[starlostlaiba]

🪼⋆｡𖦹° 🫧 愛が必要なのか 一人でいる程

✧⁺𓏲 ☘️˚⤾·🎧 she/her ; 20 ; infp ✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍵✮˚

· satoru, katsuki, megumi, giyuu, yuno, chifuyu, zoro ·

· writing blog @lovinglylibelle ·

· not spoiler free ·

· free Palestine ·

· jjk, lads, skz, svt, kny, bc, mha, tokrev, op ·

雲の中の moon 光りない夜, 名前もない心, ah-ah 空を彷徨う ⁺ .˚🎐

[gyarujo]

❛ 𝗪𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗡’𝗧 𝗕𝗘 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦! 呪術廻戦

synopsis. satoru is sick and tired of pretending to be just friends

contents. sfw! hurt / comfort. best friend! gojo x fem! reader. no-curse au. second part of this fic. mutual pining. classic case of miscommunication. idiots in love. happy ending! they get together despite me wanting to leave this unresolved ࿐

satoru isn’t beside you when your eyes flutter open to see the slithers of sunlight filtering through your curtains. you think nothing of it because you know he’s halfway through making you breakfast.

( you’re a light sleeper — a fact he constantly teases you about — and you’d stirred when he’d slipped out from your sheets half an hour ago, the loss of his warmth a brief disturbance in your deep, alcohol-induced slumber. you’d gone back to sleep knowing you would meet him in the kitchen when you finally mustered up the strength to get out of bed. )

the air in your apartment is thick with the scent of melted butter, sweet batter, and the sharp, clean tang of citrus. you’re ravenous, to say the least. and you could kill for a stack of satoru’s perfect pancakes right now. or french toast. or even a regular jam and butter sandwich. he’s infuriatingly great at everything he does, and cooking is no exception.

a groan escapes your lips as your hangover makes itself known. it’s an insistent throb behind your eyes that threatens to blossom into a full-blown headache if not dealt with accordingly. and there, on your polished nightstand, arranged with precision are: a little sachet of ibuprofen, a fruit punch flavored foil packet of electrolyte powder, and a tall, sweating bottle of water.

( satoru always knows exactly what you need before you do. it’s like he has a sixth sense just for you )

you rip the electrolyte packet open, the crimson powder puffing up in a small cloud as you pour it into the water. it swirls and dissolves, turning the liquid into something that looks alarmingly like blood.

you take a long gulp regardless, letting the sugary liquid pool in your mouth before you drop the two pills in and swallow. you lean against the headboard for a moment, letting the medicine and the sugar work their magic whilst you take in the state of your room. it’s a disaster.

your bra and that stupid, overpriced dress are a heap of silk and lace by the foot of your bed, reminiscent of the date that ended in tears and satoru’s arms around you. you kick them aside, the fabric whispering against the wooden floorboards as you pad to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

you’re going through the motions on autopilot. up, down, up, down. minty froth covers your teeth and gums. it’s a welcome distraction from the lingering bitterness of last night’s champagne. you swirl with some mouthwash, alcohol burning your tongue, and then you’re finally ready, finally heading towards the kitchen.

( you’re not sure if you’re anticipating the breakfast satoru’s making or just the excuse to be near him again. it’s probably the latter. it’s always the latter )

the kitchen is quiet — too quiet — for a sunday morning. satoru’s usually humming to himself while he cooks. but no chords or melodic notes carry to your ears as you pad towards him.

he’s standing at the stove, his back to you. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even seem to register your presence despite the floorboards creaking as you approach him. the easy smile that was forming on your lips freezes, then slowly melts away.

“morning ‘toru,” you murmur, it sounds more like a hesitant question than a greeting.

he flips a pancake with a sharp flick of his wrist. it lands perfectly in the pan, a flawless golden circle. “hey,” he replies, his voice flat, devoid of its usual warmth. a single, clipped word. no ‘mornin’ sleeping beauty’, no teasing about your hangover. nothing. . .

a cold knot forms in your stomach, completely unrelated to your nausea. you lean against the kitchen island, suddenly feeling unsteady on your feet. “smells good,” you offer.

“pancakes,” he says, still not turning. he gestures with his spatula towards the bowl of fruit on the counter. you don’t want them. not really. you want him to turn around. to look at you with those ridiculously blue eyes, to crack a joke, to do anything normal. he’s too quiet

“‘toru,” you start, his name feeling foreign on your tongue. “are you okay ?”

he finally turns, and the sight of his face makes your breath hitch. his expression is unreadable. his eyes, usually so bright and full of light, are a dull blue. they don’t crinkle at the corners. they don’t hold any of their usual mischief. it feels like they’re looking right through you.

“i’m fine,” he says, a lie so blatant it’s insulting. “just tired. . . how did you sleep ?”

“okay,” you murmur, rubbing your arms, feeling suddenly exposed in just your t-shirt and shorts. “thanks for. . . picking me up again and taking care of me.”

“what are friends for ?” he hums, and the words shock you. it’s a phrase he’s never used before. he’d usually say : he’d do it all over again. and that someone has to save you from the assholes you seem to attract. he’d ruffle your hair and you’d squirm and play fight until his cheeks are flushed and your chest is heaving.

but today he just slides the ceramic bowl across the counter towards you without a word.

it’s a work of art. tangerine segments with all the bitter white pith carefully peeled away, crisp apple slices, glistening with a sheen of freshly squeezed lemon juice to prevent them from turning brown. ripe mango chunks, impossibly orange and sweet, and plump strawberries, all the green leaves meticulously plucked off. you can’t help but grin.

( he really does know you like the back of his hand )

your smile soon wavers because for once satoru’s not talking to you as he fries the pancakes. no prodding about the date, no gentle teasing about your terrible taste in men. you’re genuinely confused because he’s usually so loquacious in the mornings, a running commentary of bad jokes and complaints about the economical and political state of the world. but he seems to be so far away, lost in a world you can’t see

“these are perfect,” you murmur, popping a strawberry into your mouth. the saccharine juices explode on your tongue. “you’re the best ‘toru”

“i try,” he responds, his voice clipped. not ‘of course i am’. not ‘you’re lucky i love you so much, prepping your fruit is a pain in the ass.’ none of your usual banter.

( it’s like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world instead of being here in your kitchen. anywhere else in the world instead of here with you )

you’re thrown off kilter by it, the typical rhythm of your friendship is suddenly syncopated and strange. it’s like hearing a song you know by heart being played in a minor key.

he serves you a stack of perfect pancakes, golden brown and fluffy, their edges crisp. and immediately starts cleaning up. he’s scraping leftover batter into the sink, loading your dishwasher. washing his hands, drying them on a dishtowel. all the while his back is still to you.

he doesn’t set down a plate for himself. there’s nothing for himself today. he usually sits right beside you — his thigh brushing against yours, thumb smoothing a crumb from the corner of your mouth as he hangs on to your every word and you tell him about your date in detail — but today he seems hellbent on keeping his distance from you. on keeping his voice to himself.

( he never cleans up this quickly. never talks this little. never avoids your gaze as if you’re the last person on earth he wants to look at. why is he being so weird ??? )

“gotta head out,” he says, finally looking at you. “sorry. suguru and i are going to the gym.”

your fork freezes halfway to your mouth. you look so disappointed it almost kills him. he swears he can feel the chambers of his heart caving in because your lip is quivering and you look so confused. he has half a mind to sit down and kiss you until the crease in your brow disappears. to sit down and tell you how he feels. but he’s positive he doesn’t stand a chance. and it’s fucking killing him.

“it’s sunday,” you frown. he never goes to the gym on sundays. sundays are for pancakes and bad movies on the couch. sundays are for you. plus, he’d said he was tired. none of this is adding up.

“the grind never stops,” he shrugs. you’re in disbelief as he leans over and gives you a side hug, a brief, awkward press of bodies before he’s inching towards your front door. you’re still frozen, fork suspended in mid-air, a perfect pancake suddenly looking like cardboard in front of you.

“satoru,” you say again, and this time your voice cracks, the sound pathetic and thin in the suffocating silence of your apartment.

his hand freezes on the doorknob. you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body goes rigid. but he doesn’t turn around. he just stands there, a silhouette against the light filtering in from the hallway, a stranger in your home.

“i have to go,” he says, his voice strained. and then he’s gone. the door clicks shut behind him, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. you’re left alone in your kitchen, with a stack of perfect pancakes growing cold on your plate. the scent of melted butter and sweet batter, once so comforting, is now, suffocating. what. the. actual. fuck ???

the question echoes in your mind, in the silent kitchen, but there’s no one here to answer it. you slowly lower your fork, the clink of it against the ceramic plate unnaturally loud. your appetite is gone. the plate of pancakes sits untouched, golden-brown circles slowly turning cold, their edges losing their crispness. beside them, the bowl of fruit look like a still life painting. you push the dishes away. you can’t eat. the thought of putting any of that meticulously prepared food into your churning stomach is unbearable. because he’s not here to eat with you.

you stare at the door, half-expecting it to swing back open, for him to reappear with a sheepish grin and tell you he’s pranking you. for him to pull up a chair beside you and steal some of your pancakes. but the front door remains closed.

you wrap your arms around yourself, a futile attempt to hold yourself together. your mind is a chaotic mess, replaying the last twenty-four hours on a relentless loop. satoru’s arms around you at the restaurant, the low murmur of his voice in your ear as he helped you into bed, wiped off your makeup. the warmth of his body beside yours as you drifted off to sleep. you’d slept so deeply, so peacefully, nestled against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and reassuring against your ear. in your drunken haze, you’d dared to hope, just for a little while, that maybe this was it. maybe this was the turning point. maybe he’d feel the same way and you could finally be something more.

but now your hope has curdled into confusion, into a deep, gnawing ache. what had you done ? what had you said ? was it the dress ? the stupid, overpriced dress you’d worn for a date that ended in tears and a five-word text message to satoru ? was it the way you’d clung to him ? the way you’d cried ?

your brain spirals, searching for the mistake, the single misstep that triggered this sudden change in him. and the person you’d usually call to unravel this mess with you , the one person who could always make sense of the chaos in your head, is the very person creating it.

you don’t hear from him for the rest of sunday. the day passes in a blur of hollow silence. you don’t leave your apartment. you don’t even drift to shoko’s room. you try to read, but the words swim before your eyes. you tried to watch a movie on the couch, but the familiar dialogue sounds like a foreign language. you pick up your phone a dozen times, thumb hovering over his name, heart pounding with a mixture of desperation and dread.

what would you say ? ‘are you okay ?’ he’d already answered that, with a lie.

‘why did you leave ?’ you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

‘i miss you ‘toru’ ? that feels too vulnerable, too raw.

so you just stare at his name, and wait as the silence grows, filling every corner of your apartment until you can barely breathe. seeping into your bones until you feel like you’re made of nothing but emptiness.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

monday is humiliating. you wake up alone, again. your bed is cold unsurprisingly. the weak light filtering through your curtains does little to chase away the chill that’s beginning to settle deep into your bones. you lay there for a moment too long, your mind replaying the memories of saturday night and sunday morning.

sleepovers with satoru are nothing new. you’ve shared a little over a decade of tangled limbs, stolen tubs of häagen-dazs from the fridge at midnight and whispers in the dark until the moon gave way to the sun.

( you remember the tantrums you’d both throw when your parents dared to try and separate you, to take you back to your respective homes. your shared fits of rage always ended the same way: hastily packed overnight bags, staying up talking until your voices were hoarse and the sun was kissing your cheeks.

you’d spent countless nights falling asleep beside satoru, and you’ve spent countless mornings waking up beside him, his face soft and peaceful in the morning light.

the sleepovers evolved during those awkward teenage years, when your mom decided to waltz around the topic of puberty and drill it into both of you that you weren’t kids anymore and sharing beds was no longer an option. even then, he’d just migrate to your couch, long limbs comically cramped in the small space, his presence comforting despite him being in a completely different room. sleepovers with satoru are the norm, even though you hadn’t actually slept beside each other intentionally in years. )

saturday was reminiscent of simpler times. saturday, he’d actually slept in your bed. not out of necessity, not out of convenience, but because you’d asked him to.

you’d fallen asleep tangled up in the soft sheets, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse you to him.

and although your heartbeat was erratic and your breathing was heavy and shaky — because satoru is without a doubt the most attractive man on the planet, and the gentlest, and the weirdest and most annoying and an asshole too, everything all at once, and you’re still that girl with a crush on him despite him treating you like one of the guys — you’d slept like a baby.

in his arms, you’d dreamt of him being the one to take you out on a date, of him loving you the way you love him. and now, you’re laying in bed alone.

for the first time since he’d pushed you off the swings on the playground and you’d demanded a hello kitty bandaid for the scrape on your knee, satoru isn’t talking to you. and you don’t know why.

there’s a void where his voice used to be. and your brain is still searching for the mistake you’re certain you must’ve made.

did you say something in your sleep ? did you do something wrong ? you can’t think of anything.

you go about your day in a fog of confusion and hurt. you expect to see satoru on campus, expect him to fall into step beside you on the quad, to sling an arm around your shoulders, carry your ridiculously heavy tote bag on his own shoulder and complain about his eight a.m. physics lecture. but he doesn’t.

nor does he text you to ask how your international political relations class went.

