained back in your school years. he waves you over, gesturing you to come close. as tempting as it is, you feel yourself weakly shake your head, and prompt off a slight spell of dizziness.
he tips his head, evidently befuddled, until he looks over at kento, and his expression clears up, understanding settling on his features. a soft flush colors his cheeks as he gives you an almost flustered smile, scratching the nape of his neck.
and then he's gone.
synopsis;; satoru giving you surprise kisses. ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
genre;; fluff, hurt/comfort.
wc;; 792.
to hold onto gojo satoru is a little like trying to grasp onto smoke. if you told him this, he wouldn’t be surprised—no, he’d expect it because he knows what he is, and he knows there’s an innate gap between him and the world at large. you can come close as you like to lessen it, close, closer, but a bit of that space will always remain.
but, in this, you mean it differently.
sifting through the archive for a particular book? satoru pops in, rests his head on your shoulder, presses a kiss on your cheek, and disappears in the matter of a few seconds. you? you’re standing there with a hand pressed against your cheek, feeling how warm it’s starting to feel as you let the title of the volume slip your mind.
in the morgue with ieiri, checking in on a pair of first-year students? satoru drapes himself on you, and leaves a peck on the top of your head. you whip your head around just to see no one there, but you feel his warmth embrace you as a shadow of himself, and with ieiri massaging her temple, feeling a little more pale than usual with the display, it all but confirms his presence.
pulling an all-nighter on a stack of records that needs your approval? the hand holding the pen as it jots down a few notes is quickly taken by another, and takes the place of said utensil as it clatters on the desk. you belatedly feel warm lips press against the back of your hand, and when you look over your shoulder once the fog in your head disperses, you see nothing but the darkness of your room grow.
in different ways, in different scenarios, never the same, but nonetheless, it takes you by surprise all the time because, to this day, he still keeps it up.
because gojo satoru is a little like smoke. he’s hard to grasp, to hold onto, and so quick to disappear—to never come back, but leave a few remnants of his existence as a reminder that, yes, he was here.
you know that. you knew that when you first took his hand into yours, his skin soft, supple, yet cool, and lift it to your lips, leaving a small kiss of your own as you admitted your feelings to him back in your school years. the air was tepid, a bit balmy, as spring settles in, winter withdrawing from its stead; flowers were in bloom, its mild tones a cast of softer colors; treetops swaying to the current of air as it breathes in life.
yet it was not the scenery that embedded itself into your head, and framed itself as a core memory, no—it was how bright his blue, blue, blue eyes were back then as he stared at you, wide-eyed, even with his lenses in the way. a decade since, and not now could you decipher a single emotion that flit across his irises.
but it settled on a soft tone of content, and he lets out a half-hearted laugh with a smile that felt and seemed brittle as he took you into his arms, pressing you against him with no spare space to get in-between the two of you.
even when he’s gone, because he will be, because satoru is satoru, because it’s his choice, you will not regret it.
“...u’re ignoring me again! gojo satoru! the satoru!”
you blink a couple of times before you vision focuses, and all you see in your view is satoru. he pursues his lips just so, coming off as a pout that's, admittedly, cute. “wha—?”
he quickly leans in, and brushes his lips against yours, just soft enough, feathery, that it barely felt there, but it’s him, just him, and you feel the nerves of your body tie itself up into knots, loops, and whatnot because you don’t think you’d ever get used to him. a little larger than life, he is.
he pulls back, eventually, and regards you for a bit until he lets out a quiet laugh, wafting a warm puff of air against your face. the pad of his thumb strokes your lower lip in a rapt manner, just shy of enthralled, and your eyes flutter to a close at the simple motion.
“well,” he coos, tone sly, a bit lilting. “i didn’t think it’d worked that well.”
“i think it did because it’s you, toru.”
“d’aw. you do care.”
“i haven’t said otherwise.”
“so you thought it. is that how it is then?”
“toru.”
he puffs out a laugh, much like the peals of windchimes, and you let it waft into the air, dispersing it once again. for it’s gone, yes, but it existed for however long it did, and you rather focus on that.
synopsis;; you brush his hair. ⋆。°·⛆⋆
genre;; fluff to angst, bittersweet ending.
wc;; 640.
you always offered to brush his hair. initially, geto politely declined, reasoning that there was no need for you to spend your spare time on him, and that he’s always preferred his hair a particular way. you told him the offer was always open, and that was that.
that was a few months into the first year, and, following the second year, geto came up to you, eyes mild, smile soft, if not a bit flustered, as he asked you if you would like to brush his hair.
so, the two of you sit on the edge of his bed, and, with the brush he’s given to you, you put it to use. it’s soft to the touch, almost wispy, and a light scent clings to it, smoky, faint. an epitome of him, you thought.
