#satoru x reader

[6x-x9]

“𝒴𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥” · 𝓖.𝑺𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑼 ·

𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚄 has a nightmare and wakes up panicking. You hold him through all of it. 𖹭

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇. ꒰ 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ comfort ⋮⋮ canon jjk ꒱

It happens in the middle of the night.

The room is dark except for the thin spill of city light through the curtains. You wake to the sound of his breathing. It's ragged, uneven, the bed is trembling, and the air's charged like a curse has settled in the walls. You sit up instantly, still tangled in your sheets, and find him curled at the edge of the mattress, back to you, hands gripping the sides of his head like he’s trying to press a nightmare out of his skull.

“Satoru,” you whisper softly, already reaching for him.

He flinches when your hand brushes his shoulder.

“I—I can’t,” he gasps. “I don’t—fuck, I don’t know where I am.” His voice is smaller than you've ever known it to be. He sounds so scared.

You slide closer to him.

His whole body is shaking. Sweat clings to his back, and when he turns to look at you, his eyes have gone a pale blue, wide and frightened— not like those of Gojo Satoru, strongest sorcerer alive. But like a boy who’s just watched the world fall apart in his sleep.

The sight of him like this pulls something tight and aching under your ribs. You have seen him cocky, careless, and brilliant, but you've never seen him look this lost.

“It was you,” he says, like he’s confessing something unspeakable. “It was you, and you were gone, and I couldn’t— I couldn’t find you—”

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks, trying to get him to steady his vision back on you. Slowly, his gaze focuses on your eyes. “Hey, sweetheart, breathe. I’m right here.”

Your thumbs stroke over the sharp lines of his cheekbones. His skin is damp and fever-warm, and he leans into your touch like it’s the first solid thing he’s felt in hours.

“I tried calling for you,” he whispers, his voice breaking, the more he tries to get it out. “But my voice wouldn’t come out. It was like— I was trapped in a dream where you never existed, and I was the only one who remembered you and fuck—”

The words crack open at the end. His breath stutters once. You feel the fine tremor running through him from shoulders to wrists.

You pull him tight into your arms, and this time, he doesn’t flinch. He clings to you with a desperation you’ve never felt from him before. His forehead presses to the curve your neck, arms wrapping around your waist like you’re all there's left to anchor him.

The weight of him settles against you. Heavy and real. You can feel every rapid beat of his heart where his chest meets yours.

“You’re okay,” you whisper. “You’re okay, baby. It was just a dream.”

His voice is wrecked. “But it felt real.”

Your hand slides up to the back of his head, cradling him. Fingers sink into soft white hair still messy from sleep. You hold him there, steady, while his breathing scrapes in and out against the side of your throat.

You rock him a little without meaning to. Small, slow movements meant to soothe. His grip on you only tightens.

“I’m real. I’m right here.”

He holds you tighter, his voice is more sound and clear now, “You’re the only thing that feels real.”

The rawness of his voice makes the words splinter something inside you.

You lie back against the pillows, tugging him with you, settling him over your chest. His hair is damp. His breaths are still uneven. But you keep running your fingers down his spine, whispering his name over and over like prayer.

The sheets have twisted around both of you now. One of his knees is hooked over your thigh. His cheek rests right above your heart, and you can feel the way he turns his face inward just slightly so he can hear the steady thump of it clearer.

You keep talking. Soft-nonsense. His name. "You’re here. You’re safe." Over and over until the worst of the shaking starts to ease.

His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt and stay there. He doesn’t try to pull away. Doesn’t try to joke or brush it off the way he usually does when anything gets too close to the soft-soaked center of him.

You press your lips to the top of his head and leave them there. Just breathing him in. Laundry soap and warm skin and the faint salt of sweat.

Minutes stretch. The panic in his body slowly loosens its hold. His breathing deepens by degrees. The rigid line of his shoulders softens under your hands.

