clan head!satoru whose kids keep coming out of you with little shocks of black hair atop their heads and a violet undertone in their irises.
clan head!satoru who acts just as shocked as his elders when one by one each of your children's cursed technique manifests as curse manipulation. giving a dramatic yet flat, "oh no! how could this have happened?" without breaking eye contact with them.
clan head!satoru who takes yet another verbal lashing, telling him to try again and to get it right this time. in one ear and out the other for him at this point. it's not up to him anyway. it's your body and you said your bakery closed at three.
clan head!satoru eyes number three curled up in your arms, still so new to the world that his face is still all wrinkled up. suguru sits next to you, his finger wrapped in the baby's fist. the three of you really do paint a picture. of what a happy family could be. should be. and yet, here satoru is fucking that up for you, for suguru, for the kids.
somewhere deep down, clan head!satoru knows that they're just as much his as they are yours as they are suguru's. he knows he's just as loved as he loves the lot of you. that doesn't stop the feeling of being the odd man out.
clan head!satoru who grins and bears it because what choice does he have? he made this bed the second he asked suguru to father his children. the elders technically get what they want - ‘gojo’ heirs - and satoru gets to sleep at night knowing they won't have the upbringing he did. it should be a win-win, but it's not enough. it will never be enough.
clan head!satoru shakes the despair from his bones as best as he can and tunes halfway back in, not that what's being said to him matters.
clan head!satoru who can't give them what they really want anyway.
clan head!satoru who knew this shit would happen and preemptively got a vasectomy at 21.
— In which a single moment erases two years of memories and a brand-new marriage. You wake from a soft, porcelain-like coma—a long, dreamless sleep that kept you safe while the world waited—only to find a beautiful stranger whose eyes hold a lifetime of devotion you can no longer name. Faced with a love that has suddenly become one-sided, Jungkook chooses to bury his own heartbreak to become your patient anchor, winning your heart all over again with the softest of touches. It is a journey of unconditional love, proving that even when the mind forgets, the soul always remembers the way home.
AN: (show some love, reblog and comments are appreciated) This request by this anon who made me think that this could be a hit! Writing this made me feel so much better—there is something so healing about exploring a love that doesn't just survive a tragedy, but starts over because of it.It’s about the soft textures of devotion—the way a person can become your home even when your mind has forgotten the address.
I think we often focus on the spark of meeting for the first time, but there is something so much more profound about the second first time. I hope reading this makes you feel as grounded and comforted as I felt while writing it. Thank you in advance for choosing this story to read nd thank you anon baby🤍🤍 (hope ive done justice to your request) and thank you for going on this journey with Jungkook and me! 🤍!! Also requests are open but please be patient with me 🫶🏼 also i found the pics from a moodboard but i dont really remember the account name!! Pls forgive me but if you see the images! Reach me 💐
The world was a blur of sterile white and the rhythmic, mocking hiss-click of a ventilator.
You existed in a heavy, velvet darkness for a long time. There was no time there, only a distant, low humming. But then, a voice began to pull you toward the surface. It was a beautiful voice—deep, melodic, and thick with a kind of desperate tenderness. It was the only thing that felt solid in the void.
“I found that book you wanted,” the voice whispered, the vibration of it warming the back of your hand. “ The one with the pressed flowers on the cover. I’m going to read it to you today, love. Just like I did yesterday. I’m not going anywhere.”
Your eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead. You fought the gravity of sleep, pushing through the fog until, finally, the world cracked open.
Light flooded in—harsh, clinical, and blinding. You groaned, the sound catching in your dry, scorched throat. Immediately, the room shifted. The shadow beside you moved with a sudden, frantic energy.
"Hey... hey, look at me," the voice said, closer now.
As your vision cleared, a face came into focus. He was breathtakingly handsome, but he looked like a man who had been hollowed out by grief. His eyes were rimmed with red, his skin pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was clutching your hand so tightly, his knuckles white, as if his grip alone was the only thing keeping you on this earth.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He just stared at you, his chest heaving, a single tear escaping and tracing a path through the exhaustion on his face.
"You're back," he breathes, a broken laugh escaping his lips. "God, you're back. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you."
He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours. You could smell him—a faint, comforting scent of sandalwood and something like rain—but it triggered nothing. You looked into his dark, shimmering eyes, searching for a spark of recognition, a flicker of a name, a memory of a kiss.
There was nothing. Your mind was a vast, empty hallway.
You felt a surge of cold panic. You instinctively pulled your hand out of his. The movement was sharp, a rejection that echoed in the quiet room.
"Who..." Your voice was a ghost of a sound. "Who are you?"
The man froze. The relief that was radiating off him turned into something else—something jagged and cruel. It was as if you’d reached into his chest and physically squeezed his heart. You saw the exact second the light in his eyes shattered into a million pieces.
He didn't move. He stayed bent over the bed, his hand still hovering in the air where yours used to be. The silence stretched, agonizingly long, filled only by the steady, indifferent beep of the heart monitor.
"It's me," he whispered, his voice trembling so hard it barely carried. "It's... it's Jungkook."
You searched your brain, desperate to find him there. Jungkook. The name was beautiful, but it sounded like a word from a language you’d never learned.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears of frustration beginning to prick your eyes. "I don't... I don't know a Jungkook. Am I supposed to know you?"
You saw him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and you saw his jaw tighten as he forced the pain down, burying it somewhere deep where you couldn’t see it. When he opened his eyes again, the raw agony was gone, replaced by a wall of terrifying, beautiful strength.
He forced a small, soft smile onto his face. It was the saddest smile you’d ever seen.
"It’s okay, love," he said, his voice settling into a low, soothing hum. He gently reached for the edge of your blanket, tucking it around your shoulders with practiced, shaking hands. "You’ve been asleep for a long time. Your brain is just tired. Don't push it."
"But why are you here?" you asked, your lip trembling. "Why are you crying?"
He reached out, his thumb hovering just a fraction of an inch from your cheek, making sure not to touch you until he saw you didn't flinch. When he finally brushed away a stray tear, his touch was as light as a butterfly’s wing.
"I'm just happy you're awake, baby," he said softly. He didn't mention the years of your life you've forgotten. He didn't mention the apartment you share or the promises he made you. He just let out a long, shaky breath and sat back down in the hard plastic chair.
He looked at you with a love so intense it felt like a physical weight in the room—a love that didn't ask for anything in return, not even a memory.
"I'm just a friend," he lied, his voice steady even though his heart was screaming. "And I’m going to stay right here until you aren't scared anymore. Is that okay?"
You looked at the stranger named Jungkook. You didn't know him, but as he picked up the book with the pressed flowers and began to read in that velvet voice, the panic in your chest began to fade.
He was a stranger, but he was the only thing that felt like peace.
…
The hospital room was a world built of glass and silence. The sun would crawl across the white floor, measuring the hours you spent staring at the ceiling, trying to find a single thread of a memory to hold onto. Everything was blank. Every corner of your mind was a room with the lights turned off.
And in the corner of that world, there was always Jungkook.
He was there when the nurses came in at 4:00 AM to check your vitals. He was there when the midday sun turned the room into a furnace. He was there when the shadows grew long and the fear of the dark started to creep into your chest. He never asked you for anything. He never asked, “Do you remember this?” or “Does this look familiar?”
He simply existed alongside you, like a guardian of a history you no longer owned.
One afternoon, the silence felt particularly heavy. You watched him from the bed. He was sitting by the window, peeling an orange for you. His movements were slow and methodical. He took great care to remove every bit of the white pith, his long, tattooed fingers working with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his strong frame.
“You’re doing it again,” you whispered. Your voice was getting stronger, less like parchment and more like a melody.
Jungkook looked up, a small, guarded smile touching his lips. “Doing what, love?”
“Staring at me when you think I’m not looking,” you said. You weren't angry; you were curious. The way he looked at you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It wasn't just attraction; it was a look of profound, soul-deep recognition. It made you feel seen, even when you felt like a ghost.
Jungkook’s hands paused. He looked down at the orange, his thumb tracing the curve of orange . “I’m just making sure you’re still here,” he admitted, his voice dropping into that low, velvet register that made the air in the room feel warmer. “Sometimes I still think I’m dreaming you’re awake.”
The honesty in his voice was a physical weight. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest—a sharp, cold needle. “It must be hard,” you said softly. “To be the only one who remembers.”
Jungkook finally looked at you. His eyes were dark, swirling with an emotion so intense it made you want to look away, yet so comforting you couldn't. He set the plate of oranges on your bedside table and leaned back, giving you the space he knew you needed to feel safe.
“It’s not hard to love you,” he said, and the simplicity of the statement was devastating. “Whether you remember me or not doesn’t change who you are to me. You are still the person who likes the window open just a crack, even when it’s freezing. You’re still the person who hums when they’re thinking. I don't need you to remember the past to care about you in the present, baby.”
You reached out, your fingers hovering over the plate of oranges. “How do you do it? How are you so... strong?”
Jungkook let out a dry, breathy laugh. He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking exhausted but strangely peaceful. “I’m not strong. I’m just yours. That’s the only thing that didn’t get lost in the accident.”
He stood up then, sensing the conversation was getting too heavy for you. He walked over to a bag he had brought from home—your home. He pulled out a soft, oversized hoodie. It was a faded navy blue, the fabric worn thin in places.
“I brought this,” he said, holding it out but not moving closer until you nodded. “It’s yours. I thought... the hospital gowns are a bit cold.”
You took the hoodie from him. As soon as the fabric touched your skin, a shiver went down your spine. It smelled exactly like him—sandalwood, rain, and a faint hint of laundry detergent. You pulled it over your head, and for a second, the darkness of the fabric felt like a hug. It was the first time since waking up that you didn't feel like you were shivering.
“It smells like home,” you whispered from inside the collar.
You didn't see it, but Jungkook had to turn away for a moment. He bit his lip, his eyes stinging. Hearing you call his scent home while you didn't even know his last name was a beautiful kind of torture. He took a deep, shaky breath, composed himself, and turned back with that same patient, steady expression.
“It does,” he agreed softly.
He spent the next hour showing you things he had brought—not photos of the two of you, because he didn't want to overwhelm you with the ghosts of who you used to be. Instead, he brought small, sensory things. A smooth stone you’d picked up on a beach trip. A specific brand of lip balm you liked. A small, plush bunny that had sat on your nightstand.
He was rebuilding your world, piece by tiny piece, without demanding to be the center of it.
As the sun began to set, painting the room in shades of violet and bruised orange, you felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. The doctors said the brain used a lot of energy trying to heal itself.
“Go to sleep, baby,” Jungkook murmured. He had moved his chair back to its usual spot. He picked up the book with the pressed flowers—the one he had been reading since the day you woke up.
“Will you stay?” you asked, your voice small and vulnerable in the growing shadows.
“Always,” he promised. “I’ll be right here when the sun comes up.”
You closed your eyes, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of his voice. He wasn't reading a romance or a tragedy. He was reading a book about stars—about how they can be millions of miles apart, yet their light still finds a way to reach the earth.
As you drifted off, you realized that this was what one-sided love looked like when it was pure. It wasn't a burden. It wasn't a debt you had to pay back. It was a gift—a warm, steady light in the middle of a very long, very dark night.
You didn't remember loving him. But as his voice lulled you into a dreamless sleep, you realized that you were already starting to trust him. And maybe, in this new, blank world, trust was even more beautiful than memory.
Jungkook watched your breathing even out. He set the book down and finally let the mask of strength slip, just a little. He reached out, his hand trembling, and very lightly brushed his knuckles against the sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie.
"I'll wait for you," he whispered to the quiet room, a single tear finally falling. "As long as it takes. I'll win you over a thousand times if I have to."
He sat there in the dark, a silent sentry, loving a version of you that didn't know him, and finding it more than enough.