( hell, he doesn’t seem to have any interest in relations with you at all. )

you finally see him at a little past noon. he’s sitting under a giant oak tree with your friends. laughing at something shoko’s saying, head thrown back, the sound carrying on the crisp air. and then his eyes sweep across your approaching figure on the lawn, and for a split second, they meet yours. then his smile vanishes, wiped clean away, as if it never existed.

despite the sinking feeling in your guy, you walk over, forcing cheerfulness into your voice as you greet your friends and plop down near him. he gives you a curt, almost imperceptible nod, then turns back to shoko, and continues his conversation without properly acknowledging you.

shoko raises a brow but doesn’t comment in fear of making things even more awkward. suguru avoids your gaze as he gives you an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. yeah, satoru is definitely avoiding you. like the plague.

usually, he’d flop over your lap, demanding you play with his hair, his eyes fixed on yours as you’d swipe his sunglasses off his nose and wear them. usually, he’d tell corny jokes until you were breathless with laughter. but now ? nothing. he doesn’t even lean towards you. doesn’t even look at you. you’re practically staring at him, brows furrowed as you try to figure him out. he’s not happy. he’s not sad. he just looks numb, hollow.

satoru doesn’t go off with you when the group splits off for your next classes. he trails after suguru. shoko comes with you, and the first thing she asks is if something happened with you and satoru. you can only say you don’t know as hot, tears threaten to slip down your cheeks and your throat closes up.

despite feeling like an absolute idiot for sitting by him. despite being humiliated by the way he’d blatantly ignored you, you try to get through the rest of the day. your heart feels like it’s splitting in two. satoru is such a core part of your day — your life — that having him flat out ignore you makes you feel physically ill.

you cross paths again after your last class. you’re heading to the cafe to grab a passion fruit refresher, and he’s coming from the opposite direction. your paths are set to intersect. your heart hammers against your ribs, a burst of hope.

maybe he’ll talk to you now. maybe he was just in a weird mood earlier. something with his parents ? his basketball coach ? but he doesn’t even look at you. he just smoothly veers away, leaving a wide, empty berth of space between you, and you’re left standing there, feeling like the world is ending.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

tuesday feels suffocating. you feel like you can barely breathe as you go about your day. this is the longest you’ve gone without speaking to satoru. even when you had petty fights over who got to be player one and whose turn it was to choose a game on the play station, you’d never ignored each other.

( okay, maybe once or twice you’d given him the silent treatment for a couple hours. but you’d never gone this long without making up. )

you want to fix this more than you’ve ever wanted anything. you’re willing to go out of your way to bridge the gap between you. you buy him a sticky sweet cinnamon roll and a perfect red velvet cupcake from the cafe that’s twenty minutes away from campus. the one that’s overpriced but has the best pastries. the one he loves and frequents often.

satoru’s a sucker for sweet treats. he always has been. he’s got the biggest sweet tooth ever. you know he won’t be able to ignore you when you’ve got so much as a jolly rancher in your palm. talk-less of two fresh pastries. you’re certain you’ll be best friends again as soon as he sees the crisp boxes.

thankfully, you still share locations with each other so it’s pretty easy to track him down. you find him in the engineering building’s computer lab, hunched over his laptop. you approach him cautiously, your hand trembling slightly as you hold out the pastries.

“peace offering?” you try, aiming for a light, airy tone.

he glances up, his eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second before darting back to his screen. “oh,” he says, his cadence a neutral tone that’s somehow worse than anger. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“i wanted to,” you say, your voice sounding smaller than you’d like. “i know you like these.”

“yeah, they’re my favorite,” he says, but he doesn’t make a move to take them. he just keeps typing, fingers flying across the keyboard. “i’m just in the middle of something right now. a project. it’s due soon.”

“oh,” you sound like a deflated balloon. “okay. well, i’ll just. . .leave them here.”

“thanks,” he says, his eyes still glued to the screen. “appreciate it.”

you stand there for a moment longer, before you turn and leave, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

by wednesday, the sad plasma coursing in your veins starts to bubble into searing rage. who does he think he is ? to just. . . erase you ? ignore you ? to discard years of friendship without a single explanation ? it’s condescending and inconsiderate and you’re so over it. you’re not a toy he can put back on the shelf when he gets bored of playing with it. you resolve to corner him and confront him after your history lecture, your patience worn thin to the point of nonexistence.

“satoru,” you say, your voice low and shaking with fury. “we need to talk.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and his eyes are ice cold. “i can’t talk now,” he says, his voice quiet. “i have to meet with suguru. we’re working on a presentation.”

“be so fucking for real suguru can wait, you two live together. . ” you shoot back, your fists clenched at your sides. “you’ve been ignoring me for three days, satoru. three whole days. you barely look at me, you won’t talk to me, you’re acting like i don’t even exist and i want to know why so don’t you dare stand there and give me another excuse.”

he sighs, a long, weary sound that seems to drain the last of the energy from his body. “it’s not an excuse,” he says, his voice rough. “i really do have to go. i’m sorry.”

( he doesn’t deny any of your former accusations. and that infuriates you even more )

then he walks away, leaving you standing there, fury and melancholy warring for dominance in your chest. you want to scream. you want to cry. you want to throw something. you want to grab him by the collar of his stupid hoodie and shake him until he tells you what you did wrong. but he’s walking away too quickly for you to do anything but stand there and look stupid.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

thursday comes and goes, and you feel so pathetic that you decide to stop trying completely. you stop looking for satoru in crowds. you stop hoping he’ll sit down next to you and fix everything. you stop typing and deleting messages. you stop. and it hurts. it hurts so much more than anything you’ve ever experienced. it hurts more than being stood up. it hurts more than being led on. it hurts more than being cheated on. it hurts.

there’s a constant ache in your chest. your throat feels tight every time you you try to speak. you chase the comfort of sleep every night and it runs faster. you’re zoning out in your lectures. zoning out in conversations every time shoko asks if you’re okay, you force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

you haven’t lived a day without satoru since that fateful day on the playground. and now you’ve gone four days without him. you have no idea if you’ll survive another.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

friday nearly kills you. you have a two hour literature lecture with satoru, a huge class in a cavernous auditorium where you usually sit together, in the back row. where he usually slips you notes with ridiculous drawings and nudges you under the table. where you usually draw on his toned arm, little flowers and stars that he complains about but never washes off until they fade on their own.

today, he’s already there when you arrive, to your surprise he’s saved a seat for you like he always does. and a small flicker of hope sparks in you. it’s quenched and dies just as quickly. you realize he didn’t actually save a seat for you. it’s just empty coincidentally. you’re too embarrassed to find somewhere else to sit so you plop down beside him.

he doesn’t even seem to notice because there’s someone on his other side, a pretty girl with long, dark hair who’s laughing at something he’s saying. he’s smiling, and he’s leaning in, his body angled towards her, his attention completely captured by her. you can feel tears prickling the back of your eyes.

you blink them away furiously as you pull out your laptop. heart pounding with anticipation. but he doesn’t even acknowledge you. he doesn’t slip you a note. he doesn’t nudge you under the table. he just keeps talking to the girl on his right, his voice a low murmur that you can’t quite make out over the drone of the professor.

you want to hurl. you want to stand up and scream, to grab his arm and demand that he look at you, that he acknowledge your existence. but you just sit there, your hands clenched in your lap, your eyes fixed on the front of the lecture hall, blinking back tears.

he’s never spoken to this girl in his life. you’ve never even seen her before. and sure, he’s by far one of the most popular people on campus but he doesn’t make a habit of starting conversations with random girls.

( he’s always said he didn’t need any more girl friends because he had you. and you were more than enough for him. )

you resolve, right then and there, that you’ll speak to him on saturday. you can’t do this anymore. you can’t live like this anymore. you refuse to. partly, because you miss your best friend. partly, because this week has been the most miserable week of your life. but mostly because you love satoru too much to let him go.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

on saturday, you muster up the courage to go to his dorm, heart pounding against your ribs. you can’t do it anymore. the silence, the avoidance, the gaping hole in your heart where your best friend is supposed to be. 

( you don’t bother knocking because he’ll know it’s you. and you’re not sure he’ll let you in. you decide to make good use of the spare key he gave you last year for emergencies. because to you this feels like an emergency. )

you can hear the sound effects of a video game as soon as you step over the threshold. you pad towards the living room and find satoru and suguru on the couch, controllers in hand, eyes glued to the screen where sub-zero is brutally launching at kitana.

“you’re cooked” suguru grins as he mashes buttons with a ferocity that makes you smile for a second.

“in your dreams, emo” satoru drawls, a lazy smirk on his face as he leans back against the cushions. he looks so relaxed, so normal. because he hasn’t noticed your presence yet. the sight of him grinning sends a fresh wave of pain through you.

“satoru” you frown, he glances up as you stumble back, and his smirk vanishes, replaced by that same cold, expression you’ve been getting all week.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice flat, trying and failing to mask the shock racking his body.

“i’m here to talk to you . . . obviously.” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound strong. “i want you to tell me what i did to upset you.”

suguru’s hazel eyes dart between the two of you, taking in the tension, the way satoru’s whole body has gone rigid. the way your eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. he slowly sets his controller down on the coffee table. “okayyy,” he murmurs, standing up. “i don’t think i should be here for this conversation so i’m gonna go to my room and you two do your thing. . .”

“yeah, you should leave,” satoru snaps, at the exact same time you say, “you should probably leave sugu.”

suguru raises his hands in mock surrender, “relax i’m going,” he mutters, and practically bolts into his bedroom, shutting the door with a soft click that echoes in the silence.

“i gave you that key for emergencies” satoru murmurs, picking up the remote beside him and turning the tv off.

( you can’t believe him. is that all he has to say? after nearly a week of radio silence . . . he’s seething over a stupid tiny silver key ? )

“you’ve been ignoring me for five days, satoru,” you start. “five whole days. you won’t look at me, you won’t talk to me, you’ve been acting like i don’t even exist. so don’t you dare sit there and make me feel crazy for coming here and trying to fix things. instead of telling me what i did and how i can fix this.”

he finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the ice in his eyes cracks, just a little. thawed by something raw and vulnerable and so full of pain it makes your own chest ache.

“you didn’t do anything. it’s not you,” he sighs “it’s me.” you want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he’s red, blue, and purple in the face.

“don’t give me that cliche bullshit,” you shoot back, taking a step closer to him “don’t do that. talk to me properly. we’ve always talked about things properly.”

( the statement sounds less true as each word drips off your tongue. because you’ve talked about everything under the sun with the sole of exception of the thing that matters most: your feelings for each other )

“maybe i don’t want to talk anymore,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

“yes, you do,” you mumble through gritted teeth, taking another step closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “you’re the most talkative person i know. you can’t go five minutes without telling me some ridiculous joke. so please, satoru. just talk to me.”

he looks up at you, blue eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to break. you think he’s finally going to end this stalemate. he opens his mouth, then closes it again. he shakes his head subsequently.

“i can’t,” he whispers, and the words are so full of pain they break your heart all over again. “i just. . . can’t.”

“why?” you query, your voice barely a whisper.

he looks away, his gaze fixed on a point just over your shoulder. “because if i start talking,” he shudders, “we can’t be friends anymore”

“you’re my best friend, okay?” you choke out, the words torn from your throat. “i don’t know what i did, but i know that you’re the most important person in my life and the last few days have been killing me— ”

“i don’t want to be your fucking friend,” he cuts you off, his voice is ragged, sapphire eyes glinting like coal in a fireplace, burning with a scorching intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

the words hang in the air between you. unraveling everything you’ve ever known. it feels like the world is tilting on its axis. it feels like your friendship is shattering into a million irreparable pieces. you can only stare, your mind a blank, static, the tears on your cheeks are frozen in time.

“what. . ?” you breathe, “you don’t . . what?”

“i don’t want to be your friend because i want to be more than that” he repeats, his voice cracking. “i’ve wanted to be with you since the day i pushed you off the swings. since the day we met on the first day of elementary school and you wouldn’t stop talking about your brother’s obsession with digimon and pokemon. i’ve been in love with you for over a decade, and i’m so fucking tired of pretending i’m not.”

‘since the day i pushed you off the swings.’

‘since the first day of elementary school.’

‘over a decade.’

the phrases echo in your mind and you finally, finally understand what he meant when he’d said he was tired on sunday. he was never angry at you. he was never trying to hurt you. he was just trying to preserve your friendship. all your memories suddenly take on new meanings. all those times he’d linger after holding your hand, all those inside jokes, all those moments when you’d catch him looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. it wasn’t just friendship. it was never just friendship.

how did you not see it ? how could you have been so blind, so oblivious to something so obvious ?

you’d been so focused on your own feelings, so caught up in your own fears about what might happen if he knew how you felt, that you never even considered. . . never even allowed yourself to fully hope. . .

“i . . ” you don’t even know what to say “i didn’t know.”

you shake your head, trying to process the weight of his words. the years. the pain he must have felt watching you date other people, listening to you talk about your feelings while repressing his own.

“i didn’t know you felt the same way.” you whisper

his brow furrows as the words carry straight to his heart. he’d never believed in a world where he’d be this lucky. never believed in a universe where you’d love him the way he loves you.

but you do. you have. for years. you’ve buried it under layers of friendship and fear, convinced it was one-sided. convinced he was too good for you, too popular, and here he is, telling you he’s been in love with you since you were children.

“all this time, we could’ve been . . .”

you can’t finish the sentence. the possibilities flood your mind, overwhelming you. the wasted time, the missed opportunities, the years you could have had together. but then you look at him, really look at him, you see the hope dawning in his eyes. and you realize it doesn’t matter how long you’ve waited. what matters is what happens now. what you say today.