And he falls asleep like that— curled on top of you, cheek pressed to your heart, as if your pulse is the only thing strong enough to pull him out of whatever darkness still haunts him.

And before he slips under again, you hear him murmur—

“Don’t ever leave.”

You press a kiss to his temple.

“Never.” You whisper assuringly.

You stay awake a little longer just to be sure. Watching the slow rise and fall of his back. Feeling the way his weight sinks heavier into you as sleep finally takes him all the way under.

Outside the window, the city keeps its usual restless rhythm. Inside the room, everything has gone quiet again. Soft and a little bit safer.

You keep one hand moving in slow strokes along his spine. The other rests lightly over the back of his neck, fingers intertwining with the short fluffy strands of his undercut at the nape, gently twirling and petting it.

He sleeps without dreams this time. Or if he dreams, they don’t reach him hard enough to wake him.

You close your eyes only when you’re certain he’s truly settled. The last thing you feel is the steady press of his cheek against your chest and the quiet certainty that neither of you will be apart from each other.

[6x-x9]

“𝒴𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞” · 𝒢.𝑺𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑼 ·

𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚄 tries dating someone new to distract himself. It lasts less than two days. 𖹭

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇. ꒰ 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ canon jjk ꒱

It’s Shoko who calls you first.

The phone buzzes against the kitchen counter while you’re staring at a half-eaten bowl of cereal gone soggy. You almost ignore it. Almost, but habit wins, and you do pick up.

"He's being weird,” she says, biting off a yawn, cigarette smoke curling lazily from her lips. “Weirder than usual. He brought some girl to dinner last night.”

You blink. “Oh.”

The word comes out small. Flat. Like it doesn’t belong in your mouth.

“She laughed like a goose and called him ‘Toru-bear’ and wore a shirt that said ‘Boss Babe.’” Shoko pauses. “You, understandably, weren’t there. So I had to suffer alone.”

“Sorry.” You almost sounded sincere.

“Don’t apologize. He should be apologizing. It was pitiful.”

You try not to let it get to you. You try not to think about how it felt, because just three nights ago, when he kissed you so soft and said, “You make everything quiet,” like it was a confession, like it hurt to say it, when the words left his lips...

And, now he’s… dating?

Trying?

Moving on?

Your chest aches, but you smile through it. “Maybe he just needs to figure some stuff out.”

Shoko exhales. “You’ve ruined him. You know that, right?”

You laugh. It sounds brittle and slightly amused. “I don’t think I’m that powerful.”

“You are,” she says dryly. “I watched this man— this man who used to brag about how hot girls lined up for him after missions— literally panic when his dinner date tried to kiss him.”

Your heart flips. “What?”

“He flinched,” she confirms. “Like, full-body jolted. Said, and I quote, ‘Sorry, I’m just not used to someone else’s face being that close. It feels wrong.’”

You’re stunned into silence.

Then: “He said it felt wrong?”

“Mhm.” A long pause fills the space for a moment. “And then he left. Mid-date. Suguru watched him walk outside and immediately call your number. You didn’t answer, did you?”

You hadn’t.

You’d seen his name light up your screen and tucked your phone under your pillow, heart hammering, unsure what you were even to him now.

That night, he left you a voicemail.

You hadn’t listened to it.

Not until now.

You pull it up after exchanging goodbyes with Shoko. Hands trembling, and you press play.

“Hey,” his voice murmurs. There’s a sharp exhale. “I know you probably don’t wanna talk to me. That’s fair.”

Theres a second of silence...

“I thought… maybe I needed to know what it would be like. To be with someone who isn’t you. To see if I could want something else. And I can’t.”

He laughs, soft and its self-deprecating.

“I couldn’t even hold her hand without thinking about the way you tuck yours under mine like it’s automatic. Couldn’t sit across from her without hearing your voice in my head telling me to chew slower because I eat like a gremlin.”

You close your eyes, breath shallow.

“You’ve ruined me, sweetheart,” he whispers .“And I think I’d let you do it a thousand times over.”

