When he has nightmares, they were always about losing you.
He was too slow, stuck in place, smaller, weaker, everything that he knew that he couldn't possibly be. He called out your name, he tried to reach you, he begged and cried for you to move.
To get up, to look at him, to talk to him. Anything to let him know that he tried, that you would be alive and well, and that he tried his best to always save you.
But you never responded. It was as if you were made of water or a statue of sorts. Either unmoving, or turning away from him, your voice void of emotion. The scariest parts.
It was when you were either bloody and a gorey sight that made him want to throw up, or when you were completely unresponsive and blurry. The blurry nightmares get him the most.
Your face was never visible despite your dead voice reaching his ears. He hated when you got like that, because it never felt like you. It was nothing but a dead tune.
He hated it even more when it was both. It would start the same. You crying, begging for him, reaching for him. But then, once something twisted happens and you're no longer you?
You blamed him. He wasn't strong enough, fast enough. He was a joke. He was the one that got you killed. He was the one that made you that way. He was pathetic to do nothing but watch--
But then, he always woke up. It wasn't a dramatic jerk like you see in movies, but quiet and suffocating. His eyes jerk open, but his body was unmoving excluding the tiny and subtle flinch.
His body knew where he was. In your shared bed, under your warmth, in sheets that shared both of your scents. But his mind was still stuck on fake-you's words. Your body.
He slowly looks down, not wanting to wake you up. He subtly checks your body with his eyes and careful hands. But, careful or not, his panicked pulse always woke you up.
"Honey?" You grunted in concern, half-awake as you squint up at him. One eye open, the other glued shut with sleep, mouth dry and sealed shut by the lack of moisture.
He could do nothing but break. He holds you tighter, buried his face in your neck, sobbing. He knew it wasn't real, you'd never do that to him so plainly. But... it was still you. You're face, your lips, your eyes, nose, ears, head...
"Promise me that you won't blame me." He pleads, your still sleepy brain confused more than ever. "For what, honey?" You cup his head, eyes drooping despite wanting to comfort him.
"If... if something happens, and I can't save you for whatever stupid reason. Promise me that you won't blame me for not being fast enough, or strong enough,"
He pulls away to look you in your eye, his larger hands almost bruising. "You come to save me?" You ask gently, making him falter in offense. "Of course I would. Every time-"
You peck his lips, cutting him off. He blinks down at you as you get comfortable once more, eyes closing. "Then, you did your best for me. Blaming you would be silly," Sighing in relief, he curls up to you with a sniffle and a warm feeling.
He'd deal with emotion in the morning.
Characters: Gojo Satoru, Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Sukuna Ryomen, Toji, Okkotsu Yuuta, and anyone else you can think of!
Nanami Kento's baby girl's side eye would be lethal, and he can't blame anyone but himself.
He would laugh too loudly, she'd side eye him. He tried to feed her after a long day and forgot to make the noises? She'd glare, push at his wrist, turn her head, and side eye him hard.
At first, he'd pout and blame it on his wife since she was grumpy during the pregnancy (well deserved, he just liked to tease about it), but HE was the one who made her grumpy.
Him getting the wrong ingredient for her strange food cocktail? A huff, glare, and a side eye. He'd make the cocktail wrong? Another huff, complaint, and side eye. The normal stuff.
But, it wasn't fair to blame it on his precious wife. Because he complained and ranted to her stomach a lot during the pregnancy. Not about her, but work.
Gojo did something stupid with the students? A glare and a side eye. Itadori tried to jump off of a building to suplex a curse? A sigh and a side eye. He was dragged into ANOTHER jujutsu meeting?
A quiet curse word, and side eyes to everyone that would address him. He'd rant about this constantly to the point where the baby recognized his voice first before her mother's.
"Darling, please eat. Daddy is tired." He tried offering the spoonful once more, getting the same response. His baby grunted, eyeing him hard as she shrank into her seat. He sighs.