“i want to be with you too,” you say, the smile that breaks across his face is like the sun coming out from behind clouds after a grueling thunderstorm. a torrent of everything you’ve been feeling — everything you’ve been holding back for years — pours out of you.

“i’ve been looking for you in other guys,” your breath hitches. “that’s why my dates never work out. because there’s no one like you. i could go on a million dates and i’d think about you on every single one. i didn’t think you would ever see me that way. i was too scared to ask, i didn’t want to ruin our friendship. i didn’t want you to hate me. i didn’t want to lose you forever, and i felt like did. i’ve been dying all week, satoru. literally dying. because i thought i’d lost you, and i couldn’t . . . i can’t. . .”

you’re rambling, pouring your heart out to him, your words a jumbled, messy stream of consciousness, and then you start crying, really crying, your breath hitching in your chest, your vision blurring.

“shit, please don’t cry,” he frowns. “i hate seeing you sad. fuck, don’t . . you could never lose me” he’s cursing under his breath, running a hand through his ivory hair, blue eyes wide with a mixture of horror and regret. “i can’t believe you’re crying because of me. i’m such an idiot”

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his chest, crystal tears soaking through his shirt.

“did you expect me to be all giddy and happy when you were avoiding me all week ?” you mumble into his shirt.

“no, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he says, his voice muffled against your hair. “i should’ve never left you. i should’ve told you how i felt but i didn’t think you’d ever see me that way, okay ? i thought i’d be stuck in the friendzone forever and i couldn’t deal with it. i didn’t actually want to ignore you. it wasn’t fair to you in the slightest and it was honestly a dick move on my part. . . i got in my head and i was trying to force myself to move on, but i’ll never do something that stupid ever again.”

“you promise ?” you ask, your voice small.

“i pinky promise,” he murmurs, looping his pinky around yours.

you’re glaring at him through blurred vision and half-lidded eyes. you’re so beautiful. even when you’re sad and mad at him.

( he’s a goner. has been since you walked into class, clinging to your mom’s leg, wailing because you didn’t want her to leave. he’s been a goner since you were sitting three desks away from him, learning how to count up to a hundred. he’s been a goner since the first time you looked at him like this. right after you’d clambered to your feet and demanded he made amends before you snitched on him. he’ll fix everything. he’ll fix everything even if it kills him. )

“please stop crying,” he groans, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “i’m really fucking sorry and i’m really fucking stupid too . . . and i know that’s surprising ‘cause i’m the smartest person you know—”

“you’re actually the worst. you genuinely suck satoru. . .” you interject, shoving at his chest to release yourself from his cloying grip. you’re laughing in spite of the tears in your eyes.

“i know” he chuckles, somehow managing to hold you even tighter

“i hate you” you say, knowing you meant the opposite.

“i love you. romantically.” he murmurs. and you know he’s clarifying because you were the type of friends who said it casually. frequently. the type of friends who said it everyday without fail. “i don’t love you the way friends are supposed to. which checks out ‘cause i’ve been an awful friend recently,”

“recently, yeah,” you say, giving him a watery smile, and he swears he’s going to have a heart attack if you keep looking at him. “but you’re still the best friend i’ve ever had.”

“i’ll be the best boyfriend you’ll ever have if you’ll let me,” he says, eyes sparkling hopefully. “can i be your boyfriend ? will you give me a chance to make you the happiest alive ?”

“you’re such a cornball,” you say, laughing through your tears. he’s asking like you’re about to get married.

“is that a yes ?” he asks, cheeks tinged cherry blossom pink, heart thumping erratically in his chest. he’d understand if you said no. right now he doesn’t feel like he’s any better than the losers you used to go on dates with. but unlike them he’s willing to pay his dues tenfold. a hundredfold. a thousandfold. . .

“yes, i’ll go out with you,” you grin, and before you can process it he’s hugging you so tight you can barely breathe and spinning you around as your laughter echoes in the living room.

when he puts you down, he cups your face in his hands, thumbs gently wiping away the tear stains on your cheeks. “you’ve gotta tell me what to do to fix everything now” he murmurs. “i don’t have any hello kitty bandaids on me.”

“you still don’t have any ?” you gape, choosing to indulge in his cheesy bit. he’s never going to shut up about him pushing you off the swings or your demand for a cute bandaid. he’ll probably tell the story even when your skin is all wrinkled and your hair’s turning silver. and you’re very okay with that. you’re ecstatic actually. “think of something quick or i’ll tell on you.”

“y’know i’m a genius, i already know what to do” you arch a brow and grins, “i’ll kiss it better.”

( he’s been waiting his whole life to say that )

“you should’ve said that after you pushed me off the swings,” you sigh. “or when you broke my favorite monster high doll. or maybe every time you picked me up from a date . . . we would’ve gotten here sooner.”

“i should’ve just told you i wanted you from the start,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “i could’ve saved us a lot of time and heartbreak.”

satoru finally kisses you, and it tastes like strawberries, the salt from your tears, and the spearmint from the gum he’d been chewing while playing mortal kombat. his hands are everywhere—your waist, cupping your neck, caressing your cheek. your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer. it’s such a slow, sweet kiss, one that you’ve both craved forever. his lips are plush and soft, and he’s pulling you impossibly closer until you have to pull away, cursing the need for oxygen.

he’s looking at you, his cheeks rosy and flushed, blue eyes shining brighter than all the stars in the universe. “pinch me,” he says.

“what ?” you splutter, brows furrowed, head tilted as you blink at him

“pinch me,” he says again. “i’ve gotta make sure i’m not dreaming this time.”

you don’t know whether to laugh or melt. you do a mixture of both as you pinch him and he pretends to wince, “do you dream about me a lot then ?”

“all day, every day,” he quips. “you’re all i’ve ever dreamed of.”

“that’s so corny,” you say, but you’re smiling.

“oh that’s rich coming from you, little miss obsessed with rom coms,” he scoff. “if noah calhoun said that, you wouldn’t think so. you’d be geeking and saying you wish men like that existed. but last i checked i’m a man and i exist—”

“it wouldn’t be cringe because that’s the notebook,” you tut. “but y’know i think you’re quite like noah, actually. personality wise. i can see you hanging off a ferris wheel. and i’d definitely pants you.”

“of course you would” he shakes his head, “looks wise, i’m hotter than noah. wouldn’t you agree?”

“mmm, that’s pushing it,” you say, and he’s about to protest and pout and whine, but you cut him off with a kiss. it starts sweet and gentle before blossoming until you’re beneath him on the couch, his body pressed against yours, his kisses tickling you until you’re laughing so loud you can barely breathe.

“say i’m hotter than noah,” he murmurs against your skin.

“you’re hotter than noah,” you giggle. he loves you. he loves this. this is what he lives to do. make you laugh. he’s made you cry for the first and last time — okay maybe the third and last time if you count petty childhood escapades but he digresses— and he vows, right then and there, that he’ll die before he lets you cry because of him again.

he’s still hovering over you, forearms braced on either side of your head. but he’s not kissing you anymore, he’s just looking at you, and the look in his eyes is so soft, so tender, it makes your heart feel like it might just burst.

after over a decade of pining, of waiting for you to see him with bated breath, satoru can finally breathe easily. his longs are full of the air he’s denied himself of for so long. satoru could never live, never breathe, just be your friend. not really. as awful as it sounds it was a role he played, a costume he wore to stay close to you. but underneath it all, he was always yours. he’ll always be yours

people say the best things come to those who wait, and satoru has always been waiting. always been hoping. and now, looking at you, your eyes shining, your lips swollen from his kisses, he knows every moment of longing, every year of unspoken feelings, every day of carefully guarding his heart, was worth it.

© GYARUJO 2026. please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites. do not feed to ai

[mimimochis]

hubby!gojo's jealous you fell for someone else in tomadachi life✧ ｡

Summary: Satoru Gojo thought he was living the dream when he installed Tomadachi Life until the Mii he'd painstakingly modeled after his wife developed a crush on Nanami!

Content warning: sfw fluff, lowk crack fic, whiny!toru, yes i said bf!gojo but i changed my mind, im married to this man

Satoru Gojo had not meant to become obsessed with Tomodachi Life: Living the Dream.

That was the official story, anyway. According to him, it had started innocently enough. He had been curious because people online kept posting clips of their Miis doing all sorts of silly things, and he had thought it would be funny to recreate everyone he knew. It had been a harmless little distraction that he insisted would last a weekend at most. Then, somehow, a weekend had become two weeks, and two weeks had become him clutching his console at breakfast with the concentration of a man on a mission.

"Toru, you haven’t even checked your workphone yet and you’re already playing that game," you pointed out one morning before giggling at how serious he looked.

Satoru didn't even look up. "It's called commitment, sweetheart."

"You said that yesterday."

"And I meant it yesterday, too."

It wasn't the fact that he'd made himself that concerned you.

It wasn't even the fact that he'd recreated all of his students with alarming accuracy, spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to get Megumi's perpetually unimpressed expression just right. It wasn't the way he'd nearly cried laughing when he discovered how absurd cutscenes could become depending on who was involved. It wasn't the fact that he'd muttered, "Woahhh they call me ‘Your Majesty’ babe!" with the confidence of a man defending a doctoral thesis.

It was the way he'd made you.

He had approached your Mii creation with the seriousness of a sculptor commissioned to carve a masterpiece through the facepaint section

"No," he had said, frowning at the screen. "Your eyes aren't right."

"They look fine."

"They don't look as cute as you."

"You've been adjusting them for twenty minutes."

"They’re not cute enough, baby."

You had watched him restart over and over again after that.

He insisted the tiny digital version of you needed to be perfect. Every time he thought he'd gotten it right, he'd notice something tiny and start over again. You had eventually wandered away to make tea, only to return and find him still hunched over the console with narrowed eyes.

"You know I'm literally sitting right here, right?"

"You deserve accuracy babe."

"You make it sound like you're painting royalty."

"You are royalty."

After that, it should have ended there, but

It wasn't enough for the Miis to exist on the island. He wanted to see how everyone interacted. He checked friendships, he watched cutscenes, he read out the commentary like an overly enthusiastic sports announcer despite being the only one who cared about the outcomes.

Then he discovered relationship rankings.

"Oh?" Satoru blinked.

"What?"

He slowly turned the console around toward you.

"We're friends."

"...I would hope so."

"No, look." Your Mii and his Mii were listed as friends. Satoru stared and then his eyes widened.

"We can do better than that."

You snorted.

"You sound offended."

"I am offended."

Thus began his campaign.

He didn't call it a campaign, of course. He referred to it as "letting fate take its course," which would have sounded more convincing if he hadn't started checking their friendship status every few hours. You'd catch him lying across the couch with one arm thrown over his face, only for him to suddenly sit upright and grab the console with startling urgency.

"Good news."

"What happened?"

"We're Good Friends now."

"You look happier than when you got your paycheck, Toru."

"It means we're destined to fall in love!"

It escalated from there.

Whenever cutscenes involving your Mii and his Mii appeared, he watched with rapt attention, even when he’d already seen them. He narrated them under his breath. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he placed a hand dramatically over his chest like he'd just witnessed the greatest romance ever told.

You had never expected your husband, one of the strongest sorcerers alive, to become emotionally attached to tiny digital representations of people he already knew. Yet every night, he updated you on island developments with the same enthusiasm other people reserved for gossip from work.

Eventually, the inevitable happened.

Satoru gasped. "Oh my God!"

"What?"

"We're Ultra Friends."

You blinked.

"...Congratulations?"

"No, you don't understand."

"I think I understand exactly as much as I should."

"We're Ultra Friends."

He looked genuinely thrilled. Then he threw himself sideways across your lap.

"I think my mii is your mii’s favorite!"

"Well you’re my favorite in real life, so…."

"Yeah, but now it's official babe!" You laughed hard enough that your shoulders shook.

The betrayal arrived three days later, it was far too early in the morning.

He notices your friendship ranking changed overnight and got suspicious because how had he missed that? He'd checked the island before bed. He'd checked it while brushing his teeth. He'd checked it while waiting for instant noodles to cook. There was no way your Mii and Nanami's Mii had become Ultra Friends over his friendship without him noticing.

Then he keeps watching because, obviously, he needs answers.

And he tells himself he's not worried. Ultra Friends just meant they got along well. You were friendly in real life, and Nanami was a decent person even if he was annoyingly competent. There was nothing inherently romantic about being Ultra Friends. Satoru repeated that to himself three separate times while staring at the screen with the intensity of a detective investigating a murder.

Then the cutscene starts.

At first, it doesn't even register as dangerous.

Your Mii and Nanami's mii are talking like all his Miis do. Satoru relaxes slightly, slumping back against the couch cushions as he lets out a quiet breath through his nose. See? He knew he was overthinking it! Your Mii was just as much of a sweetie as-

Then your Mii pauses. Satoru straightens up.

"...Wait."

Your Mii’s cheeks streak pink as the background fades into a pastel hue. Satoru's entire body goes rigid. "No!" The realization hits him all at once. Your mii had fallen in love with Nanami!

Your mii.

The one he'd painstakingly edited multiple times because he wanted to get every detail right. The one he'd proudly shown you because, look, he'd even gotten your smile perfect. The one he'd watched become Ultra Friends with his own mii before cheering like his favorite team had won a championship.

Satoru stared at the screen in complete silence.

"...No."