The message fizzles out to an abrupt end.

You stand there in the quiet kitchen, phone still pressed to your ear like the sound of him might come back if you just wait long enough.

Your pulse is loud in your throat.

You don’t think— you just go.

Keys. Shoes. The door slamming behind you hard enough that the frame rattles.

The night air hits your face. Cool and sharp because it's 10pm and you're running. You don’t remember deciding to run but your feet are already moving, pavement blurring under you, streetlights smearing gold across your vision.

Every step feels like it’s carving something open in your chest.

Three nights ago his mouth had been so careful against yours. Three nights ago he’d breathed against your temple like the whole world had gone soft just for the two of you. Three nights ago he’d looked at you like you were the only solid thing left.

And then he’d tried to date someone else.

Tried.

Failed so completely that Shoko called it pitiful.

You don’t slow down until you’re outside his building. The code for the gate is still muscle memory. The stairs take forever and no time at all.

You reach his door.

Knock once.

Twice.

The lock clicks.

He opens the door looking like a kicked puppy— eyes wide, hoodie sleeves too long, heart cracked open.

For a second, neither of you moves.

Then you don’t say a word— just throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest.

He holds you like he never wants to let go again.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so— sorry.”

“I’m not,” you whisper back.

You lean up.

Kiss him like he’s the only person in the world worth knowing.

Like he belongs to you.

Because he does.

His mouth is warm and a little desperate under yours. One of his hands slides up into your hair, the other locking around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even a fraction.

You feel the way his chest rises and falls too fast against yours. You feel the tiny tremor in his fingers.

When you finally pull back just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours.

“I hated it,” he says, voice low and rough. “Every second of it. She kept talking and all I could hear was you. She touched my arm and it felt like static. Wrong frequency. Wrong everything.”

You don’t answer with words. You just kiss him again, slower this time, tasting the apology still sitting on his tongue.

He walks you backward into the apartment without breaking the kiss. The door clicks shut behind you. Somewhere a lamp is on, casting soft gold across the floor. His place smells like the laundry detergent he always uses and the faint citrus of the cleaner he pretends he doesn’t buy just because you once said you liked it.

He presses you gently against the wall by the entryway. Not hard. Just enough that you can feel how solid he is, how carefully he’s holding himself back.

“I kept thinking about the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Like I’m something worth keeping. She looked at me like I was a prize she’d already won. I couldn’t stand it.”

Your hands fist in the front of his hoodie. The fabric is soft from too many washes. You know every loose thread.

“I shouldn’t have gone,” he says. “I knew the second I sat down across from her that I’d made a mistake. But I stayed. Like an idiot. Like maybe if I just forced it hard enough it would start feeling right.”

You tip your head so your lips brush the corner of his jaw. “Did it?”

“Not even close.”

He kisses you again, deeper, and you let him. Let the heat of it pull everything else out of focus until there’s only the two of you and the quiet apartment and the way his body fits against yours like it was designed for exactly this.

When he finally draws back there’s a flush high on his cheeks. His eyes are bright in a way that has nothing to do with residual cursed energy and everything to do with you.

“Stay,” he says. Not a question.

You nod.

He takes your hand the way he always does, fingers sliding between yours like they belong there and leads you further inside.

The couch is still a mess of throw pillows from the last time you were here. One of your hair ties sits on the coffee table. Evidence of a life that never quite stopped belonging to both of you even when you tried to pretend otherwise.

He sits first and pulls you into his lap without ceremony. You go willingly, knees bracketing his hips, arms looping around his neck.

For a long moment you just look at each other.

Then he starts talking again, quieter, like the words have been waiting behind his teeth for days.

“She ordered something with cilantro and I almost told her you hate cilantro. Almost said it out loud. Like my mouth forgot who I was sitting with.”

You brush a strand of white hair off his forehead. “You left mid-date.”