and from there, it becomes routine. as night sets in, and the skies grow dark, stars strewn, the moon in any shift of its phases, you’ll settle behind him, and take your time untangling his knots. the air, at first, is quiet, then gradually grows with small talk, then conversations, banter, laughter, smiles, and you grow close, closer.
geto retells one story after another about himself, gojo, and ieiri, and his eyes light up, smile broad, cheeks flushed, and outlined with a gentle shaft of moonlight as it sifts through the panels of his window, he was ethereal. you’ve looked forward to those nights, and, maybe, just maybe, so did he.
up until a point.
his hair comes apart in strands as you comb it, sorting out all the knots, nodes he’s managed to gather. it wasn’t always like this, no. not as messy. he used to care, but, between now and then, that bit of consideration dissipated. you hadn’t seen it soften his mild features since then, nor did it retain the warmth in his eyes.
quieter now, a bit reserved. his voice carries a foreign undertone you can’t decipher, and what little words he does say, it’s… it’s not like him. at least, not the geto suguru you knew.
even then, you brushed his hair. as tousled as it is, as unkempt, uncared for, you do it. because he still leans into your touch, because he lets out quiet hums here and there, as if, in this moment, he’s content; because when you pull back, when you face him, when you brush a few loose strands of hair framing his face, he gives you a smile that says more than he could spare. a ghost of it, yes, but it held a sliver of him you yearned to grasp.
those idyllic times meant a lot to you. you keep it close to your heart, even after a little more than a decade has passed. it refreshes itself, renews its simplicity of when the days were simpler, youthful. because that’s what he was then, just as much as you were, too.
the night grows quiet as the backdrop withdraws itself, until it’s you and the phantom presence of his hair in your hands, still so soft, still so silky, and how it felt to imagine, instead of the comb, it was your fingers through his hair. the whorls of your fingerprints, your fingertips, your hand pines for the innate warmth that was him.
and as the wind picks up, as the temperature drops, as you stand on your balcony, looking downwards at the din of tokyo, its tendrils gradually sweep away any remnants of warmth you were able to retain the past decade.
(and, nestled in a lavish room, adorned with rich plants, meticulous paintings, he brushes his own hair, and quietly ponders if would’ve lit up seeing how long it’s grown. more time to tidy it, more time it would need, more time with you here.)
(more time he could’ve spent with you.)
──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! gojo loves using the “i’m married” card whenever he gets approached, because in his mind you guys are married.
the thing about being satoru gojo is that people look at him.
he’s used to it by now— the double takes, the whispered gossip, the way strangers feel entitled to his attention just because he happens to be tall and white-haired and annoyingly beautiful(so he’s been told). it’s exhausting, honestly, but he’s learned to deal with it over the years.
the second her manicured fingers land on satoru’s forearm, he knows exactly what’s coming.
he’s seen this script a hundred times. the coy smile, the slight tilt of the head, the way her lashes flutter like she’s got something in her eye. he’s been fielding these approaches for years, long before you came along, and he’s got it down to a fine art now.
“sorry,” he says, before she can even get a word out. “i’m married.”
the lie rolls off his tongue as easily as breathing. it’s not even really a lie, not in his head. you’re his girlfriend, yes, but you’re also the one. the endgame. the person he’s going to annoy for the rest of his natural life and probably well beyond that if he figures out how. in his mind, you’ve already got the ring, the shared last name, the matching toothbrushes in the bathroom. the paperwork is just a formality.
the woman’s face falls slightly, but she’s persistent. he’ll give her that. “oh, i don’t see a ring—”
“left it at home,” he says smoothly, already starting to edge away. “wife’d kill me if i lost it.”
he does have a ring. it’s just that it’s still sitting in the expensive jewellery shop that you always stare at when you guys pass by. he’s been meaning to go in and custom-make one that’s been appearing in his mind lately, one that would be unique and fitting only for you, but there’s no rush and the right moment just hasn’t shown up yet, because every time he looks at you, his brain short-circuits and he forgets how words work.
but that’s a problem for future satoru.
right now, present satoru is trying to escape this conversation without being rude, because you’re waiting for him in the car, most likely dozing off against the window with that cute pout on your lips.
he’s reaching for the strawberry milk with the cute cow on it, when he hears the click of heels behind him.
“excuse me?”
satoru doesn’t even turn around. his hand closes around the bottle anyway. “married,” he says, tossing it into his basket.