Your mii admitted to falling in love with Nanami.

Then, with the horror of a man witnessing the collapse of civilization, he immediately shuts the game off. The click of the Switch powering down echoes through the apartment. You don't even have time to ask what happened before Satoru lets out a strangled noise and hurls the console across the length of the sofa.

Not hard enough to damage it, but hard enough to communicate his clear devastation.

The Switch bounces once against a cushion. Satoru turns toward you with an expression usually reserved for discovering a loved one has been replaced by an impostor.

"You fell in love with Nanami!"

"...What?"

"You fell in love with him."

The entire day becomes one long pity party after that. He follows you around the apartment and all day he asks increasingly absurd questions.

"Have you always liked responsible men?"

"Satoru." you chide.

"Did you ever think his tacky yellow tie looked nice?"

"Huh?"

"He probably has good credit or whatever that bullshit means."

"You are jealous of a video game, baby."

"I am ‘jealous’ of a homewrecker!” He curled up dramatically against your side on the couch. At one point, he actually mutters, "I knew I should've made him uglier."

Even after you reassure him over and over again that you are, in fact, married to him and not secretly harboring feelings for Kento Nanami, he still looks personally victimized by the entire ordeal. Eventually, much later that evening, curiosity gets the better of him.

"...Maybe I should check."

"You've been avoiding the game for six hours."

"Because I'm grieving."

"You threw it two feet away."

"It was symbolic."

He reaches for the Switch with the cautious energy of someone handling explosive material. He turns it back on and the cutscene resumes. Your Mii is still standing there with a crush on Nanami. Satoru makes another offended sound.

Then…he notices the options. "...Huh?"

You lean over his shoulder.

"What?"

Satoru reads the choices aloud.

One of them says:

You're imagining things.

Silence settled heavily over the living room.

He stared at it.

Then he pressed the button.

Your Mii paused on screen as if genuinely taking the advice into consideration. After a brief moment, she perked up almost immediately, admitting that maybe she had just been imagining things after all. Just like that, the crush vanished as though it had never existed in the first place. The problem that had consumed Satoru's entire day resolved itself with a single press of a button he could have chosen from the beginning.

Neither of you moved.

Satoru remained frozen on the couch with the Switch still clutched in both hands. You sat beside him, staring at the screen with an expression that slowly shifted from disbelief to something far more dangerous. The apartment was so quiet that the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen suddenly seemed deafening.

Very slowly, you turned to look at him.

"...You mean to tell me."

Satoru kept his eyes fixed firmly on the screen.

"You spent an entire day accusing me of emotional infidelity, you threw your Switch across the couch, you followed me around the apartment asking if I secretly preferred financially responsible men."

At some point during the interrogation, Satoru lowered the console into his lap. His shoulders gradually curled inward beneath the weight of every accusation, his earlier confidence shrinking into something considerably smaller. He looked less like the strongest sorcerer alive and more like a child caught drawing on the walls with permanent marker. After another long stretch of silence, he finally cleared his throat.

"...In my defense, baby-"

"You had a button."

"It was a very emotional situation!"

You stared at him for another beat before the first crack appeared in your composure. A laugh escaped despite your best efforts to hold it back, quickly snowballing into something impossible to suppress. The look on Satoru's face shifted immediately from sheepish embarrassment to outright offense. He wilted against the couch cushions as though your laughter itself had become a personal betrayal.

He dropped forward without warning, burying his face into your shoulder as if physical proximity might somehow protect him from the consequences of his own stupidity. His arms wrapped around your waist, dramatic as ever, though the grip itself carried a familiar sincerity beneath all the theatrics. When he spoke again, his words came out muffled against your shirt.

"I got scared, don't you understand, sweetheart?"

The confession lingered between you, unexpectedly earnest after hours of exaggerated sulking and ridiculous accusations. His fingers tightened slightly where they rested against your side before he let out a soft groan of embarrassment. "I know it wasn't actually you," he admitted quietly. "I know it was just a game and none of it meant anything, but... I don't know. It still felt weird seeing a version of you choose somebody else."

Your laughter softened almost instantly.

"You jealous idiot."

"I know."

"You really thought I'd leave you for Nanami."

"I didn't think you'd leave me."He pauses. "...I just didn't like seeing a version of you choose someone else." You wrap your arms around him at that. "Good thing the real me has good taste." Satoru brightens immediately in response. "You think I’m in good taste?" He beamed.

 "You had a meltdown over a Nintendo game because you love me. So I’d say you’re at most a sweetheart."

"It’s romantic." He retorted. “No baby, it’s insane!” You replied. Satoru grins against your shoulder before glancing back down at the screen. "...I'm still keeping an eye on Nanami." You immediately start laughing again.

And Satoru, despite having discovered there had literally been an "you're imagining things" option the entire time, narrows his eyes suspiciously at Nanami's tiny digital face anyway.

Because some grudges, apparently, transcended reality itself.

a/n: i know this is a shorter wordcount but my ass is exhausted from life and exams, whiny toru def cheering me up tho :b

also i've rlly liked tomadachi life, i got addicted rlly fast and im ngl it gets boring sometimes but most of the time its rlly fun!!

divider credits!! @dividers-are-us , @cursed-carmine

tagslist-@genosblackwife @whispersingojo @6x-x9 @megumisrighttoe @laisaj-21 @sissi4tete @tchmiya

[purrtoru]

husband!satoru gets a little too possessive of you on your beach vacation. . .

the beach had been your idea.

you wanted a relaxing day together— sunshine, fresh air, finally swimming in the cold ocean water. somehow, though, the moment you’d stepped out of the changing room wearing your bikini, the entire plan had fallen apart.

or rather, satoru had.

you barely make it to your spot on the sand you’ve been eyeing before he plants himself directly in front of your beach chair.

at first, you think nothing of it. he’s always clingy, always finding excuses to stay close. but after several minutes pass and he still hasn’t moved, you start narrowing your eyes.

“what are you doing?” you ask.

“hm?”

“why are you standing there?”

he shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “just hanging out.”

“well, hang out without blocking my view!”

“don’t wanna.”

you look at him expectantly, thinking he’ll finally move, but he just smiles innocently behind his sunglasses.

seems that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

every time you try adjusting your chair, he somehow adjusts his positioning too. every time you glance toward the water, his massive frame ends up between you and the rest of the beach.

it turns ridiculous enough that you finally sit up and cross your arms.

“okay. what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing’s wrong.”

“satoru.”

he lets out a dramatic sigh before lowering himself onto the edge of your beach chair. his arm immediately wraps around your waist, pulling you closer against his side.

“you look too good.”

you raise an eyebrow. “what..?”

“you heard me.”

his jaw tightens slightly as his gaze drifts away, and toward the crowded shoreline. there are people everywhere, couples, groups of friends. just doing completely normal beach activity.

satoru, however, looks threatened by all of it.

“i was excited to bring you here,” he admits. “thought it’d be nice.”

“and?”

“and then you walked out wearing that.”

you let out a laugh. “it’s just a bikini..?

“i know.”

“that’s what most women wear at beach, no?”

“mhm,” he pouts, and his expression remains the same.

normally, satoru loves showing you off. he’ll throw an arm around your shoulder in public, kiss your cheek randomly, introduce you as his wife every chance he gets. he’s never been subtle about how proud he is to have you.

apparently, though, this situation has created some kind of internal conflict.

because on one hand, he clearly wants everyone to know just how pretty his wife is. on the other hand, he seems seconds away from carrying you back inside the hotel and locking every door.

“you’re jealous of.. strangers?”

“’m not jealous.”

his arm tightens around your waist as another group of people walks by. none of them are paying attention to either of you, but satoru tracks them anyway before immediately shifting closer.

you can practically feel the possessiveness radiating off him.

“you know,” you say, smiling, “if you’re that bothered, maybe you stop staring.”

he looks at you like you’ve said something absurd.

“how am i supposed to stop staring?”

he reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“seriously…” his voice softens. “i can’t.”

the warmth of the sun, the sound of the waves, the distant chatter around you— it all fades into the background beneath the way he’s looking at you.

like you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

then his gaze flickers past you again, and his eyes narrow. “that guy looked over here.”

“toru!” you groan immediately. “you don’t even know if he was looking at me.”

before you can argue further, he stands up, grabs the beach umbrella beside your chair, and drags it several feet across the sand.

directly in front of you, and blocking your view of half the beach.

your mouth falls open. “okay. enough!”

“what?” he says innocently.

“move it.”

“nuh-uh.”

he squeezes back onto your chair, completely satisfied with himself as he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“now nobody can look.”

“seriously..?”

“as serious as can be,” he says, pulling you closer, then moving you onto his lap, “i feel way better.”

you bury your face in his shoulder to hide your giggles, and he takes the opportunity to press his lips against the top of your head.

after all, he still got exactly what he wants.

a beautiful beach, a sunny day..

and his wife all to himself.

wrote this after getting home from my beach trip >:) ugh i miss it already what is this unbearable heat rn..

[250318]

© pixevva | do not edit and/or crop logo

[thewindanditslover]

The soft sounds of metal scrapping paper and flipping pages fills the study room. You and Alhaitham sit across from each other at a table. Books, papers and pens scatter across the expanse of the table–the result from the all nighter the two of you were pulling. With exams piling up, the only way to fully get into studying was with each other of course–except in Alhaitham’s case, you tend to distract him from his books.

Alhaitham can’t exactly remember the day you suddenly turned his world around. Perhaps it was when you grabbed the same book he was looking at in the library and unwillingly gave it to him, or maybe it was when the ‘once in a lifetime library study time’ became a weekly thing–Alhaitham can’t remember. You’re harder to read than the thousands of words he indulges in everyday; harder to understand than any abstract algebra problem. How can he describe how your face makes his heart pound just a little bit harder–his blood rushing through its cycle quicker than before–without sounding strange.

He doesn’t mean to watch you, you’re just a bit… captivating? Must there be a gravitational pull around you where his eyes and body can’t help but turn towards you–there must be some scientific reasoning to why he’s so attracted to you. When he catches your eye from above the book he’s holding in front of him, a teasing look is on your face, and he can’t help but furrow his eyebrows and purse his lips–unwilling to lose ‘focus.’ There was zero chance that Alhaitham was so captivated by one of his peers. A single look from you causes him to lose his composure, the thing he’s been so good at since he was a child. How strange–how unlike him.

[mochaization]

𖦹 your daughter fought another kid at the daycare ⋮ a gojo fluff fic.

♯ guess who is back 👀 from this request, thank you dear anon for requesting this, hope you enjoy it! the fic didn't meet my expectation but i hope y'all still like it 😔 love you guys!

water dripped from the edge of Satoru's umbrella as he followed you through the daycare's front door, shoes squeaking slightly against the floor. the building was quieter now that most of the kids had gone home.

your daughter sat alone in one of the tiny tables near the window. her arms crossed and her face scrunched into a glare.

Satoru leaned down beside you. "She looks just like you," he murmured.

you ignored him with an eye roll.

the teacher spotted the both of you and gave a small, tired smile.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "There was a little incident during art time."

"Little?" you repeated, eyeing your daughter, who sank lower into her chair.

the teacher sighed softly. "Another student commented on her drawing and she reacted.. physically."

"Physically? Like what?" you asked.

the teacher blinked at you. "She pushed another student."

"Oh."

beside you, Satoru crouched beside her chair immediately, resting his chin against his hand. "Okay, sweetie," he started. "In your defense, was he annoying?"

your daughter nodded without hesitation. "Really annoying!"

the teacher sighed again before gesturing toward the table nearby. "It started because of her drawing."

both you and Satoru looked toward the table at the exact same time. the drawing in question sat crumpled there. it was.. definitely something.

Satoru tilted his head slightly. "Is that supposed to be a cat?"

your daughter gasped. "It IS a cat!"

"Ohh," he nodded slowly. "Okay, i see the vision now."

you snorted loudly beside him.

"He laughed at it," your daughter continued. "And then he crumpled it!"

Satoru looked down at the wrinkled paper on table. then back at her. "... that's actually kind of disrespectful," he admitted.

she nodded vigorously. "He said it didn't even look like a cat!"

"It does look like a cat, sweetheart."

"It does?"

"Mhm," he picked up the paper, studying it for a moment. "A weird one."

"Dad!"

"But still a cat," he grinned.

you looked between the two of them and sighed. "Satoru."

"Right, my bad," he set the drawing down before crouching in front of your daughter again. "You still can't push people, though."

her shoulders immediately slumped.

"But he ruined it," she said quietly.

for the first time, she sounded more upset than angry. kids cried over things adult would forget in minutes. broken toy, lost crayon, a drawing they'd spent all afternoon.. to them, those things were important.

and Satoru noticed too.

"I know," he said softly.

Satoru reached over and cupped her cheek for a moment. "But next time," he continued. "You tell the teacher first."

"What if they're still mean?"

"Then you come tell me and mom."

your daughter's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, the stubborn frown she'd been wearing started to disappear.

your daughter reached over and smoothed one of the crumpled corners of the drawing before clutching it against her chest.

"Can we frame this?" she looked up at him.

"Of course, sweetheart."

© mochaization 2026. DO NOT copy, reconstruct, reupload on any other platform, or feed my works to AI.