“Yeah.” A short, self-conscious laugh. “Suguru gave me the look. You know the one. The ‘you’re an idiot and I love you but also please stop’ look. I walked outside and called you before I even thought about it. Needed to hear your voice. Needed to know you still existed in the same world as me.”

You remember the way your phone had lit up. The way you’d shoved it under the pillow like that could protect either of you from whatever this was becoming.

“I listened to the voicemail,” you tell him.

His arms tighten around you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Silence settles for a few heartbeats. Comfortable. Heavy with everything neither of you has said yet.

Then he leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your neck, soft and lingering.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it properly,” he murmurs against your skin. “That you’re it for me. That nothing else even comes close. That I tried to prove myself wrong and only proved the opposite.”

You tilt your head to give him more room. His mouth follows the line of your throat with careful, deliberate attention.

“You don’t have to figure it out,” you say. “Just keep showing up.”

He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. There’s something open and a little raw in his expression.

“I will. Every time. Even when I’m being an idiot about it.”

You kiss him for that. Slow. Thorough. The kind of kiss that says you already knew and you’re still choosing him anyway.

His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, palms warm against your waist. Not demanding. Just anchoring you to the present.

You feel the way his breathing changes when your fingers find the nape of his neck and scratch lightly the way he likes.

“Stay the night,” he says again, quieter this time. Almost a plea.

“I’m already here.”

He smiles against your mouth. The real one. The one that softens everything about him until he looks almost young again.

“Good.”

Later, when the apartment has gone fully dark except for the city glow through the windows, you end up tangled together on the couch under a blanket that smells like both of you. His heartbeat is steady under your ear. One of his hands keeps tracing idle patterns along your spine like he can’t quite stop touching you now that you’re close again.

“Shoko’s going to give me so much shit for this,” he says eventually, voice drowsy.

You huff a quiet laugh. “She already did. Called the whole thing pitiful.”

“She’s not wrong.”

You press a kiss to the center of his chest through the soft fabric of his hoodie.

“I don’t care if it was pitiful,” you tell him. “I’m glad you figured it out.”

His arms tighten around you one more time.

“Me too,” he whispers. “God. Me too.”

Outside, the city keeps moving. Inside, everything is quiet the way it only ever is when it’s the two of you.

And for the first time in days, it feels like enough.

[digimonlover]

texts w streamer!jo

a/n; established relationship, may continues this in multiple parts OR turn it into a series innit. Lmk whatchu want guys x

Tags; n/a @vanillaacreams

[tearsmisv]

you've been waiting for satoru to come home for what felt like forever. the moment he got home, you didn’t even give him time to hang his coat.

you hooked your hands around him and practically demanded, “sit down.”

satoru blinked. “whatcha’ up to now?”

before he could answer, you climbed onto his lap and made yourself comfortable like you belonged there. like you’d been waiting all day. he froze for a second—then his hands hovered awkwardly, unsure whether he was allowed to touch you yet.

“hey—why are you acting so—”

he didn’t get to finish.

you grabbed his blindfold and ripped it off his face, like it had personally wronged you. the movement was so fast satoru barely had time to react. his hair fell into place, and then—those bright blue eyes were there, fully uncovered.

for a moment, he looked almost startled.

then his expression softened, concern creeping in. “baby… did i do something?”

you didn’t answer right away. you just stared—steady, intense, like you were really inspecting him. like you were checking something important.

satoru swallowed. “uh… are you mad at me?”

“no,” you finally said, voice quiet but certain. you leaned closer, meeting his gaze like a promise. “have i told you how much i love your eyes?”

his shoulders loosened, and you could almost see him realize he wasn’t in trouble. he let out a small laugh, then tried to grin like everything was normal.

“yes,” he said gently, looking at you like he adored you. “you have, sweetheart.”

[atinyaura]

i'll be your man (if you let me)

pairing: gojo x reader

in which the campus' certified popular guy desperately wants to be your guy.

except, you couldn't care less about him.