“oh! i—i wasn’t—”
“very married. disgustingly married. my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world and i think about her constantly.” he finally glances over his shoulder, offering a bland smile. “sorry.”
the woman blinks at him, then laughs nervously and retreats toward the chips aisle.
satoru turns back to the fridge, satisfied. it’s not even a lie anymore, not really. you’ve been his girlfriend for two years, and somewhere along the way— maybe when he watched you fall asleep on his couch with your glasses askew, or when you sent him a photo of a cat you saw on the street with the caption him, or when you laughed so hard at your own joke that you choked on water— he stopped thinking of you as just a girlfriend.
you’re his wife. you just don’t know it yet. there’s paperwork to do, and a ring to buy, and a question to ask, but in his head? you signed the papers months ago.
he grabs another bottle of milk because you like the chocolate one too, and heads to the checkout, basket swinging from his wrist. the cashier gives him an interested look but he only looks at you through the transparent doors that open and close, smiling when he sees you rubbing your eyes through the window and looking around sleepily.
.
.
.
the first thing satoru notices is that the afternoon sun is hitting just right against your hair, making it look like something out of a painting. the second thing he notices is the woman approaching.
he clocks her immediately— the way her eyes flick to him, the subtle once-over, the way she angles her body toward his. he’s seen this movie a hundred times. hell, he’s starred in it a hundred times.
“excuse me,” she says, all polite smile and batted lashes. “i’m so sorry to bother you, but i just had to say—you have the most stunning eyes i’ve ever seen.”
satoru feels you stiffen slightly beside him. your hand, which had been loosely linked with his, tightens just a fraction. he wants to squeeze back, to reassure you, but he’s also kind of… curious. because usually, when this happens, he’s alone. he gets to play his little game where he flashes an imaginary wedding ring and says sorry, i’m married with a soft, stupidly fond smile that he practices exclusively for the version of you that lives in his head.
but you’re right there and he’s never had to play that card with you within earshot before.
“oh,” he says, tilting his head. his glasses slip down his nose just enough for him to peer over them. “thanks.”
the woman takes the lack of immediate rejection as encouragement. “i don’t usually do this, but i was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab a coffee sometime? there’s a great place just around the corner—”
“no can do,” satoru interrupts, his voice softening at the edges. he feels your hand twitch again. “i’m married.”
the word hangs in the air. married. he’s said it a thousand times to strangers, to cashiers, to that one persistent guy at the bookstore who wouldn’t take a hint. but never like this, never with you standing right there by his side.
you go very still.
the woman blinks, glances at your interlocked hands, then back at his face. “oh. i’m sorry, i didn’t see a ring—”
“don’t need one,” he says simply, he’s not even looking at her anymore. he’s looking at you, at the way your lips have parted slightly, at the confusion and tenderness flickering across your face. “some things you just know.”
there’s a beat of silence. the woman mutters an apology and retreats. satoru doesn’t watch her go. he’s too busy watching you stare up at him like he’s grown a second head.
“married?” you repeat, your voice going breathy like it does when you’re trying not to laugh but also trying not to cry.
“well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he brings your joined hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “i mean, not legally. yet. but in my head? you’ve had the ring for like eight months now. it’s very sparkly. you look great in it.”
you blink at him once, twice, and then you make a sound that’s half-giggle, half-gasp, shoving at his chest with your free hand. “satoru! you can’t just tell strangers we’re married!”
“why not?” he grins, bright and boyish and entirely unrepentant. “it’s gonna happen eventually. i’m just saving time.”
“you’re insane.”
“insanely in love, maybe.”
you groan, burying your face in his shoulder, and he feels you smile against his shirt. your ears are pink. he wants to bite them.
“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” you mumble into his collarbone. “every time someone flirts with you?”
“every. single. time.” he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you closer, resting his chin on top of your head. “you’re my wife in every way that matters. the government just doesn’t know it yet.”
you pull back just enough to look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that makes his chest ache— all shimmery and wondering, like you’re seeing him for the first time. you smile, small and private, and tug his sleeve. “c’mon, husband. my show starts in ten.”
he word husband hits him right in the stupid chest like a truck made of flowers.
he follows you out, already planning the ring. already knowing exactly what it’ll look like. already halfway down on one knee in his head.
you don’t know any of that, not yet. but you said it and now he’s never letting you go.
🏷️ taglist: @ethezreal @astutetwilight @unforgivemn @sunnydayqq @lalawlrd @koral-pink @secretsofchance @raendarkfaerie @kingraspberry12-blog @xznyana @leftrightgn @indom-itus @ihatemynewbangs @eilishsgf @satorukitsunee @chewiebee
i just discovered nerd choso, I NEEDDDD MORE😩
creds • artist
✶⋆.˚ hidden inventory group chat .
⟢ g!neutral, they/them.
⟢ summary ; some christmas tree mishap with the trio + you!