[kaisersbae]

satoru annoying his wife in the kitchen ୨ৎ

the kitchen smells like garlic, butter, and whatever expensive seasoning satoru bought last week because apparently “regular salt is boring.”

you’re standing at the stove stirring dinner while quietly regretting ever teaching your husband how to cook.

not because he’s bad at it, unfortunately, he’s annoyingly good.

but because now he treats the kitchen like his personal playground whenever you’re inside it.

“whatcha makin’?” satoru asks for the fourth time in ten minutes.

you don’t even turn around. “food.”

“woaah,” he gasps dramatically behind you. “really?”

you sigh. already, you can feel him hovering nearby.

he never just stands normally either. no. he leans against counters dramatically, stretches himself over your shoulder unnecessarily, or wraps himself around you like an oversized cat who thinks personal space is offensive.

today seems to be one of those days.

before you can react, long arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest.

“satoru,” you warn immediately.

“what?” he hums innocently against your shoulder.

“i’m cooking.”

“and?”

“and you’re attached to me.”

“exactly.”

you close your eyes briefly. this man.

“go sit down.”

“don’t wanna.”

of course he doesn’t.

he rests his chin on your shoulder now, white hair tickling your cheek while he watches the pan like he’s genuinely interested in what you’re doing.

“…yer stirring too aggressively.”

you stop mid-motion, then slowly turn your head toward him.

“i’m sorry?”

“mhm,” he nods seriously. “the vegetables are scared.”

you stare at him flatly, he grins immediately.

there it is.

that stupid grin that says he knows exactly how annoying he’s being.

“you’re unbearable,” you mutter, turning back toward the stove.

“but ya love me.”

and you can’t even argue against it. because you do, way too much honestly.

you try focusing again, ignoring the way his fingers lazily tap against your stomach while he sways both of you side to side slightly.

for exactly twelve seconds.

then, 

“baby.”

you sigh. “what.”

“kiss.”

“i’m cooking.”

“multitask.”

you snort despite yourself. instantly, he notices.

“there’s the laugh i wanted,” he says proudly.

you roll your eyes. “you’re acting like a child.”

“yeah, but i’m your child.”

“that is absolutely not romantic.”

“worked though.”

before you can respond, he suddenly steals the spoon from your hand.

“satoru-”

he takes a dramatic taste directly from it, humming thoughtfully like he’s judging a five-star restaurant.

“…needs more love.”

you blink.

“love?”

“mhm.”

“that’s not an ingredient.”

“sure it is.” he points the spoon toward you accusingly. “yer cooking while annoyed at me. the food can tell.”

you laugh again, quieter this time.

he’s impossible.

and somehow fully aware that making you laugh is exactly how he gets away with everything.

he beams the second he hears it, immediately tightening his arms around you.

“there it is.”

“you’re insane.”

“and yet ya married me anyway.”

fair.

you shake your head, reaching for the spoon again, but instead of giving it back immediately, he lifts it higher out of reach.

“satoru.”

“say please.”

you narrow your eyes. “i’m going to hit you with this pan.”

“violent. scary. terrifying even.”

“…satoru.”

he grins,  then finally hands it back only to immediately steal a kiss from your cheek while you’re distracted.

you let out an annoyed sound, but he just laughs softly against your skin.

“worth it.”

you swear he gets clingier the longer you’re married. not less.

because now he follows you everywhere around the apartment like he physically cannot handle being more than three feet away from you.

and the worst part?

you’re used to it now.

used to the random kisses, the constant touching and the dramatic whining whenever you don’t give him attention immediately.

“baby,” he says again suddenly.

you point the spoon toward him threateningly. “if you ask for another kiss while i’m holding hot oil, i’m divorcing you.”

he gasps loudly.

“wow. so this is what our marriage has become?”

“you caused this.”

“false,” he says immediately. “i’m adorable.”

you finally turn toward him fully, raising a brow.

“…adorable.”

“mhm.”

“…not annoying?”

“both can exist.”

you hate that he’s right.

satoru notices your expression immediately and lights up like he’s won something.

“you think i’m cute.”

“i think you should leave my kitchen.”

instead of listening, he pulls you closer again, large hands settling against your hips this time.

then, without warning-

he buries his face into your neck dramatically.

“missed you today,” he mumbles.

your expression softens instantly.

ah.

there it is, underneath all the teasing, he just wanted attention.

you sigh quietly, setting the spoon down before reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

immediately, he melts against you, completely.

“you saw me this morning,” you murmur.

“too long ago.”

“…you’re needy.”

“only for you.”

his voice is quieter now, warmer.

and suddenly the teasing husband act slips just enough for you to see the softer part underneath it.

the real part.

you smile despite yourself, scratching lightly against his scalp.

“okay,” you whisper. “you can stay.”

he lifts his head immediately, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“sick. what’re we making?”

a/n : first time writing for gojo 👀👀 yall is this mic on 👀👀. tysm for reading and other than that theres nothing more to add !!

𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 2026. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

[melzula]

Unexpected

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

warnings: mentions of nausea/illness, mentions of pregnancy, fluff

notes: this piece was requested by an anon and has been a long time coming! i think its detailed enough that new readers can enjoy without having read the rest of the series

summary: your sudden bout of illness leads to an overprotective dragon and an unexpected discovery for you and your husband

*part of the fire lilies series

It’s a tranquil day in the palace gardens as you sit beside the pond with Druk strewn lazily across your lap. The juvenile dragon has grown quickly in the time since hatching from his egg and becoming your husband’s companion, but he’s still small enough to get away with contently lounging alongside the Fire Lord’s beloved wife.

You and Zuko have just recently celebrated the one year anniversary of your marriage, and the past twelve months have been nothing short of exhilarating. In spite of your initial fears you’d quickly fallen into your role as Fire Lady with grace, assisting Zuko with his duties to the Fire Nation while continuing to ensure the growth and prosperity of the South as Chief. It isn’t always easy leading two nations at once, but your invigorating leadership and courageous heart allow you to face every challenge head on.

It’s your first day back at the palace after returning from a trip to Ember Island to celebrate your anniversary, and already you find yourself engrossed in your duties as Chief. With your inability to run the water bending school from the Fire Nation and Katara’s absence from the South traveling with Aang, Sokka has sent you a list of applicants so you may pick new instructors to guide the next generation of benders. Such an important task requires your full attention, so you’d requested to be left undisturbed unless another urgent matter arose. Your handmaiden Ara and Druk serve as your only company in the garden.

You’re only halfway through the first application when a sharp wave of discomfort washes over you. The fire lilies that line the garden suddenly smell more pungent than sweet, the scent spurring an instantaneous headache as you swallow down the saliva welling in your mouth. It’s as if some switch has been flipped within you, and you suddenly can’t stand to be in your favorite place of refuge any longer. You set the scroll aside with a labored sigh, piquing Druk’s interest as the sleeping dragon opens his eyes to gaze upon your shaken features.

“My lady, are you feeling alright?” Your handmaiden frets with an anxious frown, attempting to approach you only for her path to be blocked by your companion. She stumbles back with a startled gasp at the sudden change in the dragon’s demeanor, his teeth pulled back into a snarl and his piercing stare effectively keeping her in place. She doesn’t dare take another step forward, but Druk maintains his protective stance around you. He’s never acted in such a way before, but his behavior goes unnoticed in your current state of mind.

“I’m fine,” you assure her with a passive wave of your hand, but the pallidness of your face contradicts your statement and only spurs her sense of urgency forward.

“I’ll get the Fire Lord,” she insists, already darting back into the palace and towards the throne room before you have time to protest.

“Monkey feathers,” you groan when your stomach churns abruptly as if to protest the presence of the flowers. Your face feels unbearably warm, and you reluctantly realize your handmaiden was right to be concerned. You feel awful.

With Druk’s help you manage to make it onto your feet, the dragon slithering behind you so you may brace yourself against him in order to keep your balance. Your hand hovers over your mouth to block the smell and to keep the rising bile from falling past your lips, and you force yourself to swallow it down just as Zuko comes running out of the palace towards you. Acknowledging his master’s presence, the dragon does not attempt to block his approach as he had with your hand maid.

“Y/n!” He calls worriedly, immediately taking your face into his hands to examine you once he reaches you. Your flushed features and trembling lips alert him immediately of your discomfort, and he’s quick to scoop you off of your feet and into his arms without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m taking you back inside.”

“The applicant scrolls,” you whine pathetically, feebly reaching behind him with the little energy you have left. “I have to pick my candidates and send them to Sokka…”

“He’ll understand,” Zuko promises with a comforting smile, though his eyes give away his underlying disquietude at your sudden turn of health. You’d been perfectly fine during your stay at the beach house, and he couldn’t think of anything responsible for putting you in such a state.

Zuko reaches your bedroom in record time, and you allow him to gently tuck you under the sheets with the upmost care. You suddenly feel exhausted, and you struggle to stay awake as you watch him open the balcony doors to fill the room with fresh air. Your eyes flutter shut just as the bed dips beside you and his knuckles tenderly brush alongside your cheek. You can’t see the worry clearly etched upon his features, and for that he’s grateful. He doesn’t want to make the situation worse by frightening you, and all he wants is for you to feel better.

“Get some rest, my love,” he utters quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take care of everything.”

It isn’t long before you fall asleep, and after ensuring you’re as comfortable as you can be Zuko quietly rises from his place beside you in bed. He’s cleared his schedule for the remainder of the day to ensure you receive his full attention and support, and his only priority now is seeking the best care for your condition.

He tries to recall the events of your vacation to see if he can pinpoint the exact moment you’d caught whatever bug was plaguing you now. You’d arrived at the beach house for a romantic dinner, spent the next day lounging by the waves, attended a show put on by the Ember Island Players that poorly attempted to convey your love story, and enjoyed several romantic evenings in the privacy of your chambers. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to stand out to him, but Zuko is determined to get to the bottom of it.

You wake hours later feeling excruciatingly hungry and nauseous all at once. The dry heave of your chest spurs you to sit up in bed with panic, and you don’t even register Zuko’s presence beside you until you feel a comforting hand resting upon your back while a bucket is placed upon your lap. He carefully pulls the hair from your face as you expel the contents of your stomach with a groan, and he does his best to mask his discomfort so as to not make you feel any worse.

“You’re alright,” Zuko soothes gently as you finish, taking the bucket from your grasp and replacing it with a cup of water. “A servant should be here any minute with ginger tea to settle your stomach, but the water will have to do for now.”

You take languid sips of the liquid as your eyes drift towards the balcony. The sun hangs lower in the sky, bathing the palace in vibrant gold hues that reflect off of Druk’s scales. You only now become aware of his presence, his body draped along the marble railing and his watchful gaze meeting your surprised face. A low rumble leaves his chest before he shifts to face the horizon, earning a soft chuckle from Zuko.

“He hasn’t left that spot all day,” he tells you fondly as you set your now empty cup aside. “I heard he gave Ara quite the scare earlier.”

“He was being protective,” you explain in the dragon’s defense. “I think he sensed something was wrong before I did.”

“I’ve been racking my brain all day trying to figure out the cause of this but I can’t seem to think of anything. Do you have any idea what might have brought this illness on?”

“Maybe the seal jerky I packed for the voyage home went bad. I’ve seen it happen to Sokka before,” you recall with a grimace, the mere thought of your favorite snack immediately prompting your stomach to churn with disgust. You feel nauseous all over again, but you manage to keep it down for Zuko’s sake and your own.

“Well, whatever the cause may be, I’ve asked the palace’s most trusted medicinal advisor to come see you.”

“Zuko,” you protest with a frown only for him to silence you with a doting kiss to your forehead.

“I know you like to handle things on your own, and I know you don’t want to fall behind on your work as Chief, but I just want to make sure you’re okay for my own peace of mind. Will you please humor your poor husband?”

It’s hard to maintain your displeasure when he looks upon you with a tender smile and loving warmth shining in his golden irises, the same look he always wears every time his eyes meet your own. You sigh, allowing your head to fall forward in defeat and land upon his firm chest. His arms find their way around your figure immediately, and you savor the comfort of his warm touch.

“Alright,” you finally relent, a faint smile pulling upon your lips when he nuzzles his nose along the crown of your head in a show of his appreciation. “Only for you, my husband.”

After giving you time to freshen up and relax with a cup of ginger tea, you allow Zuko to escort the medicine woman into your chambers to examine you. You would have preferred a healer, but no one from the South could come on such short notice and a messenger hawk wouldn’t have reached Katara fast enough for Zuko’s liking. He’s promised to request her presence to the Fire Nation first thing tomorrow, but for now this will have to do if you wish to alleviate his worries.

“You’ve given everyone in the palace quite the scare today,” the elderly woman scolds lightheartedly as she approaches your bedside. “What is it you feel?”

“Exhausted,” you profess with a sigh, stiffening when she abruptly places her weathered hands upon your face and begins to examine you for any signs of discomfort. You raise a brow at her abrupt demeanor, and from the corner of your eyes you can see Zuko struggling to withhold his protest against her methods.

She hums thoughtfully, releasing her hold on you after deeming your physical appearance displays nothing out of the ordinary. “I could understand why you’d feel that way; balancing two nations isn’t for the faint of heart, but I don’t believe such troubles to be the cause of your ailments.”

“She’s also been feeling nauseous,” Zuko mentions fretfully. “I gave her ginger tea to settle her stomach, but I worry the relief will only be temporary.”

“It must be food poisoning,” you deduce passively, clearly not sharing your husband’s worry. “We’ve just recently returned from a trip to Ember Island, and I ate dishes I normally tend to avoid.”

“Dishes you normally avoid?” The woman repeats with a raised brow.