(or he randomly saw you with his childhood friend shoko at the bleachers across the field and decided he wants to insert himself in your world)

**disclaimer all photos are from pinterest!

part two: satoru takes three hours to dress up

**written portion ahead!

‧₊˚✧ ✧˚₊‧

suguru pockets his phone, nudging satoru's side as they resume their journey. "come on, hime said it's field 2. also shoko's here."

satoru in his ridiculously overdressed attire only hums, hands in his pockets as he follows his best friend towards the bleachers. he grins, "think i'll get a lady here today?"

suguru rolls his eyes, giving his friend a judgemental side eye.

"doubt it."

the white haired scoffs, playfully shoving his friend. "you know what, i'll be sitting at the opposite side of the field so i won't be bitchless by the end of the day sitting next to you."

before his friend can come up with a retort, satoru's already scurrying off to the green bleachers on the opposite side of the baseball field with a loud, dramatic 'woooo!'. suguru rolls his eyes again, climbing into the ones with blue seats.

he spots a comical scene of his friend sitting alone in a sea of green empty seats from across the field and snickers, pulling out his phone to get a photo.

meanwhile, shoko's with you right outside the field, having stepped out to get some snacks from a student stall. "my loser friends are here," mumbles shoko around a crabstick.

you gave her a brief glance, pulling out some bills to pay for the food. "your diaper friends?"

the med student snickers. "yeah actually. i honestly don't know why they bother. one of 'em allegedly hates utahime with a passion. who's ironically also the one putting effort to dress up today. though he is usually over the top like that."

you hold back from making a face. "how can anyone hate utahime? is this the one with strange hair?"

shoko nods, following you back to the field with snacks in arms.

"yeah he's a menace. i feel sorry for whoever ends up with him."

you hum, letting her words drift away with the wind.

not knowing what lies ahead of you.

‧₊˚✧ ✧˚₊‧

a/n: since its my first work, i feel kinda excited so im posting two parts tonight^^

comment on this post to join taglist!

taglist: @whotfisaba @mrskamikazekaito @izumkay @cl3xr @taelattecookie @naxinomi @raccoonlover-11 @ioveariaa

[atinyaura]

i'll be your man (if you let me)

pairing: gojo x reader

in which the campus' certified popular guy desperately wants to be your guy.

except, you couldn't care less about him.

(or he randomly saw you with his childhood friend shoko at the bleachers across the field and decided he wants to insert himself in your world)

**disclaimer all photos are from pinterest!

part one: shoko is in need

‧₊˚✧ ✧˚₊‧

a/n: funsies factsies i was already into writing before (ancient wattpad was the goat) but then life happened or wtv, fast forward to me recently quitting my job so here i am tryna find back my rhythm ;)

comment on this post to join taglist!

taglist: @whotfisaba @mrskamikazekaito @izumkay @cl3xr @taelattecookie @naxinomi @raccoonlover-11 @ioveariaa

[akuma-coffee]

the agreement

satoru gojo x reader

synopsis: eighteen years ago, you made an agreement. should you be forty and single, the two of you would get married. well, it's your birthday, and satoru's the only man in sight.

tags: friends to lovers, fluff, soft gojo, proposal scene, kiss scene, very mild angst if you squint but mostly comfort, satoru wears glasses

1.9k

It was a stupid arrangement. Something teenagers say when they aren’t ready for commitment, or don’t want to admit their fruitless crushes on friends, or on the off chance, are genuinely fearful of dying alone.  

It’s certainly not a promise you expected to uphold, nor one you thought of all too frequently in your adult life, because as an adult, you don’t focus on the pointless interactions of adolescence. There’s bills to pay, the career ladder to climb – then the property ladder, the friend group ladder, savings ladder, maybe even one for travelling, and by the time you finally settle down to think about your life, you realise everyone around you is married or has kids, and somehow you haven’t made it past casual hookups or fleeting yearlong relationships.  