…
The silence of the room was different that night. It wasn't the heavy, medicinal silence of the ICU, but something softer, buffered by the navy hoodie that felt like a warm cocoon around you. You watched Jungkook as he adjusted the small lamp by his chair. The golden light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the softness of his eyes, making him look like a painting of devotion.
You shifted in the bed, the sheets rustling. "Jungkook?"
He was alert in a heartbeat, leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees. "I'm here, love. You okay? Do you need some water?"
"I want to know," you whispered, looking down at your hands. "About us. Not the big things... just, how did it start? I want to know who I was to you."
Jungkook took a slow, grounding breath. You saw his fingers twitch, a silent battle between his urge to reach for you and his promise to give you space. He stayed in his chair, his voice dropping into that low, comforting hum that seemed to steady the very air in the room.
"We weren't kids when we met," he started, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I think that’s why it felt so solid. We were adults who already knew the world was a messy place, but then we found each other, and suddenly the mess didn't matter as much."
He leaned back, his eyes looking past you, as if he were watching a movie only he could see.
"It was about two years ago," he murmured. "I was just a guy trying to find his footing, and you were... you were everything. You had this way of walking into a room like you belonged there, but you were so quiet about it. We spent months just being near each other. Coffee shops, long walks where we didn't say much because the silence was enough. I fell in love with the way you listened—not just to words, but to the things people didn't say."
You listened, your heart thumping a soft, steady rhythm against your ribs. It didn't feel like a lecture or a history lesson. It felt like a bedtime story.
"I was terrified to tell you," he laughed softly, a boyish sound that made your chest ache. "I practiced what to say for weeks. Then, one night, we were just standing under a streetlamp, waiting for the rain to stop. I didn't have a grand speech. I just looked at you and realized I didn't want to spend a single hour of my life without you. I told you that I loved you right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, with the smell of wet pavement all around us. You didn't say anything at first... you just stepped into my space and rested your head on my chest. That was your answer."
You found yourself leaning toward him, mesmerized by the way he spoke. There was no pressure in his words, no demand for you to remember that streetlamp or that rain. He was just sharing a beautiful memory of two people you happened to be.
"And then?" you prompted softly.
Jungkook’s expression softened even further, a delicate tenderness washing over his features. He reached out, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently resting his hand on the mattress near your hip—close enough to offer warmth, but far enough to let you pull away.
"We decided we didn't want to wait," he whispered. "Life felt too short to spend it apart. So, about a month ago... we made it official. Just a small ceremony. Nothing loud. Just us, promising to be each other’s home."
He didn't use the word marriage as a heavy title. He didn't show you a ring or a certificate. He spoke of it as a quiet promise, a natural evolution of that night under the streetlamp. He kept it light, like a feather landing on water, so the weight of it wouldn't crush you.
"A month," you breathed, looking at him with wide eyes. "We were just starting."
"We are always just starting, baby," he corrected gently, his thumb tracing a slow circle on the bedsheet. "Every day is a new start. The accident... it was just a pause. It doesn't change the two years that came before it, and it doesn't change how I feel right now."
He looked at you then, and the sheer strength of his love was staggering. He wasn't mourning the wife he lost; he was completely, utterly devoted to the woman sitting in front of him. He was willing to be a stranger, a friend, a storyteller—whatever role made you feel safe.
"Are you sad?" you asked, your voice trembling. "That I'm not that girl right now?"
Jungkook moved his hand then, finally brave enough to let his fingers graze the back of yours. His skin was warm, and the contact sent a strange, soothing spark through you.
"I'm not sad," he whispered, his eyes locked on yours. "Because the girl I fell in love with is still right here. She’s in the way you tilt your head when you’re curious. She’s in the way you’re being so brave right now. I don't need your memory, love. I have your heart. And I’m perfectly happy winning it over all over again."
The sincerity in his voice was like a balm. The fear that had been tight in your stomach since you woke up finally began to loosen. You didn't remember the wedding or the confession in the rain, but you could feel the truth of his words in the way he looked at you.
He was a man who had been married for a month, yet he was treating you with the patience of a man who had all the time in the world.
"Tell me more," you whispered, sliding your hand just a little closer to his. "Tell me about the coffee shops."
Jungkook’s smile widened, a glimmer of pure joy breaking through his exhaustion. He didn't rush to grab your hand; he let your fingers settle against his at their own pace.
"Well," he started, his voice a low, beautiful tether to a world you were starting to want back. "There was this one place with the squeaky floorboards, and you always insisted on sitting in the chair that wobbled because you said it had 'character'..."
As he talked, the hospital room faded away. There was no trauma, no accident, and no amnesia. There was only Jungkook, his soft words, and the beautiful, one-sided love that was slowly, quietly, becoming a bridge back to yourself.
The nights were the hardest for him, though he never let you see it.
He waited until your breathing slowed and your eyes drifted shut before he allowed the armor of strong Jungkook to crack. He would sit in that same chair, the one he had practically lived in for a month, and let the silence of the hospital swallow him. He would look at the gold band on his own finger—a symbol of a promise that was only four weeks old when the world went dark—and he would breathe through the ache.
But the moment you stirred, the moment you let out a soft sigh in your sleep, he was back. He was the anchor. He was the peace.
A few days later, the doctors spoke about the transition. They talked about home as if it were a medical destination. To you, it was a terrifying concept—a place full of echoes you couldn't recognize. But to Jungkook, it was a place he had been meticulously preparing for your return.
"The discharge papers are signed," he said softly one morning. He was packing a small bag, folding your clothes with a precision that felt like a caress. "We can go whenever you're ready, love. No rush. If you want to stay one more night to feel safe, we stay."
You watched him, your fingers twisting the hem of the navy hoodie. "Will it be... will it be weird? If I don't know where the spoons are? Or which side of the bed is mine?"
Jungkook stopped what he was doing. He walked over to the side of the bed, sinking onto his heels so he was looking up at you, making himself smaller, less imposing. He reached out, and this time, he didn't hesitate to take your hand. His palm was warm, solid, and steady—a contrast to the trembling in your soul.
"It won't be weird, baby," he promised, his voice like a warm blanket. "Because it’s not a museum. It’s just a house. If you put the spoons in the wrong drawer, then that’s where the spoons live now. If you want to sleep on the left side, the right side, or right in the middle, it’s your bed. I’m not bringing you back to a life you have to 'match.' We’re going back to a place where you can just be."
The drive home was quiet. You watched the city blur past the window, the familiar streets feeling like a movie you’d seen once but couldn't quite recall the plot of. Beside you, Jungkook drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the center console, palm up—an open invitation. He didn't look at you with expectation; he just let the soft hum of the radio fill the gaps.
When the car finally pulled into a quiet, tree-lined driveway, your heart did a nervous little dance. The house was beautiful—small, with a wide porch and windows that caught the late afternoon sun.
"We're here," he whispered.
He helped you out of the car as if you were made of starlight. He didn't carry you over the threshold—he knew that might be too much, too fast. Instead, he tucked your arm into his, letting you set the pace.
As the door swung open, the scent hit you first. It wasn't the smell of a hospital. It was the smell of cedar, vanilla, and a hint of fresh laundry. It was the smell of the man standing beside you.
"It's... it's beautiful," you murmured, stepping into the entryway.
The house was filled with soft details. There were plush rugs underfoot, a stack of books on the coffee table that looked well-loved, and a kitchen that felt lived-in and warm. On the walls, there were frames, but as you moved closer, you realized they weren't just wedding photos. There were sketches, dried flowers, and ticket stubs.
"I took down the big photos," Jungkook said from behind you, his voice low and a little shy. "I didn't want you to walk in and feel like you were looking at a stranger’s life. I kept the small things... the things that felt like 'us' before we were 'married.' I thought it might be easier."
You turned to look at him. He was standing by the door, the light from the hallway casting his shadow long across the floor. He looked so vulnerable in that moment—a man who had spent a month building a bridge for you to walk across, not knowing if you’d ever make it to the other side.
"Jungkook," you said softly.
"Yeah, love?"
"Thank you."
He just walked over, and for the first time since the accident, he let himself really hold you. It wasn't a demanding hug; it was a slow, cautious folding of his arms around your shoulders. He rested his chin on the top of your head, and you felt him let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a lifetime.
"You don't have to thank me for loving you," he breathed into your hair. "It's the only thing I know how to do perfectly."
You leaned into him, closing your eyes. You didn't remember the day you bought this house. You didn't remember the day you moved in. But as you stood there in the quiet of your shared home, wrapped in the strength of his one-sided love, you realized that maybe memory wasn't the most important thing.
Maybe the most beautiful thing was the way he was willing to start the story from page one, every single day, just to make sure you never felt alone in the dark.
"Tell me about the kitchen," you whispered into his chest. "Tell me where we had our first breakfast."
He chuckled, the vibration of it soothing your tired mind. "Well, baby, you tried to make pancakes, and let's just say... we ended up ordering pizza at 9:00 AM."
As he led you toward the kitchen, his hand never leaving yours, the house stopped being a collection of walls and started feeling like a sanctuary. And for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.
…
The days that followed were a gentle blur of soft light and quiet discovery. Because now, he almost worked from home, the house became a living, breathing map of your shared existence. You began to learn the rhythm of his life—not through old memories, but through the present moment.
You spent your mornings curled up in the oversized navy hoodie, sitting at the small desk in the corner of the living room. You would watch Jungkook out of the corner of your eye while he worked on his laptop. He was so focused, his brow furrowing slightly, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
"Jungkook?" you’d whisper, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Yeah, love?" He would answer instantly, his attention shifting to you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
"What are you doing now? Is that the... the edit for the final layout?"
He would smile, a soft, surprised look crossing his face. "Yeah, baby. How did you know?"
"I don't know," you’d murmur, looking back at your own screen. "It just... it felt like the right word."
Slowly, the blank spaces in your mind began to fill with the colors of the now. You learned that he took his coffee black, but he always made yours with exactly two splashes of cream. You learned that he hummed a specific, low melody when he was stressed, and without thinking, you would find yourself humming the next few notes before he even reached them.
It was in those tiny moments—the completing of a sentence, the knowing that he was about to reach for a glass of water before he did—that the trust truly took root. It wasn't a sudden flood of memories; it was a soul-deep realization that your tracks were aligned. You weren't a stranger learning about a man; you were a heart returning to its rhythm.
One evening, the rain was tapping a soft, rhythmic lullaby against the windowpanes. The house was warm, the air smelling of the vanilla candles Jungkook had lit to make the atmosphere soothing.
You were both sitting on the large, velvet sofa, a laptop resting between you as he explained a project he was working on. He was talking about a specific design choice, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke.
"I was thinking of making the border a bit more—"
"—muted, so the center stands out?" you finished for him.
Jungkook stopped. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes wide and shimmering with a mixture of shock and pure, unfiltered hope. The silence stretched, but it wasn't heavy. It was electric.
"Yeah," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Exactly that."
You looked at him, and for the first time, the fear was completely gone. You saw the man who had waited for you in a plastic chair for seventeen days. You saw the man who had lied and called himself just a friend so you wouldn't feel pressured. You saw the man who loved you so much that he was willing to let you forget him, as long as you were safe.
Driven by a sudden, fluttering courage, you leaned in. It wasn't a big, dramatic gesture. It was as soft and natural as a leaf falling onto a lake. You pressed a lingering, tender kiss to his cheek.
His skin was warm, smelling of home and sandalwood.
Jungkook froze. He looked like he was afraid to move, afraid that if he breathed, this moment would shatter. Then, very slowly, a smile broke across his face—the most beautiful, radiant smile you had ever seen. He didn't pull you into a frantic embrace; he just rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closing in a moment of pure, silent gratitude.
"That," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "was the best part of my day."
That night, for the first time, you didn't ask if he would stay in the chair. You didn't ask for the space you had once needed.