Gojo never giving his students dating advice, because he swears he got lucky with you.
"Um, Gojo sensei?"
"Yes, Yuuta?"
"Um... if I were to ask a girl out, what should I get her? Flowers, chocolate? Uh... what if she doesn't like chocolate? Would you be too obvious to ask-?"
He just stares at the boy, somewhat awkwardly frozen. He doesn't ignore his words, goodness no! He just... didn't know how to answer any of them.
So, he does what he's good at: masking.
"I have no idea!"
"Huh?"
Yuuta watches the old man awkwardly but widely smile at him, smack his shoulder, and pull out his phone.
"Let's ask, shall we?"
"Um, what- who are we asking?"
"Mrs. Gojo, the wifey, the love of my life, of course! Who else would we call, silly Yuuta."
Summary: He wouldn't care about a baby. Not if it meant that it would hurt you.
Notes: Wife!reader, established relationships. Mentions of a shorter reader. Mentions of/Hints toward miscarriages and stillborns, trouble conceiving, pregnancy troubles, baby fever, depression, and more. Because of this and the depression, it can be pretty dark. Please be advised.
Lowkey inspired by this fic and the Billie song.
He gently called her name from outside of the bathroom of the doctor's office, hand resting on the door knob. "... I know you're done peeing. What's going on?" He was getting worried.
She doesn't answer, not immediately. But the little sniffle she let slip (she was silent crying the whole time) made both of them freeze. "... unlock the door. Right now."
His soft tone disappeared instantly, stern and worried as he gripped and wiggled at the unmoving doorknob. "Hold- jus'- hold on. Please." He falters at her tone, unhappy.
He sighs a bit dramatically, leaning back against the wall as he waited. He ignores the click the door made when she unlocked the door, and how the running water drowned her sniffles.
She didn't want him in there at the moment. It hurt, but he respected it. He had to. His eyes dart towards his wife when she finally steps out. Her face was flushed, eyes puffy, lashes wet.
She weakly reached for him, him already moving before she could ask. His hands rest on her waist, pulling her close. His eyes never left her face, his own face softening.
"What's going on up here? Hm?" He hums gently, gesturing to her head as he gently and playfully pinched at her nose. An old joke that got her lips to twitch. That was something.
She couldn't look him in the eye, bottom lip quivering. "... what if..." She swallows her sob and the strained noise clawing at her chest, her hands desperately clawing at him.
And he let's her, pulling her closer and being her anchor. Whatever she needed, he'd be. "What if I can't do it?" He was a little confused, trying to grasp the question. "Do what?"
"Have a baby... a healthy, normal, alive-" Her voice cracks. "... what if it happens again? What then? After all of the trouble I've made trying to set this up correctly, and how much I-"
He gently calls her name, cupping her head. She doesn't hear. "Or how many times we had to take medication, or-" "Hey." He interrupted, squeezing at her head and hips.
She finally quiets down, desperate for an answer. Desperate for something to look forward to. Pleading. He bends down, kissing at her sensitive cheeks. "You have to breathe,"
He reminds, rubbing at her back. When she took an exaggerated breathe, he snuck in a kiss to her nose. "Let's just finish the appointment so we can go home, snotty nose." "Hey,"
He chuckles and snorts at her pout. He kissed her head, guiding her back to the room. "My snotty baby," The rest of the appointment was straight forward, the car ride silent.
His larger hand rested on her thigh as he drove, the radio low and almost silent. "... honey, are you disappointed in me?" Her voice was blank. "Why would I be, silly woman?"
He hums, halfway paying attention, his head whipping around to check the traffic so he could make a safe u-turn. She grimaces, but still decided to speak her dark thoughts.
He was glad that she waited until the turn was finished, because his next move was slamming on the brakes to stare at her. "Excuse me? What the f*ck did you just say to me?"
He was in disbelief at the statement: "Because I'm a sh*t wife who can't do anything but have dead babies." He stares at her as she ignores his gaze. He angrily calls her name, worried.
