your big boyfriend always leaves you sore between your legs 𐦍
fluff/ light smut
you thought you’d be used to having a big boyfriend by now — six foot three, body sculpted by the gods, dick big and heavy (and he knew it).
the morning after he’d fucked you stupid, you’re used to having a little tenderness between your legs. it was normal to you. expected.
that’s not to say it wasn’t close to agonising sometimes.
"y’okay, sweets?" satoru asks as you wake, cuddling up to you as soon as he catches a glimpse of discomfort on your face.
he presses a kiss to your shoulder, watching you clutch your lower stomach. "mhm, just sore," you reply.
you were a little more than sore, but he didn’t need to know that.
satoru nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, then rolls you over so you’re flat on the bed. "my poor baby. lemme see."
there wasn’t an ounce of mock-sympathy in his voice — just pure love and affection.
you let him pull your shorts down, placing them beside you. he kisses your knee before parting your legs, gaze focused on your pussy. it’s like you could still feel him down there, the soreness and weight of him still lingering.
satoru hums as he parts your folds, pussy still slightly puffy and red, most of the pain on the inside near your cervix. "m’sorry, princess," he says, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your clit.
"mm, i have such a big, mean boyfriend" you respond with a faint smile.
satoru giggles, then slides your shorts back onto you, gathering you in his strong arms to give you all his love and attention. "soooo mean," he says, kissing you all over your face with exaggerated ‘mwah’ sounds.
after cuddling you for a little while, he grabs you your heating pad, placing it on your lower stomach before drawing you a hot bath. and of course, he orders you copious amounts of food and unnecessary gifts.
"you don’t have to do all this, toru. i’m okay," you say, watching him saunter back over to you with that infamous casual confidence, gathering you in his arms and walking you over to the bathroom.
"shhh," he hushes, sitting you on the ledge of the bath and helping you undress, "always gonna take care of my princess."
he pauses for a second, allowing a moment of silence before breaking it again. "suchhhhh a shame i have such a massive di-"
you cut him off with a glare as he climbs behind you into the bath, shortly after setting you down in it.
nerdjo who is helplessly in love with you even when you wrinkle your nose at him and give him attitude
nerdjo who’s friends can’t believe he bagged you the first time he’d introduced you to them. you’d had a reputation for running men away left and right but somehow you’d chosen their digimon obsessed friend to stay with
nerdjo who lets you stomp your cute heels at him and prod him with your pretty nails, standing there like a fool while you sass him and tell him his character themed shirts are stupid and ugly
nerdjo who invites you to his mathematics competition and smiles when you tell him you’re busy - knowing you’d show up anyways and stay the whole time
nerdjo who doesn’t drink at parties so you can. not wanting you to worry about getting home or anything happening while you’re out of it
nerdjo who drives you home after said parties and tends to you softly (even when you threaten to drown him during your bath)
nerdjo who tucks you in, huffing out a soft laugh when you make him fix your blankets four separate times even when there’s nothing wrong with them
nerdjo who can’t help but snort when he presses a kiss to your forehead and in return, you wipe it off and shoo him away
nerdjo who notices the look on your face when he gets up from your bed. the way your lips pout slightly and your eyebrows crease the littlest bit
nerdjo who brushes his knuckles over your cheek,
“i’m just gonna lock up and get the lights” he says softly, “i’ll be back”
“hurry up” you mumble, pulling your blankets up and shutting your eyes
nerdjo who comes back, his weight making your bed dip slightly as he moves to lay next you, gently collecting you into his arms
nerdjo who smiles when you tell him he stinks but nuzzle closer to him anyways, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw
nerdjo who gently rubs your back and whispers quietly to after you fall asleep against him, hoping you can hear how much he’s in love with you while you dream
tonight was girls night. that much should be easy to understand, but no. not for gojo, who was currently pouting on your bed while you sat at your vanity, putting mascara on.
"no means no," you say firmly, ignoring his puppy dog eyes as you focus on your own.
of course, that's not enough to discourage him. he gets up and walks over to you, bending down to look over your shoulder to join you in the mirror. he still had on those round sunglasses, as always, though you could see the desperation through them. you pointedly ignore him even as his hands go to your shoulders. "you can't leave me alone, baby," he pouts.
"i can, and i will," you say, sparing him a quick, amused smile before you move on to your lip gloss.
"baby," he huffs and his arms slide around your waist, propping his chin on your shoulder.