©xhxh6
IT’S TRUE I NEVER WRITE, BUT I WOULD GLADLY DIE WITH YOU. ; SUGURU GETO
synopsis; Finding yourself passed out from blood loss, half-dead and limp on a cold and empty street, you awake to the glow of an unfamiliar ceiling. The boy you loved is waiting for you.
contents; suguru geto/gn!reader, cult leader era geto, (former) senpai!reader, literally just a long conversation, geto kidnaps you (kind of).
w/c; 4.0k
a/n; rip suguru geto u would’ve been sooooo cute pining for a cool upperclassman . alas the horrors must claim you . but it would’ve been so sweet
Your blood coats the asphalt in crimson dye.
There’s a throbbing behind your ear, vicious and heavy, like your skull split open— cracked right down the middle. Maybe it did. You can’t tell, can’t move your hands to even check, lying still on an abandoned street corner with a grating ringing in your ears, your limbs numb and unresponsive. Dead weight, you think, as the taste of heady iron blooms on the roof inside your mouth. It drips out from the corners of your busted lip, trickles down your jaw in hot and sticky streams; when you try to move your fingers a sharp jab of pain shoots through them.
One, two. Inhale, exhale. Try to think, though your mind lies buried in the rubble all around you: you’re bleeding out. Your skin is burning.
There is not a trace of cursed energy around you.
… You figure the blast must have taken out the curse, too.
(Will you die like this, you wonder? You can't text Shoko. You doubt she'd make it in time, anyway— once the faculty takes note of your absence, it'll be too late.)
When you try to sigh, more blood spills out, eager to exit your dying body. Wriggling, gurgling worms, made of plasma and platelets, scrambling from the underside of a rock to seek shelter in the sun. Hot flashes of pain wrack through you. Then a cold, cold feeling, when you're sure it'll melt you, shivers clattering down your neck to gnaw at your spinal cord. Your body feels as if doused in sea water. Dizziness, weariness. Your body feels like a casket.
You wish you had somebody to say goodbye to.
(Just as your consciousness begins to fade, a shadow flickers overhead.)
Then, nothing.
AISHA’S GETO-CENTRIC FIC RECS
a collection of my favorite geto suguru fics i’ve read over the years that i want to spotlight, consisting of pieces that include fluff, angst, smut, and more. fics are divided by series/oneshots/drabbles. please heed all warnings & give all included authors their very much deserved flowers! shamelessly plugging my own geto fics as well :p i’ve marked superscript next to authors to indicate if they’ve been included multiple times in this post!
series:
best friend!geto (ongoing?) by @fricks ; i’ve reread all of the entries in this series so many times that i could beam this shit onto the back of my eyelids and reread them all over again just like that. i adoreeee geto’s characterization here (fricks is a geto expert truly) he’s such a charming little shit and the witty convos between him and reader are just tew good. i can’t decide on a favorite part cos they’re all amazing IM SERIOUS. THIS IS MY LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA PLEASE DONT BURN IT DOWN!!!!
dishonorable (complete) on ao3 ; regency/bridgerton aus are always divine and this fic is no exception. duke geto and reader’s chemistry is too good 🚬 love how they want to strangle each other yet they flirt with each other in the same breath. duke geto take it out its hurtingggguuuhhhh
six degrees of separation (complete) by @starmapz ² ; i read this yeaaaars ago so imagine my surprise when i dug this fic up again and realized trish wrote it 😭 the angst in this has stuck with me for YEARS . geto loves so hard and that facet really shines in this fic. the entire thing is incredibly true to his character as a whole and serves as an amazing analysis of his character. how am i even allowed to read this masterpiece without a price? like wdym this is FREE?
having not experienced teenage love, you conclude you’re just unlovable… but your "bestfriend" SUKUNA proves you veryy very wrong!!
"maybe i'm the problem?"
"huh?" sukuna unsticks his nose from his notes as he glances at you from across the table with a faint scowl.
the café around you is warm and alive with quiet afternoon noise. espresso machines hissing, cups clinking softly against saucers, low conversations blending into a gentle hum. the smell of roasted coffee and caramel syrup hangs in the air, sweet and comforting, wrapping around the little corner table you and sukuna claimed hours ago. sunlight filters through the tall windows beside you, spilling across the wooden tabletop where your notebooks, pens, and half-highlighted lecture slides are spread out in a messy fan.
you take a slow sip of your coffee while he waits for you to continue your ramble.
"i'm like, in college and i'm yet to experience some sort of… actually any type of romance." you swirl your straw absentmindedly in the iced drink. "like everybody in my teenage years, heck, even younger, either received a shy letter on valentines day or somebody proclaimed their love in a romantic way on a date."
sukuna’s scowl deepens slightly, though whether it's from concentration or your topic is hard to tell. he leans back in his chair, stretching one arm over the backrest while his other hand reaches for his drink.