"Jungkook?" you said as you stood by the edge of the large, soft bed. "Can you... can you stay? Here?"
The look of sheer, humble joy on his face was enough to make your heart ache. "Are you sure, love? I don't want to rush you."
"I'm sure," you said, pulling back the duvet. "I want to be close to you."
The bed felt like a only home. He climbed in beside you, moving with a cautious grace. He stayed on his side at first, but you were the one who moved closer. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, your arm draping over his chest.
He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his arm finally coming around you to pull you flush against his side. It wasn't a sexual touch; it was a protective, grounding cuddle. He was so warm, his heartbeat a steady, heavy drum against your ear.
"Is this okay, baby?" he murmured into your hair, his hand gently stroking your arm in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
"It's perfect," you whispered.
As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of his arms, the one-sided love finally felt like it was becoming a circle again. You didn't have all your memories back, but as he kissed the top of your head and whispered "goodnight, my life," you knew it didn't matter.
The mornings would be soft, and the nights would be quiet, and you would learn to love him all over again—one heartbeat at a time.
The weeks began to melt into one another, the initial fear of the unknown replaced by a magnetic, pull-your-breath-away kind of attraction.
The tension had been building for five weeks, a silent, mounting pressure that turned every shared meal and quiet work session into a test of endurance. Jungkook was a master of restraint, a man who had curated a world of softness to keep you from breaking. But as the days bled into one another, the stranger in your mind was being replaced by a magnetic force you could no longer ignore.
You began to notice the way his muscles shifted under his shirt when he reached for a glass, the way his scent—woodsmoke and clean skin—seemed to coat your lungs every time he walked past. You were no longer just curious about your past; you were starving for a future with the man standing in front of you.
The snap happened on a Tuesday afternoon.
The house was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the refrigerator and the frantic clicking of Jungkook’s mouse. He was hunched over his desk, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose, completely absorbed in a layout. You stood behind him, pretending to look at the screen, but your eyes were tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
"You missed a spot," you whispered, leaning over his shoulder. You didn't realize how close you were until your chest brushed his back.
Jungkook froze. He didn't turn around immediately; he just sat there, his breath hitching. "Where, love?"
"There," you murmured, reaching past him to point at the screen. As you did, your body pressed fully against his shoulder. The heat radiating off him was staggering.
He spun his chair around so fast you didn't have time to move. Your legs tangled with his, and as you stumbled, his large hands shot out to catch you. He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, and pulled you firmly between his spread knees.
The air in the room became thick, heavy with the weight of five weeks of unspoken hunger. His dark eyes searched yours, pupils blown wide, his breathing coming in shallow, jagged bursts.
"You're too close," he rasped, his voice a low, dangerous warning. "I'm trying to be good, baby. I'm trying so hard to give you the space you asked for."
"I don't want space anymore," you whispered.
Driven by an instinct that felt older than your memories, you leaned in. You watched his eyes drop to your mouth, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. You reached out, your fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him that final, agonizing inch.
The moment your lips touched his, the world tilted on its axis.
It wasn't just a kiss. It was an awakening. The second his mouth moved against yours—firm, hungry, and desperate—it was like a lightning bolt struck your mind. A sensory explosion tore through the amnesia. You didn't see a vision; you felt a truth. Your body recognized the exact pressure of his lips, the way his tongue swept against yours, the specific, guttural groan he made deep in his chest.
Your senses came screaming back to life. You remembered this taste. You remembered this heat. You weren't a girl kissing a stranger; you were a wife finally finding her way back to the man who owned her soul.
"Jungkook," you breathed into the kiss, your hands clutching his shoulders as the realization washed over you.
He felt the change in you. He felt the way your hesitation vanished, replaced by a raw, demanding fire. He let out a low growl and hoisted you up, seating you on the edge of the desk. His hands slid under your hoodie, his palms searing hot against your bare skin.
"God, I've missed you," he whispered against your lips, his voice dropping into a dark, velvet huskiness. "Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you every day, wanting to pull you into my lap and remind you exactly who you belong to?"
He trailed his lips down to your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe just enough to make you gasp.
"I was so patient for you, love," he murmured, his breath hot and damp against your skin. "I sat in that chair and watched you sleep, aching to touch you. I let you look at me like a stranger while my heart was screaming. But you're not looking at me like a stranger now, are you?"
He bit softly at the junction of your neck and shoulder, his hands sliding further up your back, pulling you flush against him.
"Tell me you remember how this feels," he dark-talked, his voice a honeyed, sinful crawl. "Tell me you remember the way you used to arch your back when I kissed you right here. I want to hear you make those soft, broken sounds for me again. I want to remind you of every single thing we did in this house before the world went quiet."
His words were a beautiful torture, a soft-dirty melody that made your blood turn to liquid gold. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce and possessive.
"I'm going to take my time with you, baby," he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "I'm going to kiss every inch of you until your body remembers my name even if your mind doesn't. You're mine. You were mine then, and you're mine now. Are you going to let me show you?"
You couldn't find your voice, so you simply pulled his head back down to yours, your kiss being the only answer he needed. He swept you off the desk and into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom with a steady, purposeful stride.
The amnesia was still there in the corners, but it didn't matter. As he laid you down on the bed and crawled over you, his eyes burning with a love that had survived the impossible, you knew the one-sided journey was over. You didn't need your past to know that this man was your future.
"Welcome home, my love," he whispered against your skin. "Now let me remind you why you fell in love with me the first time."
AN: Since this is a one-shot, I decided not to rush things and instead approached it in a sensible way that gives the story meaning. However, if this was a series, I would have put in a lot more effort and details, especially in the recovery process. I think I've kept it relatively simple, though, because if this was a series, it would have been much more extensive.
There is a very specific, highly entertaining phenomenon that occurs whenever you take your husband out in public. You like to call it the “Terror and Thirst” effect.
Today, at the crowded public beach, it is in full swing.
You are currently lounging under the massive shade of a navy blue beach umbrella, a trashy romance novel resting on your lap, watching the spectacle unfold at the shoreline.
Ryomen Sukuna is, objectively, a masterpiece of a man. Standing at a towering 6’4”, he is built like a heavyweight champion—broad shoulders, a thick chest, and a torso carved out of solid granite. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, black board shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips, putting the intricate, sprawling black tattoos that cover his chest, arms, and stomach on full, glorious display.
He is hot as fuck. It’s a fact that is currently not lost on the group of college girls sitting on a blanket about twenty yards away. They haven’t stopped staring, whispering behind their hands, and aggressively adjusting their bikini tops for the last half hour.
But here is the catch: Sukuna is also terrifying.
He has this natural, resting aura of absolute disdain for anyone who isn’t you or your son. He’s a snob, plain and simple. He doesn’t smile at strangers, he doesn’t make polite small talk, and if someone stares at him for too long, he gives them a dead-eyed, chilling glare that practically drops the surrounding temperature by ten degrees.
Case in point: one of the girls giggles a little too loudly, pointing in his direction. Sukuna, who is currently standing ankle-deep in the surf, slowly turns his head. He doesn’t say a word. He just narrows his crimson eyes, his face completely blank, and stares her down.
The girl visibly pales, her hand dropping instantly. She quickly turns around, suddenly very interested in the contents of her cooler.
Sukuna lets out a quiet, dismissive scoff, turning his attention back to the water.
“You’re going to give those poor girls a complex, babe,” you call out, unable to hide your amusement.
Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, and the transformation is instantaneous. The cold, intimidating mask melts away, replaced by an expression so incredibly soft and devoted it makes your chest ache. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small, fond smile.
“Not my problem that they are annoying,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the crashing waves. “Besides, I only want one woman looking at me.”
You roll your eyes, though your cheeks heat up. “Smooth, Ryomen. Very smooth.”
“Dada! Splash!”
A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupts the moment. Yuji, currently sporting a pair of tiny black swim trunks that perfectly match his dad’s, is waddling furiously through the shallow water. He’s got a pair of bright orange floaties strapped to his chubby arms, his pink hair plastered to his forehead from the ocean spray.
Sukuna’s attention snaps to his son. He doesn’t say anything, just calmly wades deeper into the water, his massive hands reaching down to scoop the toddler up under the armpits.
“You want to splash, little man?” Sukuna asks quietly, his tone a low, soothing rumble.
“Yeah! Big splash!” Yuji cheers, kicking his little legs.
You watch, completely mesmerized, as your terrifying, snobbish husband hoists your two-year-old high into the air. Sukuna tosses him up—just high enough to make Yuji squeal with delight—and catches him effortlessly, dipping him down so his little toes drag through the water.
It’s a beautiful, chaotic contrast. The giant, tattooed wall of muscle, gently playing in the waves with a giggling, chubby-cheeked toddler.
They play in the water for another twenty minutes. Sukuna is quiet, mostly just listening to Yuji babble about the “big fishes” and the “salty water,” occasionally offering a calm nod or a soft chuckle. He is completely in his element, entirely unbothered by the rest of the world.
Eventually, Sukuna wades out of the water, carrying Yuji on his hip. Water is dripping from Sukuna’s pink hair, running down the hard planes of his chest and tracing the lines of his tattoos. It is a sight that should be illegal.
He walks over to the umbrella, grabbing a towel with his free hand and tossing it over his shoulder. He sets Yuji down on the sand.
“Go to mama, buddy. Let her dry you off,” Sukuna murmurs, running a hand through his wet hair.
But Yuji has other plans.
He shakes himself off like a wet puppy, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. He takes two steps toward you, stops, and then his head snaps to the left.
You follow his gaze. A new group of girls—three of them, looking like they just stepped out of a swimsuit catalog—have set up their chairs near the shoreline.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, dropping your book. “Not again.”
Yuji’s eyes go wide. He completely ignores you, turning on his heel and marching straight toward the girls. His little chest is puffed out, his arms swinging with an unearned amount of swagger for a kid who still wears pull-ups at night.
“Sukuna,” you warn, pointing at your son. “Stop him.”
Sukuna doesn’t move. He just stands there, drying his chest with the towel, watching Yuji with a quiet, amused smirk. “Why? He’s on a mission.”
“He is two! He is literally a baby!” you hiss, standing up. “Why does he act like a frat boy on spring break?”
“Son't ask me,” Sukuna replies, clearly avoiding your eyes, he took a sip from the bottle of water. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the lingering amusement in his voicd. “Let the boy have fun, babe.”
You groan, watching helplessly as Yuji reaches the girls.
He stops right in front of their beach chairs. He puts his chubby little hands on his hips, tilts his head, and unleashes the weapon: your bright, disarming smile.
“Hi!” Yuji chirps loudly. “I Yuji!”
The girls immediately stop talking. They look down at the tiny, pink-haired toddler, and the collective swoon is almost audible.
“Oh my god, hi!” one of them coos, leaning forward. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?”
“Pweety,” Yuji says, pointing a tiny finger at the girl’s sparkly bikini top. He then flexes his little arm, showing off a completely non-existent bicep. “Look! Strong like dada!”
“I can’t believe this,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands. Sukuna lets out a low, quiet chuckle next to you.
“You are a terrible influence,” you glare at him.
“Babe, I didn’t do anything,” Sukuna says, his voice completely deadpan, though his eyes are dancing with mirth. “I’m just standing here.”
Down by the water, the girls are eating it up. They are giggling, offering Yuji a plastic beach toy, which he graciously accepts. But then, one of the girls looks up. Her eyes scan the beach, looking for the parents, and she spots Sukuna.
You can practically see the cartoon hearts pop out of her eyes.
She stands up, brushing sand off her legs, and walks over to Yuji, taking his little hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go find your dad.”
She leads Yuji back toward your umbrella, her eyes locked entirely on Sukuna. She has that look—the look of a woman who thinks she’s about to shoot her shot with a single dad.
“Excuse me,” the girl says, her voice dropping into a sultry purr as she approaches. She completely ignores you, standing right in front of Sukuna. “Is this little guy yours? He wandered over to us.”