"toru, i'll be back in a couple of hours. then i'm all yours," your voice softens.
his face turns sour. "i thought you already were all mine," he says, betrayed.
with a soft chuckle, you pull his hands off and turn to stand. "i am- you know what i mean," you say. you step up to the full body mirror, ensuring that everything was perfect. satoru stood behind me, his shoulders slumped, arms crossed, and his lips still in that perfect pout. it was rare you didn't let him go out with you, especially because of this exact reason. you were set on not giving in, though. "how do i look?"
"perfect," he grumbles, coming up behind you to grab your hips. "too perfect."
you giggle and turn in his arms to face him. your neck cranes as you look up at him. you slide his sunglasses off with one hand, using the other to cup his face gently, looking into his pretty eyes. "i'll be back before you know it," you repeat softly.
he shakes his head, looking down at you with his frown. "i don't think you understand how much i hate being away from you," he says, his voice lowered as well. "especially knowing you'll be around random guys... anything could happen and i won't be there."
you smile and kiss his cheek softly. "i'll be safe. i'll call you if something happens, you know that," you reassure him.
he sighs and lets his head fall on your shoulder, his arms holding you tighter. "i know, i know. i just worry."
you let him hold you there for a few more minutes before you gently pull away. "i need to go or i'll be late. i'll see you soon, toru," you say finally, giving him a final smile.
he presses a quick kiss to your forehead before letting go. "okay. bye, baby. have a good night."
clingy!satoru who’s clingy in a way that feels like it should be impossible for someone like him.
clingy!satoru who leans his weight on you while you’re doing something simple—scrolling on your phone, making tea, studying—and he’ll sigh dramatically, mumbling about how you’re ignoring him while his arms are literally locked around your waist.
clingy!satoru who's clingy because he’s greedy. gojo satoru is a man who has never been denied anything in his life, not because people don’t try, but because nobody can actually stop him. so when he loves you, that love becomes a claim. he’ll show up wherever you are, grinning like he’s doing you a favour, when really he just couldn’t stand being away from you.
If you’re with friends, he’ll wedge himself between you and everyone else with zero shame. If you try to act annoyed, he’ll make it worse. pouting, whining, pressing kisses to your cheek until you cave. And when you do? his smile turns lethal, smug like ‘see? I knew you’d give in.’
clingy!satoru who’s also clingy in the way that’s dangerous because it’s quiet. people think Gojo’s all jokes, all arrogance and playfulness, and he is.
clingy!satoru who when he’s alone with you, there’s this heavy softness to him that he only shows when he feels safe. he’ll lie with you after a mission, limbs tangled, breathing slow, and he’ll pull you closer like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin while he talks about nothing. Sometimes he won’t talk at all. he’ll just hold you and let the silence exist, like he’s soaking you into his bones.
clingy!satoru who at home, he’s unbearable. you’ll try to do anything—fold laundry, wash dishes, write notes, and he’ll be right there. hugging you from behind. Pinning you against the counter just to steal your attention. he’ll whine that you’re “too busy” and then distract you on purpose, lips dragging along your jaw, hands roaming with lazy confidence until your thoughts scatter. and if you scold him? he’ll grin into your skin like he loves it when you pretend to be strict.
clingy!satoru who’s clingy in bed too, ridiculously so. not just the sex, but everything around it. he’ll trap you under him like a weighted blanket and refuse to move, even after.
clingy!satoru who presses kisses everywhere, slow and thorough, like he’s mapping you. if you try to get up, he’ll drag you back by your hips with a lazy tug and a sleepy “where’re you going?” like the thought of you leaving his arms is offensive. he’ll make you stay. he’ll make you lie there and take his affection until you’re breathless with it.
clingy!satoru who’ll make it clear in a hundred little ways: the way he always keeps you tucked against him, the way he watches you like you’re the only interesting thing in the room, the way his hands always find you.
clingy!satoru who loves like a force of nature. when he’s clingy, it isn’t weakness. It’s ownership. it’s obsession dressed up as affection.
ཐི Pairings: Spider-Man!Gojo x f!Reader
ཐི Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI: blood/injury, mild language, brief suggestive tension, emotional vulnerability, mentions of past trauma/injury, friends-to-lovers tension, slow burn maybe, shirtless Gojo in distress (you're welcome)
ཐི Synopsis: You always knew something was off. The bruises, the excuses, the way Satoru smiled like nothing was ever wrong. But you never expected to catch your best friend climbing through his dorm window in a torn Spider-Man suit—bleeding, limping, and very, very confused to find you already in his bed. Turns out, the mask was the easy part. Explaining why he kept it from you? That’s going to hurt more.