It’s not that it hadn’t been on your radar; you have put time and thought into what you’ve wanted form life, but out of all the things you could work toward, a relationship didn’t seem like something you could control. Your career? Of course. You can put in the hours, get a diploma, show up every day and turn in every spreadsheet on time. Buying a house, a little difficult on one income, but somewhat doable once you’ve done the career part. Children? Cats suffice. But a relationship is something else entirely, because not only do you have to give it your all, you have to trust another person with your entire being. To be fragile, and vulnerable, and open. To compromise and sacrifice, and to be worth it.  

And now, here you are.  

On the rooftop of Shoko’s apartment complex, a bottle of wine in hand, heels kicked off somewhere on the concrete as you look out over the skyline, and Satoru holding a rock too expensive to be yours between his fingers.  

“We agreed, didn’t we?” The rock glistens in the moonlight, and you almost drop the bottle in your hand, glancing up to his face to search for some sort of tell. Because, this has to be a joke – this is Satoru after all. You half-heartedly glance over your shoulder to see if you can spot any of your other friends, but no one’s there to point and laugh.  

“What are you talking about, Satoru?” Your voice is meek, and your gaze lingers over those eyes behind his rounded glasses. He puffs air through his nose, smirk fading, swallowing sharply before he replies.   “Your fortieth birthday, remember?” He says it like it’s obvious, and you start to question what on Earth he’s even talking about, before it hits you.  

Tears gather at your lash line to be wiped away in embarrassment, barely holding yourself together. It’s his graduation party, and you’re supposed to be happy, because not only is your closest friend thriving, you’ve just been awarded an honours too. Despite this, you can’t find it within yourself to stop crying; there’s an empty feeling in place of achievement.  

“Hiding from me at my own party? Rude.” Satoru’s voice echoes through the stairwell as he comes up behind you, shoes tapping against the pavement. You left through the back, hiding at the bottom of the staff’s stairs, collapsed on the final step in all your emotion. Thankfully, no one had actually approached you thus far, and you hadn’t had to explain yourself. Maybe it’s karma that Satoru’s the one to find you. 

“Sorry.” With a shaking voice, you try and contain the intense darkness you feel shrouded within, ignoring that pain in your chest whenever you remember university is over, and it’s time to work for the rest of your life.  

“Hey, are you crying?” His playful tone switches up pretty swiftly. That’s something about Satoru, behind the boisterous mask, he’s one of the most genuine people you’ve ever met.  

You shake your head, sucking in your breath, but as soon as he sits beside you and drapes an arm over your shoulders, the waterworks start again. ‘Sorry’, you splutter out, and ‘thank you’ when he offers you a napkin you’re pretty sure is already used from deep in his jacket pocket, but he remains silent until you grow tired of your sobs, and your breathing regulates again.  

“Wanna tell me what’s up?” Your head is pressed against his chest a little awkwardly as your bodies are still side-by-side, a kind of half hug. His voice booms through his chest and vibrates against your ear.   “Not really.” You admit, and he squeezes your shoulder.   “Come on, it’s my party!” You stifle a laugh through your defeated form, rolling your eyes.  

“I’m not ready to grow up.” You admit, and Satoru takes a moment to respond, allowing you to wallow in the quiet of nightfall. Cars drive past on the street out front, and if you listen closely, you can hear a faint thrumming from inside the venue.  

“Who says you gotta grow up?” It’s the most Satoru answer, you think, because of course he doesn’t see it how you do. In a couple years, he inherits his family company, and likely won’t work too hard until he retires. For you, it’s a little different.  

“I start my new job soon, and then I’ll have to work toward moving out, getting a boyfriend – I mean, how can I look forward to anything anymore? It’s all gonna be, ‘oh where’s that report’, or ‘can you change junior’s nappy’, or-”  

“Calm down.” Satoru laughs, and it reverberates in your eardrum, soft against your cheek. You stop, sinking back into his embrace, turning your face into his chest. “Most people look forward to that stuff, ya know?” He speaks quietly, and you hum against his shirt, too tired to reply.   “Tell you what,” He starts, leaning back into the step behind him, tilting his head to look up at the stars. “If you’re still single by forty, I’ll marry you. One less thing to think about, huh?”  