"there's the funny rumors of people having crushes on a person and it turns into something sweet. for me? it was always in a way people would, like… fuck with me."
for a moment the only sound between you two is the quiet slurp of sukuna pulling from the straw of his strawberry milkshake, the bright pink drink ridiculously cheerful compared to the permanent unimpressed look on his face.
"am i the problem?" you finally ask, voice quieter now as you reach for your pen, "am i genuinely just not likable looks or personality wise? or both?!"
sukuna exhales slowly through his nose.
for a split second he almost looks relieved, like he’d been bracing himself for a completely different kind of conversation. he shrugs, taking another long sip of his milkshake "maybe.”
your fists slowly tighten around your pen like you're contemplating whether stabbing him with it would be socially acceptable in a public café. "you. are. such. a. dick."
sukuna snorts under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward just slightly as he sets the milkshake back down. "i'm joking…"
he turns back to his notes flipping his pen between his fingers. "i don't think you are the problem…" he pauses, pen hovering for a moment before he scribbles something down in the margins. "maybeee somebody has been flirting with you for a while and you just haven't realized it."
"as if." you cross your arms over your chest immediately, scoffing. ‘i would have noticed."
sukuna stills.
his pen stops moving entirely. slowly, he lifts his head. his nose scrunches in that irritated yet annoyingly adorable way he does whenever you say something so unbelievably stupid it physically pains him. He arches one brow.
you stare at him, "what?"
he looks at you for another long second, expression flat. then he turns back to his notes again with a quiet sigh. "nothing."
you, however, are nowhere near done. leaning forward again as your pen starts tapping the edge of his notebook.
and the more you talk, the more sukuna feels his braincells quietly evaporating.
"it's just—" you begin again, waving one hand vaguely in the air. "i would like it if somebody was straightforward with me, you know?" sukuna's pen scratches across the paper a little harder. "like if he came up to me and just bluntly told me: i like you! and i want to take you on a date!”
there's a sharp clack. sukuna drops his pen harshly against the table as he looks up at you with the most deadpan expression you've ever seen.
"i like you and want to take you on a date," he says flatly. "even though we have went on multiple dates you just haven't realized it."
you beam instantly, like a light switched on inside your face. "yeah!" you nod enthusiastically. "something like that!"
sukuna’s eye twitches. "are you fucking stupid?"
"huh?" you blink.
for a moment sukuna just stares at you across the table, like he’s genuinely trying to figure out whether you’re messing with him or if this level of obliviousness is real. then, with a long exhale through his nose, he gestures broadly around the table as if presenting a collection of very obvious evidence.
his notebooks and textbooks are scattered everywhere, pages filled with his sharp, aggressive handwriting, but between the notes are your doodles. little hearts drawn lazily in the margins, tiny stars, a stupid cartoon of him with horns and the word menace written beside it. he always grumbles when you draw in his things, always mutters something about how annoying it is. and yet he’s never erased a single one.
then there’s the milkshake sitting between you both, the obnoxiously pink strawberry drink slowly melting while water droplets slides down the glass. two straws stick out of it.
as if that wasn’t already enough, underneath the table your legs are comfortably tangled together, your knee pressed against his like it has been for the last hour without either of you acknowledging it.
sukuna points at everything in one sweeping motion before his patience finally snaps. "I LIKE YOU, YOU IDIOT!"
his voice comes out louder than he meant it to, echoing slightly in the cozy café space. A couple of nearby students glance over briefly before returning to their laptops, pretending they didn’t hear anything.
you just blink again. your brain feels like it’s slowly short-circuiting as you try to process the words. "wha—?"
"I HAVE BEEN FLIRTING FOR MONTHS DUMBASS. I THOUGHT—"
you scrunch your face up immediately at the sudden volume of his voice.
"THAT—" the realization hits him and he abruptly stops, dragging a hand down his face before taking a steadying breath. he clears his throat. "ahem. sorry." the scowl on his face doesn’t soften, but when he speaks again his tone drops several levels, far more controlled even if the irritation is still very much present. "I just thought you wanted to take it super duper slow, so i waited and gave signals."
you stare at him, still trying to piece together everything he just said. "really?"
sukuna closes his eyes for a second and pinches the bridge of his nose, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his nose bridge piercing as he rubs it slowly like he’s fighting off a headache. his shoulders sag just a little. "lord, give me strength."
you lean over the table, cheeks slowly turning pink. "when did you give me signals?!"
"uH, WeLL, I don’t KNOW!… maybe when you had those awful cramps and i told you to stay over at my place? you were curled up on my bed, whining like a tiny, pathetic kitten, and i held you all night, kissing the top of your head while rubbing your back until you fell asleep?!”