Look, in Satoru Gojo’s defense, he didn’t mean to get bitten by a radioactive spider.
It wasn’t like he woke up one morning and thought, “You know what would really spice things up? Permanent genetic mutation.” No—he was just eighteen, bored, and dared by his best friends to sneak off during a field trip.
It had been Suguru’s idea, naturally. Haibara backed it up with that reckless grin of his and a, “Come on, Gojo! Don’t be a coward.”. And Gojo—never one to turn down a challenge, especially with you watching from the corner of the lab, arms crossed and suspicious—took the bait.
Next thing he knew, he was sneaking behind the barrier in one of the restricted research wings, alone, because of course his friends had ditched him to go flirt with the grad students.
But then he took one wrong turn, finding himself in a closed-off lab, staring at a glowing containment case he definitely shouldn’t have opened. And then—snap. Right on the web between his thumb and index finger. Like the thing had been waiting.
Yeah. He got bit. Sue him.
It was small, and honestly, the bite had barely hurt. You’d scolded him for wandering off, of course. Dragged him out by the sleeve of his lab coat and threatened to tell Yaga about the whole thing. But he never got the chance to explain the bite. Not before the symptoms started.
First came the dizziness. Then the freaky super strength. The creeping sense of pressure in the back of his head every time something bad was about to happen. And then the wall-crawling incident. That one was hard to ignore, especially when it ended with him stuck to the ceiling of the boys’ dorm for two hours before Suguru had found him. He was the only one who knew.
And the weird powers? They never went away.
The getting-stuck-to-the-walls thing just got worse. Along with his super strength that he hadn’t learned to control, resulting in him accidentally flicking an entire cafeteria tray into Nanami’s face (which he still hadn’t been forgiven for).
The rest, well...it escalated.
He got a mask. A suit. A name.
And for the past few years, he’d been juggling college classes, part-time tutoring, and the occasional city-wide disaster. It wasn’t glamorous. He wasn’t rich or famous. He still showed up to class ten minutes late with iced coffee and fresh bruises he refused to explain. But someone had to look out for this city—and it might as well be him.
Most nights were spent slinging webs across the skyline, fighting weirdos in mech suits or mind-control cults or whatever flavor of chaos happened to be trending. It wasn’t exactly what he had imagined his early twenties would look like, but hey—at least the cardio was good.
Tonight had been one of the rougher ones.
The villain had some sort of magnetic field tech—don’t ask, he’s still figuring it out—that completely messed with his web cartridges, which was honestly just rude. His ribs were sore, his suit was torn along the left thigh and shoulder, and he was pretty sure there was dried blood on his chin.
All he wanted to do after was crawl into bed and maybe sleep for the next week.
He didn’t bother swinging all the way across the city. Not tonight. He cut through a few back alleys, scaled a fire escape, and ducked into the familiar creak of the window that led to his dorm bedroom.
He dropped down inside with a grunt, one leg over the sill and already halfway to peeling off the top half of his suit when he heard it:
A soft rustle. The distinct turn of a page.
His head snapped up.
You were there.
Not a hallucination. Not a dream.
Just you, curled up on his bed like you belonged there—hoodie sleeves pushed up, a paperback balanced on your knees.
You blinked.
He blinked.
Both frozen.
And for once, Satoru Gojo had absolutely no idea what to say.
It was almost midnight when your phone buzzed again.
Another text from Gojo.
still working late :( don’t wait up
You stared at the message for a second too long, thumb hovering over the screen like you were tempted to cuss him out one more time. But then you rolled your eyes, locked it with a sigh, and tossed the phone onto his nightstand with a quiet thud.
Liar.
“Working late,” your ass.
He always said that. Or some variation of it—meetings ran long, had to help Yaga with something, emergency tutoring session. All suspicious. All delivered with that same infuriating grin, like he knew you wouldn’t push.
Sometimes you did. Sometimes you tried.
But he always wriggled his way out of it, brushing you off with a joke or a wink, or a “God, you worry too much.” Like caring about him was some kind of thing you should’ve been embarrassed about.
It was infuriating how vague he could really be—always making it seem like he was out actually doing something normal. But the bruises told you otherwise. The busted knuckles, the limping gait some mornings, the way he winced when he thought you weren’t looking—it all added up to something much bigger than “late-night tutoring sessions”.
So you stopped asking. Mostly.
Suguru was even worse. You’d begged him once, cornered him in the campus café after class when Satoru had come home with his ribs wrapped and his knuckles bloodied. “What is he doing at night?” you’d asked, giving him a look that said I’m serious this time.