Sukuna stops drying his hair. His smilr vanishes, instantly replaced by that cold snobbery. He looks down at the girl, his expression completely blank, his eyes devoid of any warmth.
He doesn’t say a word to her.
Instead, he steps forward, completely invading her personal space with his massive frame, forcing her to take a nervous step back. He reaches down and scoops Yuji up into his arms.
“Dada! Pweety girl!” Yuji babbles, pointing at the woman.
Sukuna looks at the girl for one more second. It’s a look that clearly says, You are entirely beneath my notice.
“Thanks,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, but it carries a heavy, chilling finality that makes the girl flinch. “Come here buddy lets go to mama”
He turns his back on her without another word, walking the two steps over to you. The girl stands there for a second, her face flushed bright red with embarrassment, before she quickly turns and scurries back to her friends.
You are trying very hard not to laugh. “You didn’t have to be so mean to her.”
“I wasn’t,” Sukuna scoffs, setting Yuji down on your beach chair. “I just didn’t care to speak to her.”
“She was totally hitting on you.”
Sukuna finally looks at you, and the ice in his eyes melts completely. He steps into your space, his large hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs gently stroke your cheekbones.
“Whatever,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate register. “I'm married”
Your breath hitches, your heart doing a familiar, stupid little flip in your chest. Even after all these years, he still knows exactly how to render you speechless.
“You’re such a sap,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.
“Only for my wife,” he replies, leaning down to press a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It’s a possessive kiss, one that clearly communicates to anyone watching exactly who he belongs to.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Mama!”
You both look down. Yuji is standing on the beach chair, holding up a slightly crushed, sandy seashell. He shoves it toward you, his big golden eyes shining.
You melt. You absolutely melt. You take the sandy shell, pulling Yuji into a tight hug and kissing his salty, sun-warmed cheek. “Thank you, baby. It’s beautiful.”
Sukuna watches the two of you, his hands resting casually on his hips. “See?” Sukuna says quietly, reaching out to ruffle Yuji’s pink hair. “The kid might have my charm, but he knows the truth.”
At the end of the day, despite the playboy genes and the endless chaos, they were yours. And you were theirs.
And mom was, undeniably, still the best.
an: we're close to 1k what the hekk!!! what one shots do you wanna see next? i can't write smut for the life of me, english is saurrrr hard!! divider by: @pxrce-lain | the art and gif i got from pinterest! feel free to comment who is the orig art creator pls 🙏
One thing about Obsession (2026) that I enjoyed was that it almost asks you to feel empathy for the entity possessing Nikki as well as the real one. Like, obviously the things she's doing are horrific and fucked up, but I think the scene where Bear is asking her to "just be Nikki!" and she eventually just desperatly screams "I can't be Nikki!" does a really good job of showcasing the entity's inner feelings. She's been created with the sole purpose of loving this guy more than anyone else but no matter how perfect it is or how much he claims to love her, its not her that he loves, its Nikki. And any time she stops pretending to be Nikki, he reacts (albeit rightfully) with disgust and horror. She can't be Nikki because Nikki would never love Bear, and so Bear will never love her.
synopsis: resting against your pregnant stomach, aang stays up late to your baby, much to your annoyance.
♡⸝⸝ content warningsﾉtags: fem!reader, dad!aang, fluff, domestic bliss, pregnancy, late night talking, kissing, established relationship
♡⸝⸝ author's note: i wanted to write something cute before i write smut and angst of aangie poo LMAOO. i hope u guys enjoy!! i'm slowly getting back into writing, so sorry if this isn't the best! </3
The silk sheets of your shared bed felt cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the radiating warmth of your swollen abdomen. You lay propped up against a mountain of plush pillows, your hands resting lightly over the high curve of your stomach where your first child was currently shifting and stretching against your ribs. The weight of your body felt immense after a long day of carrying this new life, every muscle aching for the undisturbed sleep that had become so elusive in these final weeks of your pregnancy.
Aang had absolutely no intention of letting you sleep just yet.
He was curled up tightly against your hip, his smooth, shaved head resting directly on the bare skin of your rounded belly, his face turned sideways so his cheek was pressed against your skin. His bright grey eyes were wide awake, crinkling at the corners with an enduring, childlike wonder that had only intensified the larger your bump grew. His calloused hands were wrapped completely around the sides of your waist, holding you with a gentle grip as if he were guarding the most precious treasure in all the nations. He was murmuring in a low, conspiratorial whisper that vibrated deeply through your skin.
"You have to promise me you'll practice your airball spins every morning," Aang whispered directly into your navel, his voice full of a giddy excitement that made his ears twitch forward. "Your Uncle Sokka is going to try to teach you how to throw a boomerang, but don't listen to him, okay? Airbending is much faster, and you don't have to go chase after it when you miss. And when we visit the Western Air Temple, I am going to show you the exact spot where I used to hide Monk Gyatso’s favorite meditation beads. He never found them, not even once."
You let out a soft, exasperated sigh, your fingers tangling into the soft fabric of his tunic as you tried to nudge his shoulder away, your face twisting into a look of fond annoyance. "Aang, please. The baby cannot hear about your ancient temple pranks right now. They are trying to sleep, and so am I. If you keep vibrating my stomach with your storytelling, they are going to start kicking my bladder again, and I already had to get up three times an hour ago."
Aang let out a muffled, bubbling giggle against your skin, his shoulders shaking with an affectionate amusement that did absolutely nothing to help your aching torso. He shifted his head, looking up at you with a completely unrepentant grin that made him look exactly like the boy who had crashed a fire nation school party years ago. His eyes danced with absolute adoration, his gaze lingering on the flush of your cheeks before he turned his attention right back to your stomach, deliberately ignoring your protests.
"Do not listen to your mother," Aang cooed in a louder, more dramatic stage-whisper, his lips pressing firmly against the center of your bump so his words came out sounding comically distorted. "She is just jealous because we are already plotting our grand adventures. Tomorrow, we are going to learn how to bribe Appa with extra juicy moon-peaches so he flies us over the highest peaks before breakfast. It is a secret club, just the two of us."
You huffed, a genuine laugh breaking through your sleepy scowl as you used both of your hands to firmly push against the side of his face, attempting to slide his head completely off your body. "That is it, out of the bed. You are a terrible influence already, and they haven't even taken their first breath yet. Go sleep on the floor with Momo."
Aang didn't budge an inch, his powerful core keeping him anchored exactly where he was as he easily resisted your weak, exhausted shoving. Instead of retreating, his eyes flashed with pure mischief, his lips pulling back to reveal a wide, teasing smile that warned you exactly what was coming next. He took a sudden, deep breath, his chest expanding against your thigh before he lunged forward, attacking the entire surface of your large bump with a relentless barrage of loud, exaggerated kisses.
The room filled with the obnoxious, wet sound of his lips smacking repeatedly against your skin, each kiss accompanied by a dramatic, slurping noise that echoed loudly off the stone walls. He started from the very top of your stomach, moving in a frantic, circular pattern down to the sides, his face completely buried in your warmth as he made ridiculous, motorboat noises against your flesh. The sudden, ticklish sensation made your entire body convulse, your hands instantly flying up to cup your own mouth to stifle the loud, breathless shrieks of laughter that burst from your throat.
"Aang! Stop! It tickles so bad, please!" you wailed, your toes curling under the sheets as you tried to twist your hips away from his relentless assault, your face turning a deep, vibrant shade of pink. Your eyes were watering from the sheer force of your giggles, your previous exhaustion completely forgotten in the wake of his chaotic affection.
"Never!" Aang shouted between kisses, pulling back for a fraction of a second to reveal a face covered in a wide, triumphant grin, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining with an immense, dizzying happiness. "This is an ancient Air Nomad ritual for proper development! I cannot stop now, the balance of the world depends on it!"
He dove right back down, landing a remarkably loud, wet pop right on the very center of your stomach, his hands moving to gently squeeze your hips to keep you from squirming away. You lay back against the pillows, your chest heaving as your laughter finally began to die down into soft, breathless chuckles, your hands moving down to rest over the back of his neck. Your fingers stroked the smooth skin of his head, your thumb tracing the edge of his blue arrow as a overwhelming wave of love washed over you, completely replacing any lingering annoyance.
Watching him hover over your unborn child with so much unbridled joy made your heart ache with a sweetness that felt almost too heavy to contain.
He was going to be an incredible father, a man who possessed the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes but still retained the capacity to turn a bedroom into a playground of pure light.
Aang finally stopped his assault, resting his chin on the apex of your stomach once more, his breathing shallow as he looked up at you with an expression of such unconditional devotion that it brought a fresh sheen of tears to your eyes.
"I love you both so much," he whispered softly, his hand sliding up to cover yours, his fingers interlocking with yours over the warm, pulsing life you had created together. "I can't wait to meet them."
aang who had made it his life goal to carry you ever since you were kids. he failed to do so when he was twelve and was crushed because he'd always imagine himself carrying you away into the distance like a prince does to his princess.
so the obvious solution was to make himself stronger because he wasn't going to tell you to change yourself—you were forever perfect in his eyes.
skip to ten years later and you're coming back after a few years away in a different country. aang is meant to pick you up as you've kept in contact and he insisted that he had to be the first person to see you and vice versa.
so when you exit through arrivals, you expect to see a scrawny guy who's maybe grown a couple of inches. aang never really sent you pictures of himself and you always wondered why that was as he wasn't known for being shy. but then you're quickly approached by a very tall and broad man who scoops you up into his very strong arms, startlingly you greatly.
you immediately try to push this guy off because who on earth is this guy and how dare he think he can just grab you like this?
but then this guy pulls back, beams up at you because he's got you hefted up in his arms and those adorable grey eyes make your jaw drop.
"aang?!" you exclaim and aang nods excitedly, squeezing you tightly.
"welcome back!" he shouts happily but you're too busy taking aang in to really say anything because he's carrying you like you're a mere handful of pebbles. "i've missed you!"
"...missed you too," you say weakly, now peering up at him once he sets you down and wow, what happened to the scrawny, short guy you left behind?
• ꒰ ۶ৎ ꒱ :: . dad!sukuna and dad!toji arguing about whose baby is cuter :: no cw fluff
sukuna and toji sat on the old benches outside at the park bickering as theyve done since they were just teenagers. the only difference was that now they both had a small baby girl on each of their laps.
you and tojis wife sat near a table farther away from them, chatting about motherhood as you heard their voices get higher and higher in volume.
“what do you think theyre arguing about now,” she asked, smiling at her husband with loving eyes.
“couldn’t really care less, they do this basically everyday,” you scoff, shaking your head.
you could hear their conversation slightly, both of you pausing to listen in.
“okay yeah your she is pretty cute but shes way fatter than my angel here,” sukuna said, gesturing to tsumikis chubby cheeks and tubby belly. “am i right kuni? youre way cuter than her,” sukuna said to his daughter, planting kisses all over her even chubbier face.
“okay yeah fuckface, she is a little bigger but shes still cuter. shes just been bulking since birth and thats perfectly fine.” toji said, smirking and crossing his arms smugly as if it makes complete sense.
“bulking? nah bro shes just fat, she probably doesnt even understand the concept of-“
smack.
sukuna was abruptly cut off as your hand met the back of his neck with a loud pop.
“ah, the fuck was that for?”
smack.
“dont talk about tsumiki like that and watch your language. to be fair, you were even bigger than her when you were a baby.”
toji tilted his head back and let out a loud cackle.
“how ‘bout that shit. ryomen was a fat ass baby, i’d love to see that.”
going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.
pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”
and he just laughs a huff out his nose.
when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”
“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.
“about ten thousand.”
“how many do you have?”
“three hundred.”
he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.
“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.
then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”
he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.
“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”
takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.