“Y/n’s always hated smoked sea slug, but on this trip she couldn’t seem to get enough of it,” the Fire Lord notes with furrowed brows as he attempts to recall your unusual food pallet. “She didn’t even want the sea prune stew I had the chefs make for our anniversary dinner.”

“It didn’t taste right,” you argue with a frown, your nose scrunching with disdain at the mere memory of the dish. Your stomach twists with nausea once more, prompting you to quickly reach for the cup of tea beside you. The old woman watches on in curious silence as she mulls over the information provided by you both.

“Have you found yourself to be particularly sensitive to tastes and smells? Even those you’ve never minded before?”

“Well, yes, actually… The fire lilies in the garden were unbearably pungent today. I believe it’s what triggered the nausea.”

“Nausea, aversions to preferred foods, sensitivity to smells,” the medicinal advisor lists pensively, spurring Zuko into immediate panic.

“Well? What is it?!” He demands uneasily only for the woman to raise a hand and effectively silence his panicked outburst.

“Pardon my asking, but how often do you tend to each other’s more physical needs?”

You nearly choke on your tea at her invasive line of questioning, and Zuko doesn’t seem to fair any better judging by the red that spreads across his face in response. Awkwardly clearing his throat, the Fire Lord uncomfortably grasps the back of his neck and refuses to meet her gaze as he answers honestly, “Very often…”

“Zuko!” You gasp only for the woman to laugh at your clear mortification.

“Why, you have nothing to worry about. The Fire Lady isn’t sick at all.”

“She’s not?” He sighs with genuine relief, already beginning to feel the tension dissipate from his body at the news.

“Of course not,” she says with a pleased smile, “she’s simply with child.”

You blanch at her proclamation, your eyes widening with disbelief and mouth hanging open in utter shock. All the color has drained from Zuko’s face, and neither of you dare speak a word as the news hangs silently in the air. You feel like you might throw up again just from your nerves alone, and you worry your husband is mere seconds away from collapsing to the ground.

“I have just the right herbs to provide you some relief from your symptoms. I’ll give you both a moment while I prepare the mixture.”

The medicinal advisor takes her leave, and suddenly it’s just the two of you alone in your chambers once more. You watch apprehensively as Zuko wordlessly sinks onto the bed beside you, his eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite decipher and his features frozen in shock. The silence begins to grow unbearable, so you take it upon yourself to speak first.

“I’m pregnant,” you breathe with finality as you come to terms with the truth.

“It’s why Druk was so protective,” he murmurs faintly, both of your gazes shifting towards the balcony where the dragon sleeps peacefully knowing you’re safe in Zuko’s care. “He knew.”

“We should have known. I mean, it’s not exactly a surprise considering how often we spend our evenings ‘tending to each other’s physical needs’,” you recount with a playful smile. A faint chuckle falls past his lips at your teasing, and you feel your heart skip a beat when he gently takes your hand in his own and intertwines your fingers together.

“We’re having a baby,” he states with quiet disbelief.

“Maybe even two if that fortunate teller in Ba Sing Se was telling the truth about us having twins all those years ago,” you point out with a reminiscent laugh. A moment passes before you carefully squeeze Zuko’s hand and shift in bed to meet his stare. Tone more serious now, you ask, “Are you okay with this?”

His brows furrow as if confused by your question before relaxing into a smile. Cradling your hand close to his chest, Zuko looks into your eyes with the upmost sincerity and care to ease your worries. “I’m more than okay. This is the best posible news I could have been given today.”

“You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he says with an elated laugh, eyes shining with blissful tears. “I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting this so soon into our marriage, but I couldn’t be more excited to begin raising a family with you, y/n.“

“I’m terrified,” you admit with a tearful laugh of your own as you throw your arms around him in a tight embrace, “but I can’t wait to begin this new journey together.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you comfortable and happy,” he avows in earnest before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you, Princess, and I’m so glad to have you by my side after all these years. I can’t think of a more perfect mother for our child, and I vow to be the best father I can be.”

“I love you, Zuko,” you coo affectionately as he leans down to press his lips against your own. You know how much this means to him, and there isn’t a single bone in your body that doubts his capability to be a loving father for your baby. You’ve dreamt of this moment for years, and it’s just as perfect as you always imagined it would be.

You have no idea what’s to come these next few months, but with Zuko by your side you know you’ll be taken care of. There’s much to work to be done in terms of preparing for the birth and announcing the arrival of a new heir to your people, but for now you allow yourself to enjoy your peaceful moment alone with your husband as you soak in the joy of your pregnancy.