Suguru had just looked at you for a long moment before quietly saying, “It’s not my place to tell. Satoru’s just…a complicated guy.”
Like you didn’t already know that.
Then he paid for your coffee and changed the subject.
You’d never felt so helpless in your life.
Satoru Gojo was your best friend. Had been since high school. Loud, ridiculous, impossibly smart—annoying, in that way that got on your nerves like it was his full-time job (though, he made it incredibly hard to actually stay mad at him). He was also the one who carried you home on his back when your feet hurt. Who sent you memes when he knew you were upset. He made you laugh. Made you feel safe, even when the rest of the world didn’t.
Somewhere along the way, the closeness stopped feeling purely platonic.
You never admitted it. Not even to yourself—not really. But it was there, humming under your skin like static.
And lately…he’d been pulling away. Or maybe hiding something. You weren’t sure which felt worse.
He was so secretive. Always brushing things off, changing the subject, vanishing in the middle of plans. You’d started pretending not to notice. That maybe it was just work, or stress, or something he’d eventually tell you when he was ready.
But that excuse had been wearing thin.
So tonight, instead of going back to your own dorm, you waited.
You’re not even sure why. Stubbornness, maybe. Or something softer you don’t want to name.
You were already curled up on his bed, one leg tucked beneath you, a paperback open in your lap as you reread the same sentence three times now. The hoodie you were wearing was one of his—oversized, soft, with a faded Digimon print on the front and sleeves that fell over your hands. It still smelled like his detergent—that faint peppermint-and-cotton scent that always made you feel like you were here, with him, even when he wasn’t.
His dorm was quiet, except for the occasional shuffle of someone in the hallway and the low hum of traffic outside the cracked window. The room was small and messy, barely big enough for one person, let alone two (he shared with Suguru). His desk was cluttered with open notebooks and loose pens. A pair of round sunglasses rested crooked on top of a physics textbook. The desk chair was pushed back at an angle like he had left in a rush.
You turned a page.
And another.
The clock ticked past midnight.
You didn’t know why you were still here. Maybe out of spite. Maybe hope. Maybe because you wanted to be there to make sure he was okay. That if he came back again limping or bleeding or cracked open, you’d be the one to catch him.
But deep down, you were hoping—just a little—that tonight would be different. That he’d walk through the door and sit beside you and finally tell you the truth.
You glanced at the window. It was cracked slightly, as always. He insisted that it was for ventilation, but you always suspected it was just another one of his stupid quirks.
You sighed, stretched your legs a little, and settled deeper into the pillows.
If Satoru wanted to keep secrets, fine. He could have his mysteries and his midnight escapades.
But he could at least have the decency to come home before you fell asleep in his bed.
You were just about to give up and call it a night when the window creaked.
Not loud. Just enough to make your head lift.
You blinked once, slowly, glancing up, expecting him to walk through the door like a normal person.
But no.
Of course not.
There was movement—a shadow pulling itself over the sill, graceless and muttering.
And then he dropped into the room.
You froze.
So did he.
One leg still hanging out the window, one glove halfway peeled off. His other hand tugged at the edge of a white mask, lifting it high enough to expose his jaw—his bruised, bloody jaw—and a familiar mop of white hair.
And your stomach dropped.
He hadn’t noticed you yet, not fully. He was grumbling under his breath, tugging at the top half of his suit as he peeled it down to his waist with a wince. His hair was a mess, clinging to his forehead with sweat, and there was a cut on his temple that looked like it hadn’t stopped bleeding.
But that wasn’t what made your heart stop.
It was the suit.
Mostly black and white. Torn at the sleeve. Streaked with dirt and ash. And right at the center of his chest, printed in bright, unmistakable blue—
A spider emblem.
Your breath caught.
He looked up. Finally saw you.
And everything in the room just—stopped. He was like a deer caught in headlights.
You felt your heart kind of stutter, because it’s him. It’s Satoru. Except—it’s not.
You stared at him.
Then at the suit.
Then back at him.
Your mouth dropped open. There is no way. No fucking way…
You’ve seen Spider-Man before—but who hasn’t? He was on the news, in blurry tabloid photos, grainy clips online. The masked vigilante who swung in to stop a building collapse downtown. The guy who took on four robbers at once outside the Midtown bank. The same one who—
—saved you once.
But that had been months ago.
And he hadn’t said a word.
Just lifted you out of danger, bridal style, and disappeared before you could even thank him. You’d told yourself it could’ve been anyone.
But now, with him standing in front of you—torn suit, wild hair, and a look of complete panic settling across his features?