You blink away the memory, taking a breath in. Satoru lets the breath he was holding onto out, chest deflating, and he turns away from you to lean on the railing. He twiddles with the ring as if it’s nothing more than a simple ultimatum, before he casts his eye on the buildings below.  

“I didn’t...” You trail off, mimicking his own stature with a heavy heart. “I didn’t think you were serious.” A light turns red below, and a small queue of traffic accumulates. It ticks green, and the cars begin to move, spacing out as they make it further down the road. “I don’t think I expected to be single at forty, let alone you.” 

This makes him smile, albeit weakly, a chuckle catching in his throat. “Think I’m a catch?” He teases; if eye rolling were an Olympic sport, Satoru would be your motivation.  

You think about your home. The little decorations you’ve added, the furniture you’ve spent a small fortune on. The cats that await you after work. It’s a home, but there’s always been something off putting about it. Something bleak, and empty. When you had your try at dating, things felt a little brighter, but when they leave at the end of the day, it’s always the same. Just you.  

“What are the expectations?” You ask, unable to look in his direction. You stare at your hands, fingers flexing.   “This isn’t a contract.” Although he means to be light-hearted, there’s a seriousness about his tone you just can’t shake. “I, uh-” He coughs, and as you glance to him in the corner of your eye, you realise Satoru himself is flustered, or at the very least, embarrassed.  

“I’ve had some partners, nothing that serious.” He pauses. “No one seems to keep up with me, or if they do, I’m never sure if at the back of their mind, they’re thinking about something else.” Your brow furrows, and finally you turn your head again. His face is downturned to the city below, whisps of hair blowing gently in the breeze. “The money. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the life I have, but it eats away at me. I feel like everyone around me is there for one reason, but with you, it’s different.”  

A droplet falls onto your cheek, and as you blink, a few more fall.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset-”   “I do, or whatever.” You speak brashly, holding out your hand. Satoru’s expression seems to dance between a few different emotions: shock, joy, confusion, but settles on a tender sense of relief, a small smile etching into his lips. You watch as he processes your response, the cogs turning to think of some sort of funny reply-  

“Don’t-” Your hand almost retracts, but he grabs it, sliding the ring onto your finger.   “You say that at the wedding.”  

A wedding.  

It’s big, and a little too grand. The Gojo’s are suffocating, as he’d pre-warned, but all claim to have heard only good things about you. Satoru looks sheepish when the tenth person tells you some anecdote from his past, or tells you how enthralled he is with you. It’s only on your wedding day you realise that Satoru may have loved you all along, and held out hope that you would still be willing once you hit forty.  

When you get the hotel room, giddy on nerves and a little too much champagne, you’re in awe at the suite he booked. A king-sized bed, a clawfoot bathtub at the corner, with windows showcasing a city-wide view. You laugh in excitement, running to the glass with your mouth half-open, giggles still bubbling from your chest.  

“You like it?” He asks, admiring your unabashed emotions. You turn to him, and for a moment you stumble over things to say, ways to thank him, but in the end, all you muster is a step forward, fingers wrapping around his collar, and pulling him to your lips. It’s only your second kiss, the first being at the altar, but you can’t deny that it just feels right.  

“Why didn’t you ask me sooner?” You question, bubbles sitting at your chest as you lean back in the bath. Your legs are awkwardly tangled against his, but he doesn’t seem to mind, a glass of champagne sitting between his fingers. His wedding band shimmers in the light of the candles, and your stomach twists in a sense of pride.  

He takes a sip, looking out at the view. “Was scared you wouldn’t feel the same.” His admittance sends a pang through your chest, and unsettles you enough to set your own flute down on the marble, moving to sit over his lap. He leans back in the tub with a smile, free hand moving to rest between your shoulder blades as he stares up at you through half-lidded eyes.  