"What makes you say that? You're not a bad wife because of any of this." She laughs bitterly. "I'm serious-" "So am I. You can't seriously think that any of this is on you."
His jaw twitches at her silence. "Baby. Answer me. I'm not in the mood-" "Honey, why else would this consistently-" "No. Shut up." He snaps. She does, faltering, shocked.
He never talked to her like that before. Turning back to the (thankfully empty) road, he steps on the gas, hands gripping the steering wheel. She grips onto her seat belt, getting anxious.
She calls his name, getting ignored. She tries again. "You eat right, you take what they give you, we buy those d*mned books, we took those classes," He was definitely breaking traffic laws.
"You try it all. Home birth, that tub thingy," His eyes were almost unrecognizable. Almost. The slight gloss and the fact that his hand was still gentle on her thigh reassured her.
"... we had to switch doctors 4 times, we had to go out of town to even get decent treatment," He ignores how a car angrily beeped as he cut them off. He swallows thickly.
"We call that stupid bereavement photo lady so much that she knows our names, you do the stupid rehab sh*t... and you think that you did something to cause all of that?"
He turns to her sharply at a stoplight (that he actually bothered to stop at). She shrinks as he stares, waiting for an answer. She looks off to the side. "... you want a family,"
She tried to justify her thoughts. "And I can't give you one." "I have a family. Right here, in this car." He retorts. "And whatever is going on isn't on you. If anything, it's the stupid doctors."
He drives a little slower once the light turns green. "... this isn't a deal breaker." He mumbles. "I'm not going anywhere because of this. I'm not shallow... that shallow." He tried to joke.
"We talked about having a family before, yes. But that doesn't mean that that's all I want." The hand that was on her thigh grabs at one of her hands. She doesn't pull away.
"You're hurting. I know you are. And I'm sorry that I haven't been around much to help you." He frowns, jaw clenched, looking off to the side. "But... that's not all that this is. I love you."
Silence filled the car as he let her absorb his words. He's reassured a tiny bit when she plays with his fingers and his ring, knowing that she was still there mentally. She thinks.
"... I'm sorry." "For what? This is hard, babe. It's okay to get worked up." He waves off her guilt, complaining about the traffic (like he wasn't breaking at LEAST 10 laws earlier).
"Oh, come on! Use your blinker for crying out loud!" This makes her giggle a bit. Gently, she grabs onto his wrist, grabbing his attention. "I'm sorry," She apologized, embarrassed and thankful. He cracks a smile.
"Nothing to be sorry for, woman."
Characters: Nanami Kento, Higurama Hiromi, Gojo Satoru, Kinji Hakari, Toji, and anyone else you can think of!
Quite literally. That isn't an exaggeration or something you find men saying in story books. No. That man, your man, would kill someone in your name and for your honor.
A drunken man is giggling a little too loud and stumbling a bit too close? He'd give you a patient, but dark look once noticing that you were uncomfortable.
Your boss at work giving you too much work and still claims that you're lazy and unappreciative of the company and "what it does for you"? He'd glare or stare at the man when picking you up.
He isn't eager for violence, of course he isn't. He knows that consequences of his actions if he were to carry them out. He'd lose too much, lose you. And he never wanted that.
So he never said anything if you didn't want him to. But in this instance? Where he had a man pinned to the floor, knuckles bloody for beating the man for touching you inappropriately?
It would was well worth it. He ignores his bleeding nose, or how he hit the guy wrong and now his hand is throbbing, cupping your face when he was pulled off by some randoms.
"Are you alright, flower?" He'd utter softly, his eyes that were just burning were now soft and dewey, making your stomach mushy and your knees weak. You could help but smile.
"Oi." A poke to your shoulder, getting nothing but a grunt in response. This clearly wasn't the response he wanted, resorting to shaking you. It was gentle, but annoying. "Hey... hey,"
You didn't feel good, and didn't care much for pleasantries or manners. You glare at him with a grunt and growl. "What?" He simply stares down at you, not taking it to heart.