“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”
I've been bugging @happylifesims to make some Bob Mackie Dresses with me for a while, and we finally got together and put together this little collection. Koonam made 2 dresses, and I made 1 Dress. ( shown below ) So just a little set, but I hope you still enjoy the sparkles.
DENILE DRESS
⭐ ALL MAPS AND PROPER LODs
⭐ 62 SWATCHES: 31 Colorways in my Strangers in the Night Palette with two Illusion Mesh Skintones each
Have fun with it! Thank you as always for your patience and kindness!
Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it
The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.
At first he thinks it’s funny.
You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.
But after the breakup?
You vanish.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.
He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.
Blocked.
“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”
Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.
Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.
The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.
So he broke up with you.
Clean and quick.
Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.
And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.
———-
The First Attempt
He tries texting.
It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.
He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”
But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.
Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”
Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”
“Means she’s not here.”
He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.
The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.
Flowers
A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.
Attached card: —SG <3
He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.
The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.
Still no message back.
The Letters
Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.
The first one is simple.
I know you blocked me. I deserve it.
Let me know if you wanna talk
-Satoru <3
No response.
The second one is longer.
I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.
Please unblock me xoxo
The third one is messy.
He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.
I keep looking for you around campus.
You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?
- Toru
Your Favorite Snacks
The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.
Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.
Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.
The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”
Meanwhile
Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.
But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.
The First Time He Sees You Again
It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.
For a second he thinks he imagined it.
But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.
The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.
It’s indifference.
You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.
“Hey—!”
You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.
Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”
“Yes.”
“…And?…will you please talk to me?”
You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”
Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.
It is late July, orchards have opened up to the public for early apple picking season, and you are now staring at your two boys trying to find the most perfect apple for you.
“This apple, daddy,” Megumi says, pointing to a dark, shiny red apple high up in the trees.
“That’s the one,” Toji asks, following the line of sight from his little baby finger.
Toji lifts him into the air, letting him reach out and grab the apple himself before dropping him back down to sit on his arm. Standing a few feet away, you watch as your husband fixes your baby’s collared shirt before smoothing down his wild hair while picking out tiny white flowers. Somehow, you managed to convince your husband to wear matching outfits, and it truly makes your heart flutter from the sight.
He looks up to find you, tilting his head as he sees the faintest glisten of a tear sliding down your cheek. A knowing smile plays on his lips, a look passes between the two of you, one filled with love and passion. Megumi inspects his choice, oblivious to everything else, and all you can do is try not to burst out into tears from the happiness your family gives you.
It really is the simple things for you.
“Whatcha doing over there mama,” he asks, looking you up and down in your pastel yellow sundress, unashamed as he checks out his wife.
You walk closer, a wicker basket full of ripe apples in hand, wiping a stray tear away with the back of your hand before Megumi could catch a glimpse of it. His hand slides past your waist, resting at the dip in your lower back, holding you close to the two of them.
“I picked this apple just for you mommy,” Megumi says, presenting the apple he chose.
“Why don’t we find out how good it really is, huh Gumi,” you say, taking the apple from him and bringing it up to your mouth.
You take a big bite, mouth flooding with the sweet taste of juice, savoring the freshness of the simple fruit. Before you can finish your bite, Toji places a soft kiss to your lips, licking away the mess, humming in satisfaction.
“Mmm, very sweet. Good job,” he agrees, bouncing Megumi up and down on his arm.
“Daddy, you have to actually taste it to know,” he says, rolling his eyes and huffing ever so slightly.
“Ugh, fine,” Toji replies, returning the attitude but when he turns to you, he’s smirking with content.
Toji takes a big bite, nodding his head, and restating the approval for Megumi’s choice in apples. Megumi watches the two of you, the brightest smiling pulling on his lips, one hand gripping his daddy’s shirt, the other planted firmly against your arm.
“You want a bite too, Gumi,” you ask, extending the apple towards him.
Placing your hand on his back, he takes the apple from your grasp and tries his hardest to take a big bite. You giggle softly, watching him enjoy his pick, memorizing this moment as the low summer sun casts his face in warm shadows while he’s wedged between the two of you.
“Mmm,” he hums, “so good mommy. Can I actually have this one instead?”
Toji bursts out in laughter, his fingers curling at your back to pull you closer towards him, and you can’t help but laugh harder too.
“Of course you can Gumi,” you say, placing a soft kiss on his chubby cheek, rubbing your hand up and down on his back.
Resting your head on Toji’s shoulder, you breathe in and out slowly, letting yourself enjoy the simplicity of your small family. He places a kiss on your hair, smelling all the familiar scents of you, before pulling away and plucking a baby pink flower from a tree.
He pushes your hair behind your ear, placing the flower there, and gives you a satisfied look.
“Don’t you think mama looks so pretty, huh Meg.”
Megumi’s eyes fall on you, the cutest smile spreading from cheek to cheek, his face bunching up in apple juice and baby fat.
“The prettiest mommy there is.”
This time, you can’t even care to stop your tears from falling.
Toji puts a cutout picture of your face on him for baby megumi when your away for work!
Based on this pic lol
Your not sure what you just walked into when you came home. Toji laying on the blanket covered floor with megumi beside him with his bottle, while Toji has a picture of your face on the side of his face while stretching out wearing your clothes.
"Toji?" you snort "What is going on here?"
"Exactly how it looks mama, the brat kept crying for you and wouldn't shut up so I had to improvise."
Toji just doesn't know what to do, he's changed him, gave him his favorite plushies you bought him, and tried to feed him but he doesn't want his bottle!
Megumi is currently screeching out of his lungs, "Quit cryin' brat!" Megumi just crys even louder if that's even possible.
Toji sighs unsure of what to do, that's when he came up with his brilliant idea.
He prints out a picture of you when you were on a date, his favorite picture. Then he went through your closet to try to find the biggest liar of pants and shirt you had and then wore it.
"Alright let's see if this works."
He grabs Megumi who is still crying and his bottle and lays down on the floor he had covered with blankets so his back wouldn't hurt and placed Megumi beside him and taped the picture of you on the side of his face.
He gave Megumi his bottle and to his surprise it actually worked, Megumi actually stopped crying and accepted the bottle, while staring at the picture of you, Toji smirked and watched his phone until you came home.
You just couldn't help but laugh at his story, "You just stayed like that for hours? Doesn't your back hurt?"
"It hurts like hell but I at least got him to shut up until you came home."
"Aw..seems like Megumi really missed me," you kiss megumi's face all over and he squeals.
"Hello? I missed you too you know, you kissin' the wrong person."
"Your right my apologies." You chuckle and kiss Toji
"Yeah right" He smirks, and sits up "Now I know what to do when he gets like that again."
They hold their son for the first time, headcanons
Sorry for any grammatical errors!!
WC: 552
------------
Zuko
Zuko rushes to your chambers after hearing you were in labor, apologizing for not being there on time and keeping quiet when he sees an infant swaddled in a blanket on your chest
The second he carried his son, who immediately blinked at him, this man froze. The fire lord, your husband who had fought off assassins, guards with his powerful fire bedding alongside the avatar, is completely undone by the seven pounds of the sleeping infant.
He notices everything, the softness of their hair, the crust of their fingers, the way the clothes is swaddled around him, the gentle breathing of the infant, he never realized he could no
He chuckled, whispering that your son had your lips with the most watery and soft smile, his voice cracking when the baby wrapped his fingers around his index finger
Zuko let out a few tears, remembering how he grew up with a father who looked at him like a disappointment, so carrying his own son, after all the trouble his life has been, breaks him down. He promises that he would never treat his son, the way his father treated him
He hands your son back to you and pecks your knuckles, forehead and your lips, and then the baby’s head, switching between the two of you like he can not decide who he loves more.
Watches the maids help your son latch on to your breast, covering it with his hand so the royal healers don’t intrude
“They’re going to be so loved” he murmurs “I promise”
Aang
For a monk who has been patient throughout his life, this moment has been heart wrecking to him. Ha paces outside the door for hours, Katara and Sokka having to calm him down and ease his nerves whenever Aang starts to fidget.
The moment he’s allowed, he rushes in and sees you holding the baby, stopping dead in the doorway, his hand over his mouth and his eyes having tears by the corner of his eyes.
Sits beside you and stares at you and your newborn son for a long time as Katara checks up on you. He keeps looking between you and the baby like he can’t process the fact that this is his reality
Pecks your forehead and thanks you so many times, that Katara and Sokka begged him to stop, he only stopped when you giggled and pecked his lips saying he needed to save his voice to speak to his son
When he finally holds him, he starts to talk softly to him, telling them about the world and bending, about appa and momo, about how beautiful you were. The baby just blinks up at him like aang and him have been talking for months
Your son came out with hair so Aang runs his fingers through it gently, letting the curls fall off his fingers “They’re so….perfect…you did so good…so good”
Holding his son is the most healing things he has ever experienced, after marrying you of course. But because he lost everything, his family and his community, his son ignited the fire that was once in him
Cries freely, doesn’t apologize for it, his tears fall onto the baby’s blanket and he laughs softly though them
“I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you”
--------
a short one since sophmore year is over, hopefully I finish haikyuu and I can start to write on haikyuu.
synopsis: inspired by the series, Old Enough? basically, in Japan, it's common practice to entrust a toddler an errand to perform all by themselves, such as fetching something from the store. sometimes, in a small village or closely knit neighborhood, all the shopkeepers and neighborhood residents are aware of when the toddler will be out and all work together to watch over them and guide them.
wc: 2.6k
“Are ya sure she has to do this today?”
“‘Tsumu, we’ve already done all the preparation. Let’s just let her try, hm?”
He grumbles, but moves to his assigned location at the dining table, where your daughter is already sitting, swinging her legs in anticipation of her favorite Omurice lunch.
You bring the plates of food over to the table and set one down at each of your seats. You give Atsumu a pointed look which he ignores. You clear your throat and give him a hard nudge.
“Ow,” he complains. He gives you one last pleading look which you leave unanswered.
He sighs and recites his scripted lines. “Oh honey, what about the ketchup drawings?” he asks you in monotone.
You tap a finger at your chin, looking up at the ceiling to feign deep thought. “Oh no! I think we ran out of ketchup!” You bring a palm up to cover your mouth, gaping open in dismay.
“No ketchup drawing? How can I possibly eat Omurice without the ketchup drawing?”
“Oh no,” you turn to your daughter. “We can’t have Omurice without ketchup can we?”
“No, we can’t!” your daughter exclaims.
“Well baby, do you think you can go to the store and get some ketchup for us? Just like how you do it when you go with Mommy.”
Her eyes sparkle with excitement at the prospect of going out. “Me?”
“Yep, Daddy and I are so busy, we can’t go. Can we rely on you?”
“Sure!” she chirps.
So a few short moments later, you and Atsumu have strapped her little purse on her torso, containing just enough coins to purchase a bottle of ketchup and a card with your phone number on it, just in case. Atsumu laces her shoes up and gives her a kiss on the cheek. You think you see his eyes misting over.
You speak up. “Just to the store we always go to, okay? Mommy’s counting on you!” This was supposed to have been Atsumu’s line, but you can tell that the dam is about to burst so you help him out.
“You’ll do great,” he chokes out. “I’ll see you when you come home with ketchup so Daddy can have his Omurice. Okay?”
She nods, enthusiastic and completely unaware of Atsumu’s turmoil. With that, she’s out the door and Atsumu barely waits one minute before he’s following, sticking to his own plan to trail her on her first errand.
~
The route has been prepped ahead of time. All the neighbors and the local store owners have been informed of your daughter’s first errand to ensure her success. In addition, all of Atsumu’s teammates, old and new, showed up to guide her along.
So as Atsumu trails behind her toddling figure, hiding comically behind fences and walls, there’s really no need for him to intervene.