"uh— wha? i just thought…" you shrug, cheeks still warm. "i mean… you were just… trying to help me feel better, right?"
sukuna blinks at you like he’s about to explode. "what? no! then what the hell did you think that time you suddenly decided you had to have a pomegranate at midnight? i went out to the market just to get it, came back, and ended up cleaning the entire damn thing. I still have the stains on my table!”
you bury your face in your hands, groaning. "i… i felt so bad afterward! you kept grumbling the entire time about how annoying i was… i didn’t think you’d actually go and get it!”
sukuna runs a hand through his hair, his crimson strands falling into his eyes before he yanks them back in exasperation. “how do you even manage to think of it like that?!”
your cheeks flare red, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. "i… i guess i’ve felt so unloved that i shut down the possibility of anyone… liking me… for the rest of my life."
sukuna’s scowl deepens, "you’re telling me i’ve been acting like some damn wife to you and you didn’t realize shit?"
you shake your head, barely able to meet his gaze.
he throws his head back and laughs, a low, throaty sound that’s equal parts exasperation and amusement, "for fuck’s sake, woman…" he mutters, and then softer, more fondly, "you will be the death of me."
your voice comes out barely audible, trembling just slightly, but it’s enough to pull every ounce of his attention toward you. (as if it was ever directed somewhere else but you) "are you… still… up for that date?"
he leans closer, grin spreading across his face like he’s been waiting for this moment. "millions of them," his tattooed arm snakes across the table, and he pinches your reddened cheeks, smirking like a predator who finally caught its prey. "but ones that you actually notice the intentions of, dumbass."
★ rin telling me to post this so i did rahhh, i'mclearing out my drafts cause i'll be busy the next few weeks.. also self-indulgent because i have never experienced any sort of crush lol
ROMANCE KAISEN: BEHIND THE SCENES !!
the show? romance kaisen 🌹 the leading lady? you 🤗 your beau? all the male cast 😛 the otp? *cue crashing noises and endless bickering*
content: language, crude humor, crack fic, modern au, actor au, celebrity au, i made jjk a romance comedy, gojo x y/n and sukuna x y/n centered + slight nanami x reader, everyone is an adult, hints of reverse harem, JUST ABSOLUTE SHENANIGANS
no other heart ᩭᘏᗢ
a curse hits gojo when he is on a mission with you, causing him to turn into a cat! now he has to be in your care for an undetermined amount of time, which is a problem because he is desperately in love with you.
contents. gojo satoru x fem!reader • fluff • cat gojo • yearner gojo • down bad gojo lmao • some angst • attempts at humour • ~17k words • also can you guys tell i did the ears in the pics myself??? jahsjahq
THE mission had been simple. exorcise a low-grade curse in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of tokyo, maybe file a report, maybe grab lunch after. that was what gojo had been thinking about as he stepped through the broken doorway—lunch. specifically, whether you’d let him drag you to that new ramen place or if you’d put your foot down and insist on something with vegetables.
he should have known better. things were never simple with him.
the curse had been small, unassuming: a blob of shadows and static that barely registered on his six eyes. he’d let you handle it, hanging back with his hands in his pockets, watching the way you moved through the dim light. you were good, really good. he liked watching you work. the sharp focus in your eyes, the way your cursed energy flickered like a heartbeat.
but then the curse had done something unexpected. instead of attacking, it had shrieked— a sound that scraped against his skull like nails on a chalkboard— and exploded into a cloud of purple-black smoke. gojo had thrown an arm up instinctively, infinity flickering for just a fraction of a second too late.
the smoke had gotten in. through his mouth, his nose, his eyes. he’d coughed, stumbled, and then everything had gone sideways.
literally. the world had tilted, the ground rushing up to meet him, except the ground was suddenly much closer than it should have been. his clothes had pooled around him in a heap of fabric, and when he’d tried to step out of them, his body had moved wrong. all wrong. four points of contact instead of two. a tail. fur.
he’d looked down— down at paws, white-furred paws— and the last thing he’d heard before consciousness slipped away was your voice, sharp with alarm, calling his name.
when gojo woke up, it was to the smell of rain and old concrete. he was tucked into a corner of the warehouse, half-hidden behind a collapsed shelf, and he was still a cat.
a white cat, he realized, lifting a paw to inspect it. white fur, blue eyes; because of course even as a cat he’d have the six eyes, the same impossible blue staring back at him from the cracked surface of a puddle nearby. he was small, too. not a kitten, but not much bigger than one. his tail flicked once, twice, a test. it worked. everything worked, just… differently.
what the hell, he thought, except what came out was a confused little mrrp?
he tried to speak. opened his mouth, focused, pushed words up his throat and got a squeaky meow for his efforts. great. fantastic. this was fine. he was gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, and he’d been turned into a cat by a curse so weak it shouldn’t have been able to touch him.
he sat down heavily— or as heavily as a cat could sit— and wrapped his tail around his paws. okay. okay. he could work with this. the curse had dissipated after that explosion, so the threat was gone. all he had to do was wait. someone would find him. probably you. you’d been right there, after all.
as if on you, he heard it! your voice, distant but getting closer, threading through the rain and the rubble.