You’re going to make wonderful parents, and the twins will know nothing but the unconditional love and joy from the moment they’re born.

~~~

fire lilies tags: @a-dizzle77 @animelover100 @bibimysoul

zuko tags: @livelaughlovekuni @rosieposiediditagain @radicaldualism @peterparkersgirlf @heartfully10 @moonflowergirlsworld @bibimysoul @kxkuma @maee67

[luvs-angel]

the first time your son learned how to walk, you and your husband satoru were over the moon. it was on a random saturday afternoon with you all in your son’s playpen. already a seemingly rare occasion where satoru finally had a break from all of his missions.

at just 6 months, your baby could already crawl and stand up by using objects above to grip onto — satoru argues that the gojo genetics has him so incredibly advanced for his age.

but that wasn’t enough for your son. now at 9 months old, he kept attempting to walk only for his little legs to give up halfway. but you were determined for today to finally be the day.

satoru was sprawled out like a starfish whilst replacing the batteries for your son’s bubble machine. that which you had shoko to thank for — all of your friends collectively made sure that your baby was beyond spoiled than he already is.

you were also sat further away with all of the toys beside you to motivate your son to walk over.

“come on baby! don’t you want teddy back?” you chirp at your son.

he slowly stands up, already making improvement since he wasn’t holding onto anything for the first time. “ma–ma!” he happily claps his tiny hands as he takes two small baby steps.

“that’s it! come to mama!” you encourage him into your arms whilst he’s still deciding if he should try to walk or not. your son has a cute pout and furrow in his eyebrows painting his dedicated face as his wobbly steps grow more steady.

“oh my gosh! satoru, look!” you shake his shoulder repeatedly to face your son who was slowly but surely padding his way over to you both.

“wooow~ look at our little munchkin go!” he cheers on. you pull out your phone to commemorate the special milestone.

“dadadadada” he babbles on until stumbling over a lego block. you and satoru immediately share a look that says ‘do not react’ before he gets back up waddling and continues his string of babbles right into satoru’s arms.

“awww my smart baby! we’re so proud of you! and i think this may call for some mochi ice cream to celebrate if mama allows it…”

“alrighttt.. just this once. our baby deserves it after all.” you say in between peppering your son’s face in kisses.

little did you know how much of an adorable menace your son would grow into once learning how to walk…

fast forward to now at 12 months old, and it feels like your son was placed on earth for the sole purpose of acting as your personal trainer with the way you’re relentlessly chasing after him non-stop.

it’s early in the morning when satoru’s soft snores have once again woken you up — but he’ll always deny it. his arms are wrapped around your waist to cage you in from starting the day way too early.

“toru, let go…” you whisper whilst caressing his hair to gently wake him up.

“mmm.. five more minutes if you love me...” he croaks, reluctantly letting go eventually — but not before whining immediately when you do get up. god, sometimes he acts more like a baby than your actual infant.

when you groggily check the baby monitor on the bedside table, your heart drops. why is your baby not… in his crib? maybe you’re running on a lack of sleep which is causing you to hallucinate? you rub your eyes and focus on the screen again only to be met with the same sight.

at this point your mind is going to the worst of places. what if the gojo clan were right and you weren’t cautious enough and now your baby was made a target?

“hey– hey, what’s the matter sweets?” satoru’s words snap you out of your overthinking. it turns out you were hyperventilating without even realising which was enough to awaken the now worried sleepyhead.

“toru, he’s not in his crib! where the hell could he be?!”

“shh, it’s okay. i can sense his tiny cursed energy still in the home. let’s just get up and look for him, can you do that for me?” he softly kisses your cheek.

“o-okay, yeah. i can do that.” you get out of bed and head to the living room, satoru trailing from behind. you won’t lie and admit that you’re out of breath when you get there. ugh, curse satoru for insisting on spoiling you with a mansion after moving in together!

you scan the empty living room all over “okay so, he’s not here..” you mumble quietly, trying to compose yourself from freaking out.

“let’s not panic, we still have fifty something other rooms to check!”

you shoot him a glare, “that is not helping me right now. what if he accidentally hurt himself? a-and it’s so bad that he can’t even call out for us?!” your voice cracks as tears threaten to spill out. yeah. you were spiralling.

“stay calm sweets. i’ll check the other living room, kay?” he kisses at your pout. you hum defeatedly in response, pacing mindlessly into the kitchen until you suddenly stop in your tracks.

there you saw…your baby? sat on the floor hugging the jar of homemade cookies whilst munching away. crumbs and chocolate chips smear his face and clothes as a sign that he’s been here for a good minute.

“what on earth…” your son just giggles like he understands your confusion. “mama cookie!” he stretches out his grubby hand to show his half–bitten cookie, almost like a peace offering.

“uh, one second baby.. ahem– SATORUUU! come take a look at what your son is up to!” you have to yell knowing he’s somewhere on the other side of the massive house. your son who is completely unfazed by your shouting goes back to joyfully munching on his cookie.

satoru frantically spawns there within seconds, “you found him?” you nod, gesturing him to look down at the sight you just walked into. “oh wow–” he can’t help but burst out laughing, “that’s my son alright!”

you scoop your baby up into your arms and prop him on your waist. he whimpers when you separate him from his beloved cookie jar. “really? you couldn’t tell when he came out with glowing blue eyes?”

“heyyy! i can’t help that my genes are insanely overpowering! but you never know, perhaps our next one will be your carbon copy~” he playfully winks at you.

you roll your eyes, “how smooth of you. seriously though, how did he even end up here and reaching the jar?”

“hmm..” satoru points at the tiny stool, “he must’ve pulled out this stool to get to the jar. and as for how he got here, you must know by now that he’s an ambitious walker.”

“oh trust me i know. gosh, he’s getting way too smart for us. i think we need to lock away the goods before this continues..”

“good idea, i’ll look into investing in a safe. you go back to bed and i’ll sort out a bath for this cookie monster.” he pokes your son’s chubby cheeks which makes him squeak before you hand him over. “after all, he probably developed his newfound sweet tooth from me.”

“probably? oh please– it was most definitely you! my pregnancy cravings were the only time i was consistently having sugar to make my pickles and ice cream combo.”

“hehe– remember when you would wrap the pickles in fruit roll ups” satoru chuckles at the memory. he would taste all of your unique cravings with you as a means of showing his support in any way possible — even if he found it absolutely repulsive.

“of course, that was heavenly.” you sigh dreamily before turning to your son and holding his pudgy hand in yours “and baby, cookies are only allowed for treating good behaviour. if you have too much then you’re going to be sick. we don’t want that now, do we?”

“nooo…” your son shakes his head.

“alright mister, let’s get that bath ready then make some breakfast in bed for mama. you gave her quite the scare wandering off like that, so give her a kiss before we go.” something about satoru in dad mode always leaves your heart skipping a beat, from the very moment he carried your baby in the hospital.

“otay! bye bye mama” he cups your face with his sticky hands and places a sloppy kiss on both of your cheeks. “dada turn!”

“well, don’t mind if i do~” he catches you off guard as his lips smoothly connect to yours. you naturally melt into the kiss until a few moments later when your son has had enough and starts pounding at his dad’s chest to stop.

“hey– ow! why’re you hitting papa, hm?”

“no more! all done.” your baby shrieks in a somewhat stern tone, and satoru could’ve sworn that he saw his son’s bright blue eyes narrow at him. you only snort at his silly attempt to protect you.

“alright, let’s not be too mean on daddy. or else who’ll buy your sweets and toys?”

“GASP– is that all you think i’m good for?”

“yes.” you immediately deadpan, your baby watches you nod and copies. “yesh.”

“oh god– i never thought i’d see the day where the love of my life and my spawn are both turning against me! i– i can’t take it!” he clutches at his shirt dramatically making you and your baby giggle.

“hey! don’t call our precious son a spawn!” you lightly slap his shoulder, of course your baby follows and shoves him too. “you sound like the higher ups..” you pettily grumble under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

“eugh– you’re right. sorry mochi, but let’s go take that bath. something seriously stinks now–” satoru grimaces, giving one last kiss to your forehead before you go back to bed for a nap whilst he cleans your baby up.

you may joke with him all the time but one thing for certain is that he’s always been an amazing husband and father. ≧◡≦

notes: i luv reading dad jjk men so writing this was soso fun, don’t be shy to req more guys, technically gojo could have teleported to the baby but i wanted to long things out 🥰, but yeah i didn’t know how to end it so hope this was okay

[gojogasms]

oh nothing… just making out with satoru ❤︎

tags 18+ minors dni !! very self indulgent hehe … i’m so soft for him y’all don’t understand 🥹

his lips are cold at first. always cold, like he’s been pressing his mouth to the rim of a glass full of ice just to feel something. you’ve learned to expect it but it still makes you gasp every time, that first shock of chill against your warm mouth, and he loves it. you can feel him smile into the kiss, that infuriating curve of his lips that says got you.

he doesn’t rush. satoru gojo could move faster than light if he wanted to but he kisses you like the world outside doesn’t exist. his hands find your face first, always. long fingers spanning your jaw, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in slow hypnotic circles. he tilts your head to the side and deepens the kiss, easing you into it, letting you feel every second of it. his bottom lip slots between yours and he just rests there for a moment, breathing you in.

then his tongue traces the seam of your lips, asking, always asking even though he knows the answer will be yes. you open for him and he hums into your mouth, pleased and low, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. he tastes like sugar and something sharper underneath, like the candy he definitely stole from your stash and the mint gum he chewed to cover it up. his tongue curls against yours lazy and thorough, exploring, and his teeth graze your bottom lip just hard enough to make your breath catch. he soothes it immediately with a soft sucking kiss that leaves your lip slick and tingling.

his mouth wanders. it’s a problem, actually, because he can’t stay in one place for long. he pulls back from your lips and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the bow of your upper lip, then the tiny crease where your smile would be if you weren’t so breathless. he kisses the tip of your nose, your cupid’s bow, your cheek. by the time he’s finished mapping your face your eyes are closed and your lips are parted.

he kisses your closed eyelids, left then right, feather-light. his lips brush your lashes and you feel them flutter against his mouth. he exhales a laugh and the air ghosts warm over your skin.

then he’s at your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, then up the other side. he finds the spot just beneath your ear and latches on, sucking gently, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. he kisses the shell of your ear, the delicate skin behind it, the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. he breathes there, nose pressed to your skin. “you’re so warm,” he says, “smell so good.”

he kisses your throat. your collarbones. the hollow at the base of your neck where he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting against his mouth. he stays there for a long moment, just feeling it, and when he pulls back his eyes are dark and half-lidded and his lips are pink and kiss bitten and wet.

he kisses you on the mouth again, harder this time, less controlled. his composure slips and his hands drop from your face to your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him. he kisses you like he’s starving, like the taste of you is the only thing that keeps him human. his tongue slides against yours and his teeth click against yours because he’s smiling again, he’s always smiling, even now. especially now.

his hands roam. up your sides, down your back, fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to touch all of you at once. they settle on your lower back and he presses you closer, impossibly closer, and he’s so warm now, all that cold burned away by the heat between you. he kisses the corner of your mouth again, your chin, the tip of your nose. a quick peck to your forehead. your left cheek. your right cheek. back to your lips.

he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, and you can feel his lashes brush your brow.

“hey.” he says, voice wrecked.

“hey.” you breathe back.

he kisses the bridge of your nose. “you’re my favorite.”

you roll your eyes but you’re smiling, he can feel it.

[gojogasms]

oh nothing… just making out with satoru ❤︎

tags 18+ minors dni !! very self indulgent hehe … i’m so soft for him y’all don’t understand 🥹

his lips are cold at first. always cold, like he’s been pressing his mouth to the rim of a glass full of ice just to feel something. you’ve learned to expect it but it still makes you gasp every time, that first shock of chill against your warm mouth, and he loves it. you can feel him smile into the kiss, that infuriating curve of his lips that says got you.

he doesn’t rush. satoru gojo could move faster than light if he wanted to but he kisses you like the world outside doesn’t exist. his hands find your face first, always. long fingers spanning your jaw, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in slow hypnotic circles. he tilts your head to the side and deepens the kiss, easing you into it, letting you feel every second of it. his bottom lip slots between yours and he just rests there for a moment, breathing you in.

then his tongue traces the seam of your lips, asking, always asking even though he knows the answer will be yes. you open for him and he hums into your mouth, pleased and low, the vibration traveling straight down your spine. he tastes like sugar and something sharper underneath, like the candy he definitely stole from your stash and the mint gum he chewed to cover it up. his tongue curls against yours lazy and thorough, exploring, and his teeth graze your bottom lip just hard enough to make your breath catch. he soothes it immediately with a soft sucking kiss that leaves your lip slick and tingling.

his mouth wanders. it’s a problem, actually, because he can’t stay in one place for long. he pulls back from your lips and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the bow of your upper lip, then the tiny crease where your smile would be if you weren’t so breathless. he kisses the tip of your nose, your cupid’s bow, your cheek. by the time he’s finished mapping your face your eyes are closed and your lips are parted.

he kisses your closed eyelids, left then right, feather-light. his lips brush your lashes and you feel them flutter against his mouth. he exhales a laugh and the air ghosts warm over your skin.

then he’s at your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, then up the other side. he finds the spot just beneath your ear and latches on, sucking gently, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt. he kisses the shell of your ear, the delicate skin behind it, the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. he breathes there, nose pressed to your skin. “you’re so warm,” he says, “smell so good.”

he kisses your throat. your collarbones. the hollow at the base of your neck where he can feel your heartbeat rabbiting against his mouth. he stays there for a long moment, just feeling it, and when he pulls back his eyes are dark and half-lidded and his lips are pink and kiss bitten and wet.

he kisses you on the mouth again, harder this time, less controlled. his composure slips and his hands drop from your face to your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him. he kisses you like he’s starving, like the taste of you is the only thing that keeps him human. his tongue slides against yours and his teeth click against yours because he’s smiling again, he’s always smiling, even now. especially now.

his hands roam. up your sides, down your back, fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to touch all of you at once. they settle on your lower back and he presses you closer, impossibly closer, and he’s so warm now, all that cold burned away by the heat between you. he kisses the corner of your mouth again, your chin, the tip of your nose. a quick peck to your forehead. your left cheek. your right cheek. back to your lips.

he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, and you can feel his lashes brush your brow.

“hey.” he says, voice wrecked.

“hey.” you breathe back.

he kisses the bridge of your nose. “you’re my favorite.”

you roll your eyes but you’re smiling, he can feel it.

[satorusdreamer]

Forever? Forever.

Synopsis: Where not even death can do you part.

Pairing: Husband!Gojo x deceased wife!reader

CW: SFW, fluff, angst and grief, mentions of character death, alternating POVs, Megumi cameo, bittersweet WC: 2.5k

Divider by @dollywons

There’s a small breeze that blows through the meadow, ruffling his white hair slightly as he looks at you. The two of you are walking, the tall grass brushing against his ankles as he follows you wherever you go—just like he promised years ago.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before turning towards him with a smile so bright it rivals the sun. His heart rate picks up, blood pumping a little faster through his veins as he just takes you in for a moment. The sundress flutters around you as some of your hair moves with the wind.

Your smile hasn’t changed much since the first time he saw you over twenty years ago, the only difference being the slight smile lines around your mouth, ones you’ve gotten from him.

The necklace softly moves around your chest—a small heart pendant hanging on your sternum. Inside is a picture of the three of you, all smiling at the camera—well, your son is scowling, but that was to be expected.

He automatically closes the distance between the two of you, head tilting down just slightly to take you in even better. A small smile forms on your face as you look up at him, up at the man who you’ve once said ‘I do’ to.

‘Til death do us part’

Only, death didn’t part the two of you.

Here the two of you are, standing in a field of wildflowers that gently move in the breeze, one pair of feet trampling the long grass as the other leaves everything in tact. Your footsteps careful, constantly avoiding the pretty flowers even though you wouldn’t trample them beneath the soles of your feet anyway.

It’s so you that it makes his chest hurt a bit. His heart beats against its cage, the same way it has been doing ever since he first saw you.

Back when he entered high school, you were there right alongside him. His pretty classmate that would grow up to be his wife. Some things were inevitable, this being one of them—the two of you getting married.

You were wearing a small sundress back when you had your first date with him, almost the same one you’re wearing right now, and he’d been so stunned, jaw slack and eyes wide, that you couldn’t help but giggle, all your nerves calming down immediately.

He’d forgone his simple t-shirt, trading it for a linen shirt and brown pants. It felt foreign, seeing the normally confident boy so starstruck. That’s when you knew you would love this boy forever. And you did. Though you kind of wish your forever would take a little longer than it did.

Yes, you can still converse with your husband, still see the way he looks at you like you’ve hung the moon, but you can’t touch him anymore. Your hand stopping mere millimeters from his skin, the warmth refusing to seep through your skin.

As upsetting as it is, at least you know your forever actually means forever. So does his. Choosing to stay with you despite not being able to touch you, though he still tries. Tried to manipulate his infinity in a way that he could touch you, but even The Strongest can’t do the impossible.

Well, except for seeing his dead wife, apparently.

The moment he got the phone call, he teleported to Shoko’s infirmary, frantically looking around to see you. There was a part of him that didn’t want to believe the news, clinging to the fact that this had to be some sort of cruel prank.

‘Til death do us part.’

He didn’t think that death would come so early for either of you, having pictured growing old with you. His white hair graying, skin wrinkling as the new generation would take over, relieving his burden from being The Strongest. Your (biological) kids running around in the backyard in the new house the two of you had freshly renovated.

But the look Shoko gave him told him enough. It wasn’t some sort of cruel prank, just fate messing with him once more.