She first passess the local cafe, where Bokuto, Hinata, and Sakusa sit at a table strategically located by the open window facing the sidewalk. As she walks by, she recognizes them instantly, straying from her path to the store. Bokuto sits her on his lap while Hinata listens to her babble and Sakusa buys her an apple juice. After a couple minutes of chatting, Sakusa gently pats her and asks, “so why are you out here by yourself?”
“Oh!” she clammors out of Bokuto’s arms, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to be out on a mission. “I’m going to the store to buy ketchup for Mommy and Daddy. They’re counting on me.”
Hinata nods profusely. “You better be off then!”
“You should finish your juice first, though. Adults don’t waste food,” Sakusa tells her.
She nods, happy to sip the remaining juice from the cup, then sets on her way afoot.
The trio at the cafe watch her go, shaking their heads when they notice their setter conspicuously following close behind.
~
Next is Onigiri Miya.
Well, technically, next was supposed to be the florist on the main street, but the little Miya had seen the street that Onigiri Miya is on and took the turn out of habit. But no matter – you and Atsumu had foreseen this, so a team is at the ready there too.
Suna sits at the counter seat closest to the door to keep watch. When he sees her rounding the corner, he signals Osamu who comes out from behind the counter to greet her at the door.
“Heya, baby,” picking up her easily when she runs into her Uncle’s arms.
“Hi Uncle ‘Samu! Hi Rin-chan!” She greets Suna over Osamu’s shoulder.
Suna grins, “hey stink.”
“‘M not stinky!”
Osamu carries her into the restaurant and deposits her on the counter seat next to Suna’s. He rounds back into the kitchen where he begins shaping a miniature version of her favorite onigiri. She kicks her feet, completely at ease in the restaurant and blissfully forgetful of her task at hand. When the plate is deposited in front of her, she chirps out a quick thank you before digging in.
After chatting Suna up for a bit, Osamu finally cuts in.
“So, what are ya doing out here all by yourself?”
“Dunno!” she giggles.
Suna coughs a bit, giving Osamu a look which Osamu returns pointedly.
“Soooo… you decided to have lunch here without your dad and mom?”
She ponders this for a bit, before lighting up. “Oh yeah! Mommy made Omurice but Daddy forgot to buy the ketchup so I’m here to get it.”
Osamu’s eyes widen comically. “All by yourself?”
She nods sagely. “‘M a big girl now. Mommy is countin’ on me.”
“Well, ya better get going then. Yer silly dad will be waitin’ for ya.”
She agrees, hopping her to her feet. The two follow her to the door to see her off, holding the door open for her walk through. She gets halfway back the way she came when she turns around and grins toothily at the two.
“Thanks for the onigiri, uncle! Love ya!”
Osamu smiles and waves her off. Behind him, Suna holds out his phone, pointing the camera at the little girl’s retreating back, making sure to focus on the suspicious figure donning sunglasses, a mask, and MSBY jackals baseball cap tailing her. He sends it to the group chat warning the next team to watch out for a stalker.
~
Your daughter finds her way back to the intersection on the main road. She needs to take a left to continue her route to the supermarket. As she stands at the crossroads, she frowns, not quite remembering where she needs to go. She takes a right.
There, she bumps into the legs of Kageyama and Hoshiumi who are stationed at the intersection.
“Sorry,” she starts, craning her neck to get a better look at her obstacles.
“No worries,” Kageyama says, taking a step back.
Hoshiumi then strikes up a conversation with Kageyama, reading out the practiced lines.
“Hey, we need to go to the supermarket right?”
Your daughter’s ears perk up at that.
“Yeah. It’s that – ” Kageyama points dramatically “– way.”
“Ohhhh, I see,” Hoshiumi puts a hand up to theatrically mimic covering his eyes from the sun and squints the way Kageyama is pointing.
Your daughter nods to herself at that and turns around to walk in the correct direction this time.
When she gets far enough away, Hoshiumi shows Kageyama the text in the group chat.
“Stalker?” Kageyama reads, scrunching his face. “Should we –”
“Nah,” Hoshiumi cuts him off and points at the stalker in question, going the same way the little girl just went.
“Ah.” Tobio understands, noticing the peek of dyed blond hair from under the baseball cap.
~
At last, she arrives at the grocery store. This is familiar ground, so she wanders into the store and meanders the aisles, getting distracted by the array of colors in the snack section. She’s running her hands along all the biscuit options, contemplating how she can fit all the items she wants in her two hands when she hears someone clear their throat from above her.
This time, it’s Aran who waves a gentle hello to her.
“Aran-kun!” she exclaims, forgetting about the snacks and running up to hug his legs.
He chuckles and pats her head.
“Hi there. Are ya looking for something in particular?”
Once again, she thinks. She’s sure there must be a reason she’s in the store but can’t quite remember.
“I think so?”
“Hm, okay. Wanna go shopping with me until you remember what yer looking for?”
“M’kay!”
She grabs Aran’s hand and swings them as he guides her to the aisle with the condiments. There, she inspects the colorful array of sauces, eyes sparkling. Aran pretends to look for his own items, hovering a hand over the ketchup bottles and waving his fingers in the general area until she remembers. Her eyes hone in on the red bottle and she remembers her poor father, still unable to eat his lunch without ketchup.
“Aran-kun! I’m here for ketchup!”
“‘That so? Well, here ya go, then.” He picks up the bottle of the brand he knows you use and plops it right into her hands.
“Not this one,” she shakes her head. “Mommy wants that one.”
She points at the bottle next to the one Aran grabbed. They’re identical.
Unbothered, Aran switches out the bottle in her hands with the one she wants. “Sorry ‘bout that. All good now?”
“Yep!”
“Ready to go check out, then?”
She nods. He continues to walk her to the registers. Once the lines are in sight, she lets go of his fingers and darts over to the nearest line. But not before bowing a polite thank you to Aran.
At the register, she greets the attendant watching him scan the bottle and showing her the total amount owed.
“That’ll be 200 yen.”
She reaches into her purse and pours out all the coins onto the counter, not entirely sure what she needs to offer. The cashier picks out a few coins and deposits the rest back into her coin purse, allowing her to tuck the coin purse back into her bag and zip the purse securely before asking if she wants a bag.
“Yes, please!”
With a plastic baggie in hand, she makes her way to the exit. Aran catches her before and tucks a small box of pocky into her bag, pushing a finger to his lips and winking at her. “Keep it a secret from yer mom. Get home safe!”
She mimics his gesture and nods. With one last bear hug to Aran’s legs, she’s off.
~
Outside the store, Kita waits for her. She spots his white hair easily. Of all her uncles (excluding Osamu, of course), Kita is her favorite. She runs over to him, bag swinging carelessly behind her. Kita catches her and gives her a little spin before setting her back on the ground.
“Hiya, Uncle Shin!”
“Hey there. What’cha got in there?” he asks, pointing at the bag.
“Ketchup! Daddy forgot to buy more and he can’t eat Omurice without it, so Mommy’s countin’ on me to get it.”
Kita rests a hand on her head. “That’s real impressive of ya, to come to the store to get it all by yourself.”
She glows in his praise, rare but genuine.
“Going home now, Uncle Shin.”
“Alright,” he responds. “I need something from that way, so I’ll walk ya part ways.”
She beams and follows Kita in the direction of your home.
“Uncle Shin?”
“Yeah, bug?”
“Can I eat my pocky? Aran-kun bought it for me.”
He crouches down to her eye level. “Can I have some?” he asks seriously.
“Yeah!”
“Then, alright. But let’s go sit down at that bench over there, okay? It’s rude to eat and walk.”
“Okay!”
So the two take a detour, sitting at the bench to watch the birds hobble by while sharing the box of strawberry pocky. A certain stalker watches in envy from behind the trees.
Once the box is depleted, Kita wipes her fingers down with some wet wipes he keeps in his pocket and tosses out the trash. They continue on their way, Kita sticking with her until they pass the confusing intersection (where Kageyama and Hoshiumi bow slightly at the sight of Kita) and the cafe (where the MSBY trio nod in acknowledgement).
When the house is only a couple more feet away, Kita once again crouches down. “Alright, I gotta go my own way from here. Do ya think ya can make it home all by yourself?”
“Yep, thanks Uncle Shin!”
“Sure. I’m proud of ya, bug.”
She squirms a bit, overwhelmed by the praise she gets from her favorite uncle. The ketchup bounces in its bag by her side as she skips all the way back home.
~
After fishing out her own key and unlocking the front door, Atsumu is there to greet her at the genkan, scoping her up and squeezing her tight, the ketchup bag forgotten on the floor.
“There’s my girl!”
“Daddy!” she laughs.
“Welcome home,” you greet, tummy warming at the sight of your two Miyas.
“Mommy!” she squirms in Atsumu’s arms signaling for him to let her down. He obliges and she picks up the plastic bag to wave in your face. “I got the ketchup! Now daddy can eat his lunch!”
“Wow, great job! And all by yourself!”
You usher her over to the table as she babbles about her day.
“Wow, sounds like you had a great day. Did you have fun?”
“Yep!”
Atsumu, who has since changed out of his stalker gear, slumps into his seat at the table, back to grumbling about his cold omurice and how it would’ve still been hot if he had quickly gone with his daughter to get it.
You throw him a bone by asking your daughter, “Did you miss Daddy on your trip?”
“What do you mean?”
You almost choke out a laugh; kids are ruthless sometimes.
“Why would I miss Daddy? He was there the whole time.”
Atsumu sputters. “What do ya mean? I was at home waiting for ya the whole time.”
“Daddy’s a liar,” she whispers in your ear. “I saw him, but he was wearin’ some weird clothes. Like covering his face.”
You break into a fit of giggles. “Your daddy’s really silly, isn’t he?”
Atsumu can hear everything. “Hey!”
“Daddy was following you because he was just a bit worried about you going by yourself. But he’s really proud of you. Right?”
Atsumu rounds the table to crouch besides your daughter’s seat. “Yeah. But you did so well. I’m so proud of ya.”
Her eyes light up at the praise. She throws her arms around his neck and wiggles in her seat a bit.
“Well, great job and since you got the ketchup for us, all your favorite uncles can now join us for lunch too.”
At that, each of today’s helpers emerge from the kitchen holding their own plates of Omurice, all undecorated. You figure it might be a good time to introduce her to Kageyama and Hoshiumi too, but she’s distracted by Kita and Osamu offering their omelets to her to decorate with the ketchup.
As she goes around the table and draws ketchup hearts and stars on each omelet, you wander over to Atsumu’s side whose eyes are getting watery again, watching her brag to each of them that the ketchup they’re about to eat is her ketchup.
“What’s wrong, ‘Tsumu?”
“Nothin,” he hastily swipes at his eyes. “‘M not crying.”
“I never said you were,” you say gently. You wind your arm around his waist and lean into him, rubbing circles into his back. His body closes around you instinctively.
“She’s just growing up so fast, ya know.”
“I know.”
“Soon, she won’t need me – us – anymore.”
“Aww, ‘Tsumu. Yeah, she’ll grow up but…”
He looks at you when you trail off.
You reach up to whisper in his ears. “We could always just make another one.”
⋆˚࿔ SYNOPSIS When your boyfriend is too chicken to break up with you, he sends his nerdy twin to do the dirty work. The leather jacket is a decent touch, but the personality is a dead giveaway. Instead of getting mad, you make him your personal tutor. As the lines between you blur, you realise you're falling for the man behind the glasses, leaving your ex to wonder exactly who is getting replaced.
⋆˚࿔ nerd!satoru x figure skating!reader
⋆˚࿔ cw: college au. idiots in love. academic stress. hurt/comfort. suggestive themes. smut. dry humping. oral sex. f!receiving. gagging. tags will be updated.
part 3 wc: 4377 series masterlist main masterlist
The air in the bedroom was completely still, but inside Satoru Gojo’s head, an entire universe was building itself. It was 3 AM. The glowing screen of his laptop cast a stark light over his face, reflecting in the glass of his lenses as he stared at a thread titled: “How to be a good boyfriend.”