"I made you tea and soup." "I don't want anything." You turn away from him, closing your eyes once more to try and soothe your pounding head. A weight beside you, a hand on your back.
"You have to eat something." You ignore him, trying to get some peace through slumber. At least for a minute. You then squawk as you're tugged at and the covers are jerked off of you.
"Dude!" "Don't call me that. Get up." He frowns down at you in a stern disappointment, waiting for you to take the bowl of soup he offered. You groans in annoyance, practically snatching it.
He smiles, proud. "Good." He kisses your flush forehead and stands. "Finish that. Afterwards, I'll run you a bath. I will throw you in if I have to. I love you, but don't tempt me."
"You saying I stink?"
"Very much so."
Characters: Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuuji, Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi, and anyone else you can think of!
Summary: You burn something for the first time, and you feel so bad about it.
Notes: reader is short(er), American (hinted), chubby, exhausted from undescribed work, and emotionally sensitive.
MEGUMI:
He'd honestly be more worried about you than anything you were trying to cook or bake. His gaze darts comically to you, then the stove, then to you... back to the charred... whatever it was. It smelled nauseatingly sweet.
"... guppy, 's fine." He tried to reassure you awkwardly when he heard you sniffle. You wipe at your face. "But it was my night, and you just got back from a month-long mission-!"
"Baby-" He couldn't get a word out, sighing as he lets you sob over your poor creation. As you do, he cleans up, cracking a window to let out the smell of burnt honey and whatever else.
"What's this supposed to be anyway?" You sniffle, too embarrassed to say immediately. Luckily, he was a patient guy- "It's supposed to be [insert easy sweet dish]." He stares... before snorting.
You sob harder, he panics.
YUUJI:
He tries to eat it once he saw how mortified you seemed to be. But then you screamed and cried harder, causing him to drop it and- long story short, he has a burned hand.
And an empty stomach. Bad combination. Not one to get hung up on something so silly (you were offended when he said that, making him backtrack), he just ordered takeout!
But then his mood dropped at your round face being all puffy and pinkish as you shakily treat his hand. How you could barely look at him without your eyes glossing over once more.
He grabs your busy hands and smiles. "Hey, don't worry about it! We can always try again!" You pause. "... we?" "Mhm. Why would I let you do it by yourself." He panics when you sob again.
"It's supposed to be my night!" "Sorry?"
CHOSO:
"... is it supposed to look like that, darling?" Ypu sniffles, bottom lip poked out. "No." He didn't know what else to say after that. You were usually so good in the kitchen.
Were you sick? Distracted? He blinks down at the charred concoction. "... hm." He picks up his spoon, making your eyes widen. "Choso, quit it-!" But it was already too late.
A mouthful shoved into his mouth, he chews, ignoring the nauseating texture. He then turns to you with a smile. "It's still good!" When you didn't answer, he falters.
"... what? Did I do something weird again?" "... no one normal eats burnt grits, Cho." He blinks. "These were supposed to be grits?" That's why the texture was weird! But, wait... He turns to you, confused and concerned. "You've made grits before-"
"I know, Cho." He dropped it after that.
HAKARI:
He just takes a deep breath at first, trying not to snap as he drags a hand down his face. "... what even is this?" He gestures vaguely. You avoid his gaze, pouting with puffy eyes.
"... onion rings." "You almost burned my house down over-!?" He falters when he realized that you had been crying. He groans. "Lucky..." You hums weakly, grimacing at the tone.
"I told you to get some rest last night." "I... I did." You avoid his gaze, making him groan again. He bends down, pressing a firm but scolding kiss to your head, making you stumble back.
Before you could even to complain or glare, he picks you up easily by your waist and plops you down onto the nearby counter. "Wastin' my d*mn onions 'n sh-" You swat at him, sniffling still. "Language!"