“gojo! gojo, where are you? this isn’t funny!”
he should have meowed. he should have made some kind of noise to lead you to him. but instead he just sat there, frozen, as your footsteps grew louder. because you sounded worried and you never worried about him. you always said he was too strong to worry about, too annoying to miss. but your voice was tight, fraying at the edges, and when you came into view, picking your way through the debris, he could see your face.
you looked scared for him.
gojo’s chest did something strange. tight and warm and aching all at once, a feeling he’d been trying to ignore for months now. he liked you. more than liked you. liked you in the way that made him offer to go on missions with you even when he didn’t have to, liked you in the way that made him linger after training just to hear you laugh, liked you in the way that kept him up at night staring at his ceiling and thinking about the curve of your smile.
and now you were here, kneeling in the dust, your hands shaking as you pushed aside a broken plank of wood. your eyes swept the corner where he was hiding, passed over him, then snapped back.
“oh my god,” you whispered.
gojo blinked at you. you blinked back.
“gojo?” you said, and he could hear how stupid you felt saying it to a cat, but also how desperate. “is that… is that you?”
he meowed. it was the only thing he could do. but he made it count— looked you right in the eyes and meowed with as much yes, it’s me, you idiot as he could pack into a single syllable.
your breath caught and then you were moving, scooping him up off the ground with careful hands, cradling him against your chest. you were warm, warmer than he’d expected. your heartbeat was fast, rabbiting against his side where you held him, and your fingers were trembling as they smoothed over his fur, dusting him off.
“what happened to you?” you asked, your voice cracking. “you’re so small. you’re—god, you’re a cat. how are you a cat?”
gojo wanted to say something reassuring and to tell you he was fine, that this was just a minor inconvenience, that he’d be back to his annoyingly handsome self in no time, but all that came out was a soft, pathetic mew, and you made a sound like your heart was breaking.
“okay,” you said, pulling yourself together with visible effort. “okay. i’ve got you. i’ve got you, satoru. i’m taking you to shoko.”
he pressed his face into the crook of your elbow and let you carry him out into the rain. it was all still confusing for him too, despite how strangely calm he was feeling.
the trip to jujutsu high was a blur of motion and muffled sounds. you’d wrapped him in your jacket to keep him dry, and he’d let you, even though it was undignified and he was pretty sure his tail was sticking out at a weird angle. you ran most of the way, your cursed energy flaring with urgency, and gojo spent the journey trying not to think about how close your hands were to him and how gently you held him.
shoko was in her office when you burst through the door, soaked and breathless and holding cat-him like he was the most important thing in the world.
“shoko,” you said, “you need to look at him. it’s gojo. he’s a cat. a curse turned him into a cat.”
shoko raised an eyebrow. took a long drag of her cigarette. exhaled.
“you’re serious,” she said.
“do i look like i’m joking?”
shoko looked at you, looked at the cat… uh, him. the cat— gojo— met her gaze with unmistakably familiar blue eyes, and something in her expression shifted. she stubbed out her cigarette and gestured to the examination table.
“put him there.”
you did, reluctantly, your hands lingering on his fur for a moment before you stepped back. gojo sat on the cold metal table and tried to project as much dignity as possible. it was difficult when he came up to shoko’s elbow.
shoko examined him. she didn’t do much— a flash of reversed cursed technique, a long look at his eyes, a gentle press of fingers along his spine. gojo tolerated it because it was shoko, and because he trusted her, and because he could see you watching from the corner of the room with your arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding in a scream.
“well?” you said, the moment shoko stepped back.
“it’s a curse,” shoko said, reaching for another cigarette. “a transformation-type. annoying, but not dangerous. his body’s fine, his soul’s still his, which is the important part. the curse is embedded pretty deep, but it’s already degrading. i’d say a week, maybe two, and he’ll change back on his own.”
“a week or two,” you repeated. “he’s going to be a cat for a week or two.”