There was no denying it.
The book you were barely reading slipped from your lap, hitting the mattress with a dull thump.
“Y–You’re Spiderm—” you start, the words tumbling out before your brain can catch up.
His eyes went wide.
“NOPE—NOPE NOPE NOPE—” he yelped, practically throwing himself across the room.
You shot to your feet, voice rising. “You’re Spider-M—!”
“SHHHHH—” His palm slammed over your mouth mid-sentence.
Your hands flew up in protest, eyes wide, muffled complaints coming fast and still loud. He looked equally horrified and apologetic, the panic written all over his face.
“Stop talking. Stop—please—shhh. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” He glanced wildly at the window, as if worried someone might’ve heard you from four stories below. “Why are you here?! Why are you—why are you awake?!”
You glared up at him.
He winced, looking like he was two seconds away from passing out. “Right. Yeah. Okay. That’s a dumb question. But this is fine. Totally fine. Normal, even.” he muttered mostly to himself.
You raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Okay, not normal,” he amends quickly, eyes darting around like the room might start recording him. “But manageable. Kind of. If you just—stop screaming and don’t say the name again—"
You swatted at his hand until he finally took the hint. He slowly peeled it away from your mouth, like you might bite him. You didn’t—but only barely. You gaped at him for another beat. Your eyes flicked back to his suit, to the emblem, to the blood on his temple. “You’re Spider-Man?!”
“That’s…um.” He scratched the back of his head, grinning weakly. “A surprisingly complicated question, actually.”
Your hands flew up again. “Are you insane?!”
“Okay see, that’s more fair—”
“You’ve been lying to me this entire time—”
“Not lying,” he said, holding up both hands like he could Jedi-mind-trick you into chilling out. “Just, you know. Withholding certain city-saving, occasionally life-threatening details…”
You were still too stunned to speak. Your pulse was thundering in your ears.
Satoru Gojo—your idiot best friend—was the Spider-Man.
“What the fuck, Satoru?!”
“I can explain!”
“Can you?!”
“...Well, no. But I will! Eventually!”
There was another beat of tense silence. Then you both spoke at the same time.
“You’re a superhero—”
“You were not supposed to be here—”
Another pause.
You looked at him again. This tall, ridiculous man in front of you, standing in his half-peeled suit, covered in bruises, and desperately trying to hold it together with pure denial.
And you couldn’t help it.
You bursted out laughing.
“You’re Spider-Man?” you ask again, still breathless. “You trip over your own feet walking across campus.”
He pouted, deeply offended. “I don’t trip—okay, that was one time, and the floor was weird.”
You shook your head, a hundred questions forming at once. None of them left your mouth.
Because suddenly, everything—every late-night excuse, every wince, every disappearing act—made a terrifying kind of sense.
And it hit you, like gravity finally catching up, that he’d been doing this alone.
So, the laughter faded. Slowly. The corners of your mouth still twitched, but your chest felt tight again. It didn’t just disappear completely—but it quieted. Simmering beneath the weight of everything you’d come to realize.
Satoru looked at you, and you looked at him—this idiot, this liar, this half-dressed, scraped-up mess of a best friend— was still standing there, scuffed and bloody and too tired to keep the smile on his face. His shoulders were tense. His eyes—usually so loud, so annoyingly bright—were just…quiet. You felt everything all at once. Relief. Anger. Confusion. That familiar knot of worry that always settled in your stomach whenever he came home bloodied.
But mostly? You were hurt.
You crossed your arms over your chest, with a pout matching his own, “Why didn’t you tell me?” It hadn’t meant to come out so quietly, a little too raw.
He flinched as if you slapped him. “I—I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, I just—”
You stepped back before he could get any closer. “No, seriously. Don’t start with that. You lied. You disappeared. You let me sit here for months, wondering where you were. You let me think you were just being a dumbass, going out and getting into fights for fun, when you were out there risking your life every single night.”
He flinched again. You hated that he looked so small sitting there with his arms half out of his suit. Like he knew he’d messed up and didn’t know how to fix it.
“Suguru knew,” you snapped. “And not me. Do you have any idea how shitty that feels?”
His mouth opened—then closed. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, like he didn’t know where to start.
“Okay, that wasn’t—on purpose,” he said eventually. “He walked in on me stuck to the ceiling of our dorm one night. I was still figuring everything out, and he… just found out. I didn’t tell him. He saw. And I couldn’t really explain that away, could I?”
You didn’t say anything. You just stared. Because you believed that part—but it didn’t fix the ache.