Still, he clung to the fact that Yuji came back to life once—granted it was because Sukuna brought him back to life with a deal, but those were semantics his brain didn’t bother with—so surely you could do that as well. Hell, he’d been on the brink of death once, so maybe that was it, you were just on the brink of death.

That’s when he saw the white tarp on the cot, covering a body that was all too familiar to him. Even under the white sheet, he could make out the curves he spent years worshiping: the gentle slope of your nose, a stand of your hair peeking out from under it.

His knees buckled, thumping on the ground with such force, everything in the room shook for a second. Shoko came up to him, her hand coming down to his shoulder, but it stopped right before she could touch him. Infinity flared up immediately, preventing her from coming closer to him, pushing away everything that wasn’t you.

Shoko was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear anything she was saying, her voice muffled almost like Infinity filtered out her voice, preventing it from reaching him. His hands shook as he brought one of them up to the cot, trembling fingers closing around your hand over the white sheet, crinkling under his grip.

A sob tore through his chest, tears finally cascading down his cheeks. His technique surging to life without calling for it, blue energy crackling around him, Infinity surging stronger and stronger, until one of the light bulbs above cracked under the pressure. The broken glass slid down, clinking onto the white tiles below, away from you two.

Because despite not being in control over his Infinity nor Blue, he would always protect you—his Infinity wrapping around your silhouette like a blanket, keeping the two of you in a small, private bubble, away from the world.

More light bulbs cracked under pressure, cots and other medical equipment getting shoved to the walls as he sobbed his heart out.

“I’m sorry,” the whisper was so faint, he thought it came out of his own mouth—apologising for letting you get hurt while he was away, breaking his promise to always protect you from evil, even if you told him you could protect yourself. “I didn’t think our story would end so soon.”

At that, his head snapped up, eyes wide. He knew that wasn’t him, no, he would recognise his wife’s voice anywhere. So he lifted the tarp, but was met by a sight he’d have trouble scrubbing from his memory for months to come. Your skin was still pale, mouth and eyes still closed. No sign of life. Another sob wracked through him.

“Oh Satoru…”

That very much came from behind him, a voice so somber he couldn’t help but turn around. There you were, looking down at him with sadness in your eyes, hand hovering just above his head; not fully touching him.

He gasped so loud, it had literally startled Shoko who was standing outside the room, but couldn’t get in due to Infinity surging. “Sweetheart.”

That was the day Gojo Satoru found out he could see ghosts. While non-sorcerer ghosts were harder to detect, having less Cursed Energy and no Cursed Technique, you were fully visible to him whenever he didn’t have his blindfold on.

Which is why people see him walk around without his usual blindfold, the fabric no longer obstructing his eyes. You of course scolded him for never putting it on during the day, because he got headaches so great, his pretty blue eyes swelled up with tears, but even then he refused to let you out of his sight.

His pretty wife that had been taken away from him too soon.

In a way he always cursed his own eyes for seeing too much, giving him too much of a headache on a daily basis. But right now, walking through this pretty meadow with his wife, he couldn’t be more happy about them.

The golden sun rays illuminate your skin in a gentle golden light, the pendant on your neck glinting as well as the pretty ring he’s given you almost fifteen years ago, a matching one resting around his own finger.

Beautiful. That’s all he can think of. How even in death you’re still as beautiful as the day he’s met you.

There’s a small glint in your eye as your lips curl up in a small, devious smile—one that already has him suspicious of your next move. Before he can even open his mouth, you turn around and sprint away from him, your pretty dress fluttering in the wind around you, hair whipping around your face as a small laugh tumbles out of you.

The sound finally has him moving, a small ‘Hey!’ falling from his lips as he runs after you—not bothering to use any Cursed Energy or his Blue to enhance his speed, just his long legs sprinting after you—grass snapping under his boots.

And what a silly sight it is, seeing The Strongest run after something no one else can see. That’s all Megumi can think about, seeing Satoru Gojo run after air with a smile so big he has to wonder if his cheeks are going to fall off.

In a way he’s glad, of course. Megumi wasn’t there when you two met, but you have been there alongside Gojo, taking care of him and his sister ever since that fateful day twenty years ago.

How time flies.

Gojo was busy, very busy, even as a teenager. That didn’t matter much to the higher ups—the fact that Gojo was a teenager—when they sent him out on all of these missions purely because he was supposed to be The Strongest.

Which meant Gojo didn’t have much time to take care of Megumi and Tsumiki, most often leaving them alone.

That’s where you came into play.

As Gojo’s long-term girlfriend, you often came by Megumi’s place to check in on the kids; making sure they had enough to eat for the week, making dinner most of the nights as well as taking them to school whenever you could.

Of course you weren’t perfect, no one is, but you took the time to take care of two strange kids like they were your own—like you weren’t still a teenager yourself.

You couldn’t always be there with them, having to go on your own missions or just taking some time away so you and Gojo could have some alone time, but you showed up more often than not.

There was a slight shift in the dynamic when you and Gojo got married at only twenty-one years old. Tsumiki was your flower girl while Megumi was a very grumpy tiny groomsman. But even as a grumpy kid, he couldn’t deny how happy it made him to see you and Gojo so happy.

After getting wed, the four of you moved into a new house—yes, you had asked Gojo to bring the kids because you were taking care of them most of the time anyway, and of course your husband gave in to your every whim.

Whipped.

You had The Strongest wrapped around your finger, and you knew it.

Somewhere around age ten Megumi had started calling you ‘Mom’. At first it was just a slip of the tongue, a small mumble when you had been cooking dinner for the family, even taking in consideration that the Demon Dogs might’ve wanted something to eat instead of ‘Yucky curses’ for once.

Megumi had been too embarrassed back then, trying to backtrack and just call you by your name—it almost felt like calling your teacher mom or dad—but you had merely hummed and asked him if he needed anything. Not making a big deal of it, not teasing him or even asking him to repeat it. No, you just acted like this was the most normal thing there was.

And that’s how he began calling you ‘Mom’.

But seeing Gojo run around the meadow, chasing after nothing but air, makes his heart constrict a little. Because why is Gojo the only one lucky enough to still see and talk to you?

At first everyone thought he had gone mental, talking about you—to you—like you were still there, smiling at mere air as if you were standing there. Hell, there were even times where he would randomly give a small kiss to nothing at all and chuckle afterward.

Yeah, that was a sight to see.

People had begged him to see someone to talk to, even if it was just confiding in any of them. But Gojo had vehemently tried to tell everyone you were still there, they just couldn’t see you any longer.

Ghosts. It was never something Megumi believed in, but as more time passed, him getting out of his house more often, he started to realise that Gojo might not be as crazy as everyone thought he was.

There were… things Gojo knew that he shouldn’t have known. And of course you could’ve confided in your husband, told him about all these small things that happened between you and Megumi, but you just weren’t like that. If Megumi asked you to keep something between the two of you, you would.

So, maybe Gojo wasn’t as crazy, as grief-stricken as they thought. No, you were still there, just in a plane of existence only The Strongest could see with his special eyes. Even his Demon Dog couldn’t sense you any longer, which absolutely sucked.

It grieved, just like everyone else. Everyone except for Gojo Satoru, who could still see his wife walk around as if she were alive.

The dynamic was weird. While being a sorcerer meant you could lose your life at any given moment, it still didn’t take away from the fact that you were his mother. The one who has always taken care of him every since he was younger.

So Megumi grieved, much longer than he did anyone else. At the same time, Gojo just pranced around, wide smile on his face while he talked to air, fingers brushing against nothing as he whispered something, bending down to your height.

It had made Megumi angry—angry at the fact that Gojo wouldn’t let him grieve in the way he needed, because there would always be some sort of quip coming from Gojo’s mouth that didn’t sound anything like the man himself, but rather like you were telling him something.

Hurt. Megumi felt hurt that you wouldn’t be able to talk to him anymore, only getting to convey messages through your husband. The same husband that’s chasing after his wife, sun casting the world in a shade of gold.

But it also makes him so incredibly happy that you’re at least still somewhat here, even if he couldn’t look at you anymore.

So he walks towards Gojo, his Demon Dog by his side, as he goes to say hi—to the both of you.

A/N: Gojo can see ghosts with his Six Eyes and you cannot convince me otherwise.

tags: @yoonsucks @etheralpanic @lilithkleia @dollieadored @starsforvia @iinvivible @saniiaa @marisacosm @tojiphoria @yorikae @yagirljelliedkiki @pingui0i @serpenttine @seueuq @mousedit @sugurusbadhabit @cactusvolumes @secretsofchance @lilslovesaizawa @satorusdollie @kcandy-flosz @seueuq @sunnyfieldsz @litlili127

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[alygator77]

── off the record ၇୧

꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!

꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎

꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)

"Oi. Boss lady."

“No.”

One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.

"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"

"—the answer is no, Satoru."

Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.

The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—

"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

[eviepuffs]

girldad!higuruma is plaguing my mind so bad ໒꒰ྀི . . ꒱ა

1) he'd definitely try to ragebait your first baby girl quietly by holding her by the fabric of her onesie as she tries to crawl away. poor baby can't understand why she's not moving—now she's squealing and screaming on the ground, her tiny plump cheeks burning pink in frustration, tiny little fists hitting her play mat. hiromi only smiles, delighted by her reaction. he only lets go when you nudge him with your foot.

2) in his exhaustion, he doesn't notice the glittery stickers on his suitcase. when he goes to work that day, almost everyone at the firm points them out. hiromi only looks at them, shrugs, then goes straight to his office. when he opens his suitcase on his desk to start, he sees all his parker pens replaced with the glitter ones your daughters own. you come to find later in one of the girls' ipad that the two little ones did a “bag raid our daddy's bag!” vlog the night before.

3) your husband doesn't know how to stay stern when it comes to your girls. because you absolutely couldn't stand the sad look on the little ones' faces whenever you reprimand them, the responsibility of discipline falls on hiromi's shoulders. “bad cop-good cop, 'romi,” you tell him.

one day, the girls accidentally breaks one of your favorite vases while you were at work. hiromi stares down at the mess—you were going to be very upset. that one was from a renowned craftsman you'd met from one of your travels. he doesn't let the girls help clean it up, afraid the shards would hurt them.

after cleaning, he takes both of them to their shared bedroom. after a stern talking to, he makes them face the wall to let them reflect on their own.

“one hour,” he gruffly says, irritated. “you two think about what you did.”

he goes out of the room after. when he passes by again some time later, he sees the little girls facing the wall, shoulders shaking as they hiccup and sob. when he hears your youngest whisper “sorry mommy, sorry daddy,” with her tiny voice, the punishment that's supposedly effective for an hour only lasts twenty minutes.

hiromi doesn't sleep well that night. he feels like an asshole. you laugh softly in bed as your husband groans into your chest, sulking.

“we need to take turns being bad cop,” he mutters against your shirt. “i can't do it.”

4) hiromi's absolutely torn when your eldest enters her middle teenage years the same time you enter perimenopause. there's always a war going on in your home—one moment you and your daughter are inseparable, and then in the next you're both throwing words you'd regret later on at each other. hiromi understands it's the hormones and is absolutely terrified of taking a side, so he doesn't. instead, he goes to your daughter first.

he holds her against his chest in comfort just like he did so when she was still tiny. “you're okay,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of her head. “you're alright. dad's here. you know mom doesn't mean all those, baby. she loves you so much—it's just a tough time for both of you. your bodies are changing, and it can be very frustrating on both your ends.” he would thumb your daughter's tears away, just holding her close because he knows that's all she needs.

after she's calmed down, hiromi goes straight to you next. he finds you lying in bed on your side, still seething. his hands would be stroking your arm, then your sides, then up again. it's enough to make you melt. “sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder blades as he does so. “easy. i'm here. you know our girl loves you so much. it's just that... well, she's a teen. teens blow up, you know that. plus, you're going through change yourself. everything's hot, irritating, and bothersome. i know.” he kisses your nape next. “can my girls make up now? i wouldn't want you two miss your friday girls' night out just because of a petty fight.”

5) when one of your girls says she's bringing a boy home for the first time, hiromi stops moving from his desk. he slowly looks up, adjusted his glasses, and nods once. “...i see,” he mutters. “this is for prom, yes?”

your daughter nods excitedly. “and... well, he's a suitor, daddy. mama already said yes when i asked her, but she wanted me to ask you, too.”

when he's finally faced with the boy, hiromi's chest tightens. no, this can't be real, he thinks to himself. he glances at your daughter, and suddenly, his vision blurs. the tiny little girl who always clung to him is now a young lady, already entertaining the thought of romance. god, please... just one more moment. i still need her little.

he faces the boy again, eyes calm but unyielding. “prom ends at nine. if she isn't home by nine-thirty given the travel time, i will be intervening.” he leans in close. “and treat her well. i've loved that girl and her sister so gently their entire lives. she sees how i treat their mother with care everyday. she knows how she's supposed to be treated, and i expect you to meet those expectations.”

when the boy doesn't, hiromi doesn't need to interfere. his little girl had already handled it on her own. “i said, 'even my dad doesn't yell at me,'” she huffs. “i can't believe that guy. i was like, nope. absolutely not. and then i left and blocked him everywhere.”

hiromi only chuckles.

he loves his girls so much.

[kozusworld]

Thinking about making out with Megumi

“‘Gumi…” You whispered against Megumi’s lips. He was pressing you into the wall. The kiss rushed with his hands on either side of your head so you couldn’t turn away. Megumi didn’t bother to respond choosing to deepen the kiss further by prying your lips open and pushing his tongue in your mouth.

It was messy and so unlike Megumi that you didn’t know what to do except to follow along. You fisted Megumi’s shirt in your hands, tugging him impossibly closer. Megumi made a strange sound and reluctantly pulled away, out of breath. He didn’t pull himself too far, leaning his forehead on yours as he panted in the small space between you two.

“What’s going on with you?” You whispered, a small smile growing on your lips.

“Stop.” Megumi murmured. He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you closer, tilting his head down, “Just stop talking and kiss me.”

He really didn’t have to tell you twice.

Megumi leaned forward and slotted his lips in between yours, exhaling through his nose. Right now he didn’t need anything else, just you.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to get heated. Roaming hands and desperate touches. The kiss soon became a clash of lips and teeth and Megumi only wanted you closer. If he could he’d tuck himself right underneath your skin and maybe only then would it be enough.

You moved to pull away, out of breath, but Megumi refused. He placed a hand behind your head to keep you from pulling away and tilted his head closer, desperate to keep his lips on yours. As much as you wanted to keep on kissing him your lungs were crying for air. You placed your hands on Megumi’s chest and pushed slightly. Megumi took the hint and with a disgruntled sigh he stopped with the onslaught of kisses. You had expected Megumi to fully part from you and pretend like nothing had happened, as he usually does, but this time Megumi hunches over and begins to press his lips along your collarbone and your neck until he reached your lips again. He continued on like this, pressing short kisses against your lips with half-lidded eyes.

“I love you.” Megumi sighed in between kisses. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle from all of the kisses. Megumi’s heart fluttered in his chest, harsher than he had ever experienced before.

“Tell me you love me.” Megumi asked quietly, brushing your bangs away from your eyes.

“I love you.”

[satoruswetgf]

streamer!jo mid-sentence, leaning back in his chair, headset slightly crooked, the soft click of the door barely registers over the sound of his stream when you walk in. he stops, just for a second. his eyes flick over you. your tight, soft pajamas, the way they hug you just right, the faint scent that follows you in. his whole expression shifts into something quieter.

“hey,” you hum softly, walking over like it’s nothing.

the chat explodes and he doesn’t even glance at it.

voidking99: BROOOOO WHO IS THAT satorusimp420: HE GOT A GIRL?????? angelmilk: she’s so pretty what 😭 gojosleft_toe3: WHY IS SHE IN HIS LAP LIKE THAT IM SICK

“oh my fuck,” he says instantly, voice lower now, already reaching for you.

you don’t question it—you never do. you just step between his legs and sit in his lap like it’s your spot, because it is. his arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you close, one hand settling at your waist, the other resting along your thigh.

“you look so gooooood,” he murmurs, nuzzling lightly into your shoulder for a second before straightening again, like he just remembered he’s live.

his hand doesn’t move though. it drifts. slowly. absentmindedly. down your thigh, fingers brushing soft circles like he’s not even thinking about it. then back up, resting at your waist again.

the twitch chat is going insane.

you notice quickly

you’re already leaning forward slightly, eyes scanning the stream, curious. “what are they saying?”

“nothing important,” he mutters quickly, tightening his hold on you just a little.

too late.

you squint, reading out loud, confused, “I usually skip this part…?” your face still contempt, you tilt your head, genuinely puzzled. “what does that mean?” and then you shift. just a little. trying to get closer to the screen. but it makes you press back into him.

torus breath catches, just barely but enough.

you’re still focused on the chat, completely oblivious, squirming slightly again to get comfortable. “wait, there’s more—”

his arm tightens around your waist. not rough, just firm.

grounding.

his other hand stills on your thigh, fingers pressing in just a little like he’s trying to anchor himself. “hey,” he says suddenly, sharper now—directed at the screen.

the chat floods faster.

softgirlcult: she’s literally clueless this is insane domainexpansionTHIS: “i usually skip this part” LMAOOOOOO gojoswifeREAL: GIRL DONT READ THAT OUT LOUD blueeyeaddickt: HE TENSED UP DID YALL SEE THAT

he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening slightly before he leans forward, voice dropping into something more commanding.

“alright, that’s enough,” he says, tone lazy. “don’t read that stuff,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

you blink, looking back at him. “I was just asking—”

“don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, softer now, eyes locked on yours. way too focused, way too intense. his arms tighten around you again, pulling you flush against him, chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he leans back into his chair.

chat? forgotten.

game? paused.

and satoru? completely, helplessly distracted by you.

megumislostdad: stream is over guys pack it up sukunaIRL: move chat i’m watching this KING.naoyazenin: embarrassing. stand up bro LimitlessGojo banned KING.naoyazenin

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