He hadn't slept a single wink. The moment he had walked through his front door after leaving the ice rink, after hearing you say yes, after realizing that you were officially his girlfriend, his brain had instantly gone into overdrive. He was a genius. He could calculate the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle in his sleep.
But this? This was a completely different territory. He had spent the last four hours frantically taking notes, reading terrible relationship advice blogs and Reddit to figure out how to be the best boyfriend.
Every few minutes, the sheer reality of it would hit him all over again. He would abruptly slam his laptop shut, bury his face deep into his pillow, and let out a muffled, high-pitched scream of pure glee, kicking his legs like a chaotic teenager. You were his. He actually got the girl. And he was extremely terrified of ruining it.
The immediate result of Satoru’s overnight research became apparent the very next morning.
"Okay, I’m going to go. My class is starting," you called out, sitting on the small bench by his apartment door as you slipped on your sneakers.
Inside the bathroom, the loud hiss of the shower suddenly cut off with a violent, screeching snap of the handle. A second later, the bathroom door flew open, and a desperate shout echoed through the apartment: "WAIT!"
You blinked, freezing with one foot half-in your shoe as Satoru came skidding around the corner. He stopped in front of you, breathing heavily as if he had just sprinted a marathon across campus rather than a hallway.
He was completely soaked. Drops of warm water and shampoo were clinging to his white hair, tracing lines down the sharp, pale planes of his collarbones and sliding down his broad, bare chest. He had nothing on but a single white towel hitched dangerously low around his waist, and his cheeks were flushed a bright pink.
"What's wrong?" you asked, your eyes widening at the sudden franticness. "Did something happen?"
Satoru just stared at you, his blue eyes wide and intensely focused, before his gaze flicked down to the door. With an air of absolute seriousness, he stepped past you, reached out, and gripped the handle.
He swung the door open for you with a dramatic flourish, standing tall and proud even though he was actively dripping water onto his own wooden floor. According to Blog Post #7 Chivalry Isn't Dead, a boyfriend should never let their significant other open a door in their presence.
"Okay," Satoru panted, a smug grin spreading across his damp face as he looked down at you. "Have a good class, sweetheart."
You let out a stunned laugh, looking from his proud expression down to the puddle forming at his bare feet. Before you could even tease him about his dramaticness, Satoru leaned down. His bangs brushed softly against your forehead as he caught your lips in a quick, lingering goodbye kiss. His large hand resting gently on the small of your back for just a second, leaving a patch of intense warmth through your clothes, before he pulled back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Go on," he murmured, shooing you out playfully. "Don't be late. I'll be waiting right here."
The best boyfriend behavior didn't stop there. The next afternoon, the two of you were tucked away in a quiet corner of the student lounge. You were casually rambling about your favorite foods, completely relaxed as you described a specific restaurant you loved, when you noticed his fingers moving at an unnaturally high speed.
Satoru was staring intently at his phone, his thumb flying across the screen with a hyper-focused expression that usually meant he was solving a problem.
Curious, you leaned over his shoulder, your chin practically resting on his collarbone as you peeked at his screen. Satoru didn't even try to hide it. Opened on his screen was a meticulously organized table in his notes app, complete with bolded headers and neat bullet points.
MY GIRLFRIEND, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE
LIKES: vanilla mocha, spicy food, QUESADILLAS
DISLIKES: running, loud chewing, losing at board games
NOTES: Bites the left side of her lip when she’s deeply focused, blushes a lot
You stared at the screen, your face instantly flushing a violent crimson. "Satoru... what on earth is that?"
He didn't look up, his thumb casually tapping in another note. "Hm? Oh, it’s just data collection. I’m documenting your preferences in case my memory retention drops.
"You are insane," you whispered, burying your burning face into his shoulder, though your heart was hammering against your ribs at how incredibly attentive he was.
You were sitting on the wooden bench of the locker room, utterly exhausted after a grueling three-hour group skating session with your coach. Your muscles ached, and you were lazily tying your hair up into a messy bun when the locker room door swung open.
Shoko walked in, her expression completely deadpan as she carried a massive, surprisingly heavy brown paper bag. With a heavy sigh, she dropped it right onto your lap.
"What's this?" you asked, blinking down at the oversized bag.
Shoko rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful, leaning her back against the lockers as she crossed her arms. "There is a giant, white-haired menace standing right outside the locker room. He intercepted me on my way in and practically shoved that into my arms, claiming his ‘student’ required immediate glucose replenishment before her cognitive functions collapsed."
A helpless, bubbly laugh cut through your chest as you pulled the bag open, the sweet scent of freshly baked pastries instantly filling the air. Tucked neatly between two boxes of gourmet tarts was a small, torn piece of paper.
In Satoru's elegant handwriting, it read:
“Eat up, beautiful. I got you the best flavoured ones
P.S. You looked incredible today. I was watching from the upper deck. Don't tell your coach.”
"Anddd," Shoko added, her voice dropping into an amused drawl, "he is currently getting absolutely reamed by the athletic director for being inside the facility during private team hours."
Your heart stopped. "HUH?" you gasped, your head snapping up. "What do you mean he's getting yelled at? Why are you just standing here letting him get in trouble?"
"Hey, now," Shoko said, raising her hands defensively with a lazy smirk. "I'm just practicing my medical skills, the coach knows I belong here. He, on the other hand, looks like a lost kid trying to blend into a rink. Go save your boy."
You didn't even finish tying your sneakers. You practically sprinted out of the locker room, pushing through the double doors that led out to the main lobby.
Sure enough, standing right outside the heavy glass doors of the rink was Satoru. He was currently being lectured by a stern, red-faced director who was gesturing wildly toward the 'No Unauthorized Personnel' sign.
Satoru, who usually held himself with a terrifyingly smug arrogance, looked completely pathetic. He had his hands jammed deep into his pockets, his shoulders slumped, and his bottom lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout. He looked exactly like a dramatic cat that had been locked out of the house in the rain.
The moment his blue eyes caught sight of you through the glass, his entire face lit up. Not caring that he was being yelled at anymore, he gave you a small wave, his lips forming a silent 'Help me' that made your heart completely melt.
You needed to do some deep-dive research for an advanced physics project, and Satoru, eager to flex his academic power, had smuggled you into the university library's Restricted Archives, a locked area at the very back of the library reserved strictly for research assistants and professors.
The atmosphere was quiet and smelled of old leather and dust. You were standing between two tall, towering rows of antique wooden shelves, carefully flipping through a rare manuscript, while Satoru stood close behind you, his chin resting lazily on the top of your head as he turned the pages for you.
Suddenly, the heavy click of the archive's main electronic door echoed through the silent room.
The slow and distinct footsteps began to echo down the concrete aisle. If you were caught in here without a clearance pass, Satoru would instantly lose his research privileges.
Before you could even panic, Satoru’s survival instincts kicked in. His hand shot out, wrapping securely around your waist and with a single, effortless lift, he yanked you backward into a tiny, narrow broom closet tucked into the dark corner of the aisle.
The slatted wooden door clicked shut just as someone passed the row.
The closet was incredibly small, completely trapping the two of you in a pitch-black darkness. There was absolutely no space to move. Your front was pressed entirely flush against Satoru’s broad chest, your knees tangled between his long legs. The scent of him, that intoxicating mix of expensive cologne and the faint, sweet trace of the pastries he always ate, instantly enveloped you, making your head spin.
The footsteps outside slowed down, stopping right in front of the closet door.
In the agonizing, heavy silence, you could feel everything. Because you were pinned so tightly against his chest, you could feel the rapid, frantic thumping of Satoru’s heart hammering violently against his ribs. It was wild and chaotic, his chest heaving slightly against yours.
Slowly, his large, warm hand traveled up from your waist, his long fingers gently cupping your jaw. His thumb began to smooth over your cheekbone in a slow, rhythmic stroke. Even in the dim light filtering through the door slats, you could see his blue eyes. His glasses had slipped down his nose and he was staring down at you with an intensity that looked like he was in a complete trance, utterly consumed by your closeness.
He leaned his forehead down, resting it gently against yours, his breath hot and shallow against your lips as he whispered in a low murmur that sent a violent shiver down your spine,
"If they catch us...this is so worth losing my assistant privileges."
The bass thumping through the floorboards of Toji’s house was a heavy vibration that rattled straight through your brain. The air inside was a suffocating mixture of cheap vodka, cologne and the humid body heat of a hundred students crammed into a single living room.
Shoko had practically dragged you out of your dorm by your wrists. She was entirely burned out from her grueling medical school assignments, her eyes carrying dark circles that even a full night’s sleep wouldn't fix.
“If I look at one more anatomy chart, I’m going to lose my mind,” she had deadpanned, tossing a pair of shoes at your feet. You hadn't fought her on it. You were drowning in your own stress from the upcoming figure skating finals, and the thought of hiding in a loud, dark crowd where no one was looking at you sounded like paradise.
Of course, the one person you actually wanted by your side was not here.
Hanging out near the kitchen counter, you held a red plastic cup filled with something sweet and carbonated, watching Shoko lazily chat with Suguru Geto. Your thumb hovered over your phone screen, the bright light illuminating your face in the dimly lit corner.
Satoru: Rescue me, please, I'm dying 😭
You: Are you having fun?
Satoru: I am sitting in a room with men who smell like old chalk, listening to a professor explain gravity like it’s a new concept. My brain is physically melting. Are you having fun?
You: Just arrived lol.
Satoru: Have fun. But not too much fun.
You swallowed a giggle, a small smile tucking at the corners of your lips as you locked the screen. Even stuck in a grueling two-hour physics seminar, he was a dramatic menace.
"Who're you smiling at?" Shoko's voice cut through your thoughts. She was leaning against the counter, a cigarette between her lips as she raised an eyebrow at you.
"Nobody," you lied quickly, clearing your throat. "Just a spam text."
Suguru let out a low, knowing chuckle from behind his cup, his eyes danced with silent amusement. "Right. Spam. Well, the music's getting better. Let's move before the wrestling team takes over the floor."
For the next hour, you let yourself get lost in the rhythm. The three of you moved onto the crowded dance floor, laughing and joking around. It was loud and exactly what you needed to wash the taste of ice rinks and strict training schedules out of your mouth.
But the bubble popped the moment you stepped away to refill your drink.
Leaving Shoko and Suguru laughing under the strobe lights, you wove through the sticky, sweating crowd back toward the kitchen. You had just raised the ladle to pour more juice into your cup when a sudden shift in the crowd caught your attention. A tall, broad shoulder cut aggressively through the students, heading straight for you.
Your breath caught. Your heart dropped like a stone into your stomach.
It was Toru.
He stopped right in front of you, his eyes wide in absolute, genuine shock. He looked unkempt, his jacket slightly rumpled, his jaw tense. For a second, he just stared at you, his chest heaving as if he couldn't believe you were actually standing there.
"Uh... hi," Toru stammered, his voice thick. Before you could even open your mouth to respond, his fingers clamped tightly around your wrist. "Can we talk? Please."
"Toru…"
He didn't listen. With a rough, desperate tug, he dragged you out of the crowded kitchen, pulling you down a narrow, dimly lit hallway near the back of the house where the music was muffled.
Since the breakup, Toru had been entirely miserable, or rather, his massive ego had been. He had just gotten back from his trip, and according to the campus gossip, he had been fully expecting you to be a sobbing mess. He had expected you to beg for his forgiveness, to text him a million times while he was gone. But you hadn't even sent a goodbye, let alone check his social media.
Now, realizing he was losing his grip on you, he tried to turn on the old charm. His expression softened into a practiced pout as he stepped closer, his hands reaching out to touch your arms.