He looked up at you then, eyes wide and a little too honest.
“Look, you’re right. I should’ve told you. I just…I didn’t want you to know,” he admitted.
That made your eyes narrow. “What?”
He exhaled, long and rough-sounding. “Not because I don’t trust you. It’s the opposite.”
“Satoru—”
“I’m serious,” he said, cutting you off. “I’ve seen what happens. Bad guys figure out who matters. They look for leverage, and people get caught in the middle. People I care about. I didn’t want to put a target on your back. If anything ever happened to you because of me—”
His voice broke off shakily, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t survive it,” he said, quieter. “I’d never forgive myself…”
You blinked, feeling your throat tighten. “But I’ve always been there,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Whether I knew or not. I was already close. That didn’t change anything. You just…kept me in the dark.”
He just looked at you like you were breaking his heart. “I know…I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to lie to you. I just—wanted to keep you safe.”
There was a long, slow silence. Your shoulders sagged. The tension in your chest didn’t disappear, but it softened.
“…You’re such an idiot,” you muttered, stepping forward and tugging at his wrist. “Sit down before you fall over.”
He obeyed without argument, slowly sinking onto the edge of the bed with a quiet wince. You didn’t wait for permission—you turned on your heel and disappeared into his tiny bathroom, hands trembling as you opened the cabinet under the sink.
You needed a minute to breathe. To focus on something real, like disinfectant and gauze pads. Something you could control.
When you returned with the first aid kit, he hadn’t moved. He looked up at you with those stupidly blue eyes like he expected you to throw it at his head (which he definitely deserved).
Instead, you knelt down in front of him, pulling the kit open with practiced fingers. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, smiling just a little.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” you said, your voice fell quiet again. It wasn’t meant to sound so soft, but it was the truth.
He didn’t say anything, but he held your gaze.
You gestured toward his shoulder. “Suit.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“For the wound, asshole.”
“Oh. Right.” He winced, hesitating for a moment before he peeled the rest of the top down, the fabric sticking to a bloody scrape along his ribs. His chest was broad and flushed in patches of bruised skin and dried blood. Strong. Vulnerable.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the gauze. You tried not to look too long, but your gaze lingered. On the muscles shifting beneath his skin. On the curve of his neck, the dip of his collarbones, the pale trail of a healing scar across his ribs that you’d never seen before. His chest rose and fell, shallow and slow.
Your pulse fluttered, and it made you angry—because he was reckless and stupid and hadn’t told you anything. And it made you terrified, because you didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened if he hadn’t made it home tonight.
He winced when you dabbed the cut a little too firmly. “Baby,” you teased, gently. “You jumped off a building tonight. I think you can handle a little antiseptic.”
He snorted in response, smiling just a little, but it was smaller than usual. More tired. “That’s rich, coming from the person who cries during animal rescue commercials.”
The silence stretched. Your fingers moved more slowly, feeling the tension between you suddenly shift. It softened, changed shape.
You realized you were still kneeling between his knees, still tending to the bruise blooming down the side of his chest, and his eyes hadn’t left you once. When your hand brushed along the exposed skin, his jaw ticked.
The air felt warmer now. Thicker. His eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips. Yours flicked to his.
And he leaned in. Just barely.
And you let him.
Your heart stuttered against your ribs once more, this time for a very different reason. Your lips parted slightly—
—and then the door swung open.
“Hey, Satoru, have you seen my—” Suguru’s voice cut off midway.
Both you and Satoru whipped your heads around, flustered, wide-eyed, practically jumping apart.
Suguru stood in the doorway, eyes landing on you. Then Satoru. Then the awkward tangle of limbs and exposed skin between you.
There was a beat of silence as he blinked. But then he smirked. “Oops,” he said, backing up with his hands raised into the air. “My bad.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Then, slowly, you sat back, pressing the gauze firmly to his chest like it was his fault. “Tell him if he walks in like that again, I will kill him.”
Satoru coughed, trying and failing to look innocent. “Technically, he does live here.”
You glared. “Whatever.”
And this time, he laughed.
You cleaned the last of the cuts in silence, fingers steadier now. The sharp edge of anger had dulled into something quieter. Something that felt like grief, maybe. Or relief. A kind of tenderness you weren’t sure what to do with.
And it wasn’t awkward between you anymore. Just heavy. Full of things unsaid.
You taped down the last bit of gauze and let your hand rest—briefly—against the uninjured part of his chest. The warmth of his skin. The steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.
He didn’t move.
You knew he was still watching you. He always watched you like this—like he was memorizing the shape of you. Like he was afraid you’d disappear if he blinked.