“unless you find the original curse user and force them to undo it, but that’s a needle in a haystack situation. my advice? stock up on cat food and patience.”
you made a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. gojo meowed an indignant sound, because cat food? he was not eating cat food. he’d rather starve.
shoko glanced at him and he could have sworn she was hiding a smile. “one more thing,” she said, turning back to you. “since you were the one with him when it happened, and since his cursed energy is going to be… let’s say unstable while the curse runs its course, you’re going to have to look after him. keep him close. your energy will help stabilize his while he heals.”
you blinked. “what? me? why me?”
“because you were there. proximity matters with this kind of curse. his system is already keyed to yours. if anyone else tried to take care of him, it could prolong the transformation or cause complications.” shoko’s voice was flat, clinical, but her eyes flicked to gojo for just a moment. “congratulations. you’re a cat sitter.”
gojo watched your face cycle through about seventeen different emotions. surprise. worry. reluctance. and then, underneath all of it, something softer. something that made his heart— his tiny, cat-sized heart— skip a beat.
“fine,” you said finally, reaching out to scoop him off the table. you held him against your chest again, and he shuddered at how much he liked it and how right it felt. “fine. but you’re helping me buy supplies, shoko. i don’t know the first thing about cats.”
“neither does he,” shoko said, nodding at gojo. “this is going to be entertaining.”
gojo wanted to flip her off. he settled for a hiss, which was deeply unsatisfying and only made shoko laugh.
you carried him out of the office and through the halls of jujutsu high, and gojo tried to focus on the practicalities. a week or two as a cat. he could handle that. he’d handled worse. but then you looked down at him, your expression soft in a way you never let him see when he was human, and you said, “don’t worry. i’ve got you.”
and gojo realized, with a sinking feeling, that this was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.
because he was in love with you. completely, stupidly, helplessly in love with you. and now he was going to spend every moment of the next fourteen days pressed against your side, unable to tell you, unable to do anything except meow and hope you didn’t notice how he looked at you.
… your apartment was small. gojo had never been inside it before— you were private about your space, always deflecting when he offered to walk you home or come over after missions, but now here he was, deposited on your couch while you rummaged through a bag of supplies shoko had helped you pick up on the way.
a litter box. cat food. a small bed you’d grabbed on impulse, even though gojo had already decided he wasn’t going to use it. a brush. some toys.
“this is insane,” you muttered, pulling out a bag of dry food and staring at it in bewilderment. “you’re gojo satoru. you’re supposed to be untouchable. how did a cat curse get you?”
gojo meowed. it was a fair question, honestly. he’d been distracted, watching you.
you sighed and sat down on the couch next to him, the cushions dipping under your weight. for a moment, you just looked at him. at his white fur, his blue eyes, the way his tail curled around his paws.
“you’re still you in there, right?” you asked quietly. “you can understand me?”
he meowed again, and bumped his head against your hand. your breath hitched in wonder, yet soon you were petting him, your fingers sliding through his fur in slow, careful strokes. it felt good. embarrassingly good. gojo’s eyes half-closed before he could stop them and a low rumble started in his chest.
was he… purring?
oh god. he was purring. he was purring because you were petting him, and he couldn’t stop, and you were smiling now— a sweet smile, soft and wondering, the kind he’d do anything to see.
“you’re kinda cute like this,” you said, and gojo wanted to die. “don’t tell me i said that when you turn back.”
he filed that away for later. you think he’s cute. he was never, ever letting you forget it.
you kept petting him as the evening stretched on, and gojo let himself relax into the touch. it was fine. this was fine. he was just… gathering information. observing. definitely not enjoying the way your thumb brushed behind his ears or the quiet sound of your breathing as you settled deeper into the couch.
a week or two, shoko had said. a week or two of this. of you.
gojo closed his eyes and purred, trying not to think about how hard it was going to be to go back to normal after this. how much he was going to miss the weight of your hand on his fur, the softness in your voice when you said his name. but that was a problem for later.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ post shinjuku!satoru doesn’t like his scars, luckily his wife thinks otherwise
morning light spills through the curtains in soft gold, warming the room.
satoru is only half-awake, which means he’s quiet in a way the world rarely gets to see. right now he‘s just your husband, shirtless and his hair a little messy from sleep, lying on his side facing you.
you look down his body, until the long scar crossing his abdomen comes into view.
even softened by time, it cuts through him like a memory that refuses to leave. like the world tried to end him and failed, but left proof anyway.
your fingers move before you think.
you trace his chest, over the old healed lines, over all the injures he had to endure. and when you reach that scar, your touch slows instantly, like your hands already know where to soften.
he exhales, like he’s fully awake now.
“do you think my scars are ugly?” he asks, a small frown on his face.
that catches you off guard.
you look up at him properly now, taking in the details you usually miss when he’s performing his usual confidence— the faint tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders aren’t as relaxed as they pretend to be.
the sweetest