"Baby... I'm so sorry," Toru murmured, his voice dropping into a breathless, desperate pitch. "The whole thing... it was a mistake. I miss you so much. I swear I was just in a really bad headspace. Let's just go back to my place, okay? Let's fix this."
You stared at him, your eyebrows furrowing in absolute disbelief. What kind of logic was that? The sheer audacity of his words made you want to laugh out loud.
"What is wrong with you, Toru?" you snapped, tearing your arms away from his touch. Your voice was icy, cutting right through his gentle act. "Are you even hearing yourself right now? Is a bad headspace really your excuse? We are done. Get out of my face."
You turned on your heel, ready to walk back to Shoko, but the sweet, apologetic ex-boyfriend facade shattered in an instant, replaced by a bitter sneer as his ego snapped.
"You think you're something special now, don't you?" Toru called out loudly after you, his voice dripping with venom as you walked further down the hall. "You need me, baby! Are you sure you can even do this yourself? You're going to choke at the finals!"
You expected to feel a sting, or perhaps a tear prick at the back of your eyes. But as you kept walking forward, your chest felt incredibly light. His words didn't affect you a single bit. You had completely, entirely moved on. Toru was nothing but a ghost from a past life and his desperation was almost pathetic.
Feeling a little suffocated by the encounter, you decided to head upstairs to find a quiet bathroom, wanting to splash some cold water on your face to wash away the annoyance.
The second floor of the house was quiet, the hallway lined with bedrooms. You were walking toward the light at the end of the hall when a door suddenly flew open. Before you could even register the movement, a strong hand clamped securely around your waist.
With a breathless gasp, you were yanked directly into a dimly lit bedroom.
The door slammed shut behind you, and you almost screamed, your hands flying up to push against the person, until your eyes adjusted to the shadows.
Standing over you was Satoru.
Your jaw dropped. He was dressed in an elegant, tailored black suit and a tie, his crisp white collar framing his jaw perfectly. His glasses were pushed slightly down his nose, allowing those striking blue eyes to peer down at you. A soft, breathless smile played on his beautiful lips.
"Oh, my pretty girl," Satoru murmured, his voice a low tone that instantly melted the tension out of your spine. His gaze ran all over you, drinking in the sight of your dress and your flushed cheeks.
"Satoru!" you whispered-yelled, your hands gripping hands in utter bewilderment. "What are you doing here?! Don't you have your seminar right now?"
"How could I stay there," Satoru asked, his voice dripping with a deep warmth as he stepped closer, "knowing my girlfriend wanted me to go along with her? And then Suguru texts me a picture of you all... did you really think I could sit through a physics lecture after seeing you dressed like this?"
Before you could reply, Satoru gripped your waist and backed you up forcefully until your spine hit the heavy wooden door with a solid thud. He reached over your shoulder, his long fingers twisting the lock with a sharp click.
He completely towered over you, his massive frame shielding you from the rest of the world. He reached up, his warm hand cupping your jaw, his thumb smoothing over your lower lip before he leaned down and crushed his mouth to yours.
You melted against the wood instantly. A soft whimper escaped your throat as your fingers clawed into his suit collar, pulling him closer. Satoru groaned into the kiss, tilting your head back to deepen it, his tongue parting your lips with a desperate, hungry insistence. The taste of his intoxicating warmth flooded your senses.
As he pressed his body completely flush against yours, you could feel a hard, unmistakable bulge pressing directly against your thigh through his suit pants. You both rubbed against each other, your hips involuntarily shifting against his as the kiss turned wild and frantic.
Right at that exact moment, heavy, stumbling footsteps stopped directly outside the door.
Knock. Knock.
"Hey..." Toru’s voice muffled through the heavy wood, sounding thick and miserable. "Open the door... please. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that stuff down there. Just talk to me."
Inside the room, your heart was violently spiking. Your eyes flew wide, and you instinctively tried to pull back from the kiss, but Satoru didn't let you go. His blue eyes flashed with amusement as he heard his brother's voice.
Slowly, Satoru pulled his lips away from yours, his breathing ragged. He reached up to his neck, deftly unbuttoning his top collar button before sliding his tie off his neck in one smooth motion.
He folded the smooth silk tie neatly. "We have company outside, sweetheart," he whispered against your ear, "Try not to be too loud."
Before you could even ask any questions, he guided the fabric between your teeth, wrapping it securely behind your head and tying it tightly. Your gasp was completely choked back, reduced to a muffled, helpless whimper against the tight gag.
"Good girl," Satoru murmured.
Without a single drop of warning, the campus genius dropped straight to his knees on the floor, sliding his body between your legs. Your breath hitched behind the tie as his hands shakingly slid up your calves, tracing the lines of your legs up to your thighs. He bunched up the fabric of your dress, his fingers twitching as he shifted it completely out of the way.
"You're... you're so beautiful," he whimpered softly, a quiet noise of adoration escaping his throat as he stared at your exposed skin. He looked entirely overwhelmed. His fingers slipped under the edge of your panties, moving them completely to the side. He took a sharp, shaky breath, his eyes locking onto yours for one final, questioning second, before he buried his face directly into your core.
The moment his tongue hit your clit, any trace of his innocence was completely shattered into pure freakiness.
Your eyes widened instantly. Your legs buckled so hard you would have hit the floor if Satoru’s grip hadn't locked onto your thighs, holding you up.
He began to eat you out with a terrifying, wet intensity. His tongue swirled over your clit, sucking softly at first before pulling harder, his tongue moving up and down the length of your sensitive slit. The pleasure was so sharp, so overwhelming, that you had to press your back harder into the wooden door, gripping the doorknob behind you to keep the frame from rattling.
Satoru was completely losing his mind down there. He used his tongue to agonizingly trace tight, teasing circles around your aching clit, his own breath hitching as he whimpered again, completely intoxicated by your taste. And then, just as your hips bucked and you were a second away from shattering, he suddenly pulled back, his mouth dripping and his face completely flushed.
You gasped through the gag, looking down at him with an expression of pure, betrayed agony.
Satoru looked up at you through his messy white bangs, his lips parted, panting as a low whine left his throat. He looked so completely wrecked by how much he loved this, before he went right back in, licking up and down your wet slit with an even faster, deeper rhythm.
You bit down on the tie so hard your jaw ached. Fat, silent tears of unbearable pleasure began to roll down your flushed cheeks as your body lost all control. You bucked your hips helplessly into his face, your fingers tearing at his white hair as you tried to scream, every sound reduced to a choked, breathy whine behind the gag.
Outside the door, the knob rattled slightly. "Look, don't be like that," Toru knocked again, his voice sounding entirely clueless. "I was just joking about the finals. Are you crying in there? Just come out."
Inside, you were completely losing your mind. The thrill of his brother standing inches away while Satoru’s wet mouth destroyed you was too much. Satoru looked up at you through his long white lashes, watching your head roll back against the wood, your teeth biting down desperately on his tie.
A triumphant grin spread across his lips. He deliberately wrapped his fingers around your hips, anchoring you to his face, and sucked your clit harder than he ever had before.
That was the final push. A violent, shattering orgasm ripped through your body. Your legs completely lost their strength, but Satoru held you up firmly, his tongue continuing to greedily lick up the sweet mess you were making, riding out the waves of your orgasm until your thighs stopped shaking.
Even after you calmed down, Satoru stayed on his knees. He wrapped his long arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach, planting soft, worshiping kisses over your skin.
By the time he finally stood up, the hallway outside was dead silent.
Satoru reached behind your head, gently pulling the damp tie from your mouth. He tossed it onto the bed, then used the pads of his large thumbs to tenderly wipe the silent tears from your cheeks, his blue eyes overflowing with a quiet adoration.
Two weeks later, the campus rink was bathed in bright lighting.
Toru pushed through the heavy double doors, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He was walking down the stairs to the rink, but stopped dead in his tracks.
Out on the ice, you were just finishing your routine. You glided through a flawless routine, your body moving with an effortless grace that made his chest tighten with a familiar regret. He had been a fool to let you go.
Taking a deep breath, Toru adjusted his jacket, preparing to walk down to the ice to try and talk to you one last time. But just as he took his first step, you glided toward the boards on the far side of the arena.
Standing by the player's gate was a tall man.
Toru’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the figure. The man’s hands were shoved into his pockets, his hair strikingly white.
Satoru? Toru thought, his brain short-circuiting in absolute confusion. What is he doing here?
As Toru watched, completely frozen, you slid up to the boards. He saw as Satoru didn't hesitate before reaching his hand out to cup your flushed cheek, leaning over and tilting his head to press a soft, lingering kiss directly to your lips.
When he pulled away, you didn't look flustered or angry. Instead, you let out a bright, dazzling smile, the kind of soft smile you had never given Toru during your entire relationship.
He watched as Satoru’s fingers slid down from your cheek, wrapping gently around the back of your neck, his thumb caressing your skin as he looked down at you. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire universe.
Standing in the shadows of the lobby, Toru felt the last remnants of his ego completely shatter. He finally understood. You didn’t need him anymore, because you had the better Gojo already.
notes:
I got the pic from pinterest howver if someone knows the artist, could you please tell me?
divider credits: @sisterlucifergraphics
In which crazy gf!reader argues with Boyfriend!Sukuna on a bridge in broad daylight
“It was a fucking milkshake!” he roars.
“It was cheating!” you shriek. People look and point. You ignore them. “You paid for a girl’s milkshake! That means you want her milkshake! I see your infidelity. Real eyes realise real lies, asshole!”
Sukuna groans, face in hands. This day was going from bad to worse — waking up late because you turned his alarms off, getting a ticket when you leaned over to beep the horn at a police car, almost getting into a fist fight after you shoved him into a random man, and now?
Now, he’s stuck on a bridge because his vengeful girlfriend’s pissed he treated a classmate to a milkshake. Apparently, milkshakes are equivalent to head in your books. Suffice to say, he’s ready for the day to end.
And it’s not even 12pm yet.
“Jesus, you drive me fucking insane,” Sukuna grits out. His foot taps relentlessly against the cement, muscles in his face ticking, jaw flexing. “You’ve got a real skill for ruining my goddamn life, I swear to god, woman.”
“Oh? Well, if your life sucks so much, then make a new one without me!” you screech, arms flailing wildly. “In fact, lemme help you out by just, I don’t know, jumping off this goddamn bridge!”
“Yeah, please fucking do! I’ll join you!”
People passing by whisper: “Oh my god, they’re causing a scene,” “should we step in?”, and “are they actually going to jump?” Or some variations of those. Concerned, an old lady steps forward and offers, “My dear, if you need help, we’re here for you.”
You whirl around, throwing the death glare you had at them instead of your boyfriend. That isn’t enough for them to take the hint, it would seem. Taking a deep breath, you give Sukuna only a second to brace himself before you proceed to start…barking. Like a chihuaha. Yipping is probably more accurate. You bark and bark and bark until even more people stop to look. They flinch back, aghast. The old lady splutters, “What on Earth is wrong with you?”
“Fuck you, you old bat,” Sukuna snaps, angry for a new reason. “Never heard a woman bark before? Grow the fuck up and get the hell away from us — our foreplay’s none of your goddamn business.”
Blanching, they stumble back. Then, they march away from the train wreck of a couple making a scene on the bridge flustered and embarrassed. You watch them leave. “Ugh, people these days,” you scoff. “No manners.”
Sukuna grunts in agreement. “Weirdos.” He glances down at you. “Where were we?”
You hum in thought, then beam. “I was gonna jump off the bridge.”
“Oh, yeah.” Shaking tension back into his body, he moulds his face back into an angry scowl. “You can’t keep threatening to jump every time you don’t get your way!”
“Says who?” you yell.
Across the bridge, two policemen sigh and shake their heads at the people silently questioning if they’re going to do something. All they say is, “They’re here every week.”
Based off a couple I saw actually arguing on a bridge a couple days ago. Hope they’re doing well