And maybe you would’ve. If things were different.
When you finally sat back on your heels, you expected him to deflect. To joke. To shove it all down again, the way he always did when things got too real.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his voice came low. Careful. Afraid he didn’t deserve to ask.
“…Can you stay?”
You looked up at him. Really looked—at the bruises, the bandages, the blood still drying in his hair. But more than that…you saw all of it. The fear. The loneliness. The guilt he’d never once said out loud.
You wanted to yell at him again. Or maybe hold him forever.
But instead, you just nodded. Quietly. Without hesitation.
Because he didn’t need to ask.
Because you were already here.
Because you’d always stay.
And that was enough.
Author's Note: I've had this oneshot in my drafts forever now, but I was feeling inspired by Only One's Who Know by @indiewritesxoxo, because this superhero au of Gojo and Geto is chef's kiss. And I HIGHLY recommend you guy's go give it a read (I'm addicted)!
As always my lovelies, if you enjoyed, a repost is always appreciated! <3
divider: @strangergraphics! | Art by: @aliyartss on instagram
Dad!Toru being jealous of his son over Mom!Reader. But they sure get along when it comes to making you angry.
Sweet Tooth
wc. 783
Your phone buzzed inside your pocket as you grabbed the double chocolate chip cookie your husband specifically requested. You place it in your cart before reaching for your phone.
Upon seeing the message, your face lights up instantly. Satoru sent a selfie of him and your son, who's the carbon copy of his dad. Sometimes, it makes you wonder if your genes even tried, to be honest.
They're laying down on the bed, Satoru's arm stretched out, trying to fit the both of them in the frame. Your two and half-year-old son's face is all puffy, little blue eyes staring at the camera, and they're even wearing cute matching pyjamas. You heart the message, then looked at the grocery list again.
•Laundry soap
•Body wash
•Shampoo
•Diaper
•Baby wipes
•Mochi
•Double stuffed oreos
•Double chocolate chip cookies
•Ice cream (all flavors)
Your face twists in slight disgust at what your husband added to the list. But you can't even argue with him about it 'cus you're gonna steal his snacks anyway. After checking everything and buying more stuff that's not on the list, you headed to the cashier.
________________________________________
"Guys? I'm home!" you enter your home, excited to see your boys even though you just did two hours ago. Little toru came running down the hallway, arms wide open, bright smile splattered on his chubby face.
"Ma-ma, ma-ma" he chants, trying so hard to get to you fast. You drop the shopping bags on the floor and bend over, reaching your arms for him.
"Hi babyyy, come to mama! Who is mama's good boy, huh?" Before your son could reach you, someone else came sprinting towards you. You yelp, almost tripping as Satoru leeches onto your frame.
"I'm your good boy" he leans down and nuzzles his face on your neck, hugging you. You cackled at him and pinched his side, he hissed and then pouted his lip. "Owww that hurt"
"You idiot. Look at him, you're gonna make my actual baby cry" you say, peeking over at his shoulder while pointing at your son, on the verge of crying.
"Whaaaaat?! No way, I'm your baby" he lets go of the hug and sticks his tongue at the poor kid. He sobbed a few times, his lips downturned, before his tears finally dropped and cried.
“Wahhhhhhh” he wailed, tiny fists rubbing his eyes.
"Awww my sweetheart— come here" you coo as you pick him up. "Daddy's such a meanie, isn't he? Make sure not to grow up like him, okay?" you wiped his tears and filled his face with smooches.
Satoru glared at you two, arms crossed. "He's only crying to get your attention" and then, Satoru was convinced that his own son displayed a smug smirk at him. "Did you see that??! Love, I'm telling you he's doing it on purpose."
"Don't be a baby, Toru. He's only two" you retorted, heading to the living room. Satoru scoffed.
“Yeah, and a half. That half matters” he then carried the shopping bags on the floor and put them on the kitchen island.
He followed you and your son to the living room and leaned on the wall. He couldn't help but beam a precious smile at the scene. You're playing with his mini-me, giggles and laughs filling the house. He grabbed his phone real quick and took photos.
"Heyyy, why are you having fun without me?" he walks over and plops himself on the couch.
"Da-da" you hand over the baby as he's reaching for his dad. You kiss both of them on the cheeks.
"I'll cook now" you say as you stand up. Then turned to look at them, eyes narrowed. "No sweets before lunch." He only hums in return.
Once you were done preparing the meal, you went to check up on the two. "Lunch is ready. Let's eat!" But they weren't where you left them. You checked upstairs— still not there. And then... you hear tiny giggles from the bathroom.