“I love you.” It’s a whisper, and you draw closer to his face, lips ghosting.   “I know.” He replies, hand dragging to the back of your head, to pull you in for another kiss.  

[bnunikat]

bf!gojo who lets you use his biceps for a tiktok trend! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

You loved Gojo’s perfectly sculpted body, his firm biceps will never fail to make you feel tingly inside.

You felt practically blessed to have a man who looked like he was carved out of marble by the gods themselves.

What was driving you crazy, though, was his schedule.

Lately, your feed had been taken over by that adorable tiktok trend where girls used their boyfriend’s massive biceps as a plate, eating something right off their arms.

You wanted so badly to try it with him, but Gojo was always out on missions, constantly running around. Even when he finally made it home, he looked so drained that you couldn’t bring yourself to bother him with a childish video you found in tiktok.

It devastated you, but you refused to be a burden while he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Except Gojo noticed.

He always knew when something was weighing on you.

You were lying on your back in bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone just to tire your eyes out enough to sleep, when the bed dipped beside you.

Gojo laid down right beside you, pulling you against his chest with his long, solid arms wrapped around your waist until there wasn’t a single millimeter of space left between you.

“Hey, baby... you good?” he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Tell me, please. I can tell something’s bothering you.”

You pouted, unable to resist the soft warmth of his voice.

“I just...”

“Mhm..”

“Well...”

you hesitated for a bit.

“I really wanna do this tiktok trend with you, and…”

A soft snicker broke through the quiet of the bedroom.

“Hey! Stop laughing, this is serious!” you huffed, turning around to glare at him.

Gojo looked down at you with pure adoration, eyes crinkling at the corners as he forced a serious face. “Right, right— Ahem.. veryy serious.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up, and you pulled up the saved video to show him. He leaned in, taking in the clip before looking up at you with a broad, playful grin.

“So this is what had my girl pouting all day? Hm.. simple enough.”

“Let's get some sushi” he whispered gently, his arms still held tight around your waist as his thumb gave your hip a soft, comforting brush.

Once the food arrived, Gojo set up your phone on the bedside table, perfectly angled. He rested his forearm flat on the bed, flexing his massive bicep.

You carefully placed a piece of sushi right on top of his skin, holding the tiny bowl of soy sauce ready in your hand.

“Alright, lemme know when to start, ‘kay?” he teased, hovering his hand near the record button.

“Okay, go!”

The audio started playing, and you stubbornly drenched the sushi in soy sauce before popping the whole thing into your mouth. Soy sauce dripped down the side of his arm, and refusing to let it ruin the shot (or go to waste) you leaned down and licked the dark trail clean off his bare skin.

Gojo’s breath hitched, his length slightly twitching against his pants as he watched your tongue trace the cut of his muscle. He’d be a liar if he said it didn’t instantly turn him on.

Before the camera timer could even run out, his heavy, warm hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck firmly. In a single, fluid pull, he hauled you close and dragged your lips to his.

His mouth claimed yours, his tongue sliding deep past your parted lips to lap up the lingering taste of soy sauce off yours.

The video finished recording and looped endlessly in the background, but the glow of the screen completely faded from your mind as the sheer heat of his body consumed you. With a low hum, his free hand slowly slid down your stomach, his fingers trailing agonizingly close to your core, teasing the warm fabric of your clothes without quite touching where you needed him most.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were gasping for air.

With his free hand, Gojo reached over your phone and turned it off, plunging the room into dark, thick silence. The only sound left was the frantic, uneven rhythm of your breathing as you stared up at him, completely breathless.

His thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point at the side of your neck, feeling your heart hammering wildly against his skin.

“We’ll post the video tomorrow,” he purred, “I missed your touch… just focus on me for now m’kay?”

Art belongs to yamada_souko on twt!

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