You peek through the door and you see Satoru and your little one, stuffing their faces with the mochis you just bought earlier. Little Toru's face is covered with cream and the bigger man's face is no different, making you face palm yourself. Your heart melted at the sight. But then, you remember that you specifically told your husband to not eat sweets before lunch.
Arms folded on your chest, you open the door. Satoru flinches upon seeing you, eyes wide. "Mama, yum yum" your son offers you some of the dessert. Satoru laughs hysterically, you scoff.
"Oh no. Mama's angry. Let's run!!" he picks up the baby and runs for their lives.
synopsis. Gojo Satoru carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. You mumble "love you," in your half-asleep haze. He doesn't forget. The next morning, he teases you about it — and you both end up laughing, blushing, and tucked back into each other's arms.
pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader
content & warnings. pure fluff, established relationship, domestic fluff, soft gojo, teasing, kisses, forehead kisses, pet names (angel, love), sleepy confessions, no angst, happy ending!! <3
series. part 8 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here!
word count. 0.6k+
A/N. EKEKSKEK HE'S SO ADORABLE BRO 😭😭 was kicking my feet the whole time writing this
The movie was something with explosions. You'd stopped paying attention twenty minutes in, lulled by the warmth of the couch and the low rumble of the sound system.
Satoru noticed immediately. Your breathing shifted, going soft and even against his shoulder. Your head had gradually migrated there, heavy and trusting, and he went completely still so he wouldn't disturb you.
He'd been waiting for this. Not in any weird way, just... he knew you. The way you always fought sleep like it was losing some battle, stubborn even when your eyes were drifting shut. The way you'd only ever let yourself go completely when you felt truly safe.
He loved that. That even after all this time, after sleeping beside him more nights than he could count, you still trusted him with that vulnerability.
It still got him. Every single time.
Satoru waited another ten minutes, watching the light from the screen flicker across your face, memorizing the way your eyelashes looked against your cheek. Then he hit pause, gentle and slow, and shifted to gather you up.
You were lighter than he expected. Or maybe that was just adrenaline, the familiar spike of being trusted with something fragile. Your head lolled against his shoulder, and he felt your breath warm through his shirt.
"Love you," you mumbled, not quite awake, not quite asleep.
He stopped walking. His arms tightened, pulling you closer, and he couldn't help the smile that broke across his face. His lips found your forehead, soft and deliberate.
"I love you more, angel," he whispered.
You made a small sound, something between agreement and protest, and he kept walking, heart full, carrying you through the dark hallway to your bedroom.
He lowered you onto the mattress with ridiculous care. Pulled the covers back, tucked them around you. Slid in beside you and fitted himself against your back, arm wrapping around your waist, hand over your heart.
You pressed back into him, already half-gone, and he buried his face in your hair.
"Sleep," he murmured, and you did.
Satoru woke up first, sunlight filtering through the curtains. You were still tucked against him, exactly where you'd fallen asleep. He watched you breathe for a while, cataloging the moment, the weight of your words still warm in his chest.
You stirred eventually, blinking awake with no idea where you were or how you'd gotten there. You rolled over, confused, and found him watching you with something soft and knowing in his eyes.
"Morning," he said.
"Did you—" You looked around, piecing it together. "Did you carry me?"
"Mm." He brushed hair from your face. "You said something, too."
Your eyes went wide. "I did not."
"You absolutely did." He was grinning now, unrepentant, eyes crinkled at the corners. "Something about loving me? Adoring me? Can't quite remember, you were pretty incoherent. Mostly just 'Love you, You're perfect, Never leave me—'"
"Stop it!" You buried your face in the pillow, groaning loud enough to wake the neighbors. "Oh my god, you're the worst."
He laughed, full and delighted, and pulled you back against him before you could escape. "Am I, though? Because I'm pretty sure I'm the one who tucked you in like a princess and stayed all night to make sure you didn't float away."
"You—" You tried to glare at him but you were smiling, cheeks flushed pink. "You're never letting this go, are you?"
"Never." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. "I'm gonna bring it up at our wedding. First toast. 'Remember when she confessed her undying love and didn't even remember?'"
You groaned again, but you were laughing now, and you let him settle the covers around you both, let him tuck you back against his chest.
"For the record," you mumbled into his shirt, "I definitely don't sound like that."
"Sure, angel." He squeezed you tight, still smiling against your hair. "Whatever helps you sleep."
A/N. cred to @xinwntr for the div !! :D
Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3
