05-simply-06-simping

[05-simply-06-simping]

𝖧𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖵𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾!𝖲𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗎….🤤

•☽─────────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧───────────────☾•

Satoru Gojo had never been one to blend in.

Standing out was practically in his blood—the hair, the eyes, the arrogance laced with that effortless charm. Being different was easy. 

But, no matter how sharp his smirk or how fast his mouth ran, no one ever seemed to take him seriously.

Why would they? He was born in silk sheets, the heir to a name that built half the damn skyline.

A silver spoon was lodged so deep in his mouth, it gleamed every time he talked back.

Born into one of the wealthiest families in the city, everything about Satoru screamed privilege. Old money. Old power. Expectations that dated back to when kings still sat on thrones and legacy was carved in stone. His parents were relentless—pushing him to be sharper, smarter, stronger. To uphold the Gojo name.

He rejected it all.

Their traditions, their boardroom blood feuds, their obsession with appearances. He laughed in the face of their carefully curated empire and chose chaos instead—lounging through life with one hand in his pocket and the other flipping off destiny.

Until the night the sky turned to fire.

A gas leak in the penthouse, they’d said. An accident. A tragedy.

But there was nothing accidental about the message the police tried to bury—etched deep into the scorched glass of the penthouse, looming over the blackened skeletons of the city’s most powerful family:

"Not your kingdom anymore."

Satoru wasn’t in the building that night. That might’ve been the real tragedy.

Everything he hated about his family had gone up in smoke. And yet still, he grieved them. Maybe not the people they were, but the parts of them he never got to understand. The version of them that had tried, in their own twisted way, to make him into something greater.

He spiraled. Disappeared. Let the world think he was off partying on a yacht in Monaco while he drowned himself in silence and blame. But grief has a funny way of burning through apathy. And one day, when the numbness began to fade, he looked around and saw the city for what it was:

A stage full of liars. A chessboard of corruption. A paradise for the cruel.

And for once in his life... he wanted to do something about it.

He had the money. The influence. The resources. He'd always been told he was meant for something bigger—maybe it was time to find out what that meant on his own terms.

So, he put on the suit.

It was god-awful at first. Tight in the wrong places. Cheap fabric. Ijichi - his loyal butler - had stitched it together overnight using some scrap Kevlar and duct tape. It looked like a rejected prototype from a high school cosplay contest.

But it worked—for a night.

The next morning, the city was buzzing. Headlines screamed about a “masked maniac,” a “rogue hero,” a “reckless idiot with a hero complex.” The press hadn’t settled on a name yet, but one seemed to stick:

Specter.

(He hated it at first. Thought it had absolutely nothing to do with his whole…schmick. But, it started to grow on him.)

The bruises came with the job—purple blooming across his ribs, scrapes stinging along his arms—but his smile had never been brighter.

A week turned into a month.

The petty thieves gave way to smarter criminals. Then came the syndicates. The smugglers. The ones who ran the underbelly of the city with bloodstained ledgers and hands that never touched a gun—but called all the shots.

And that’s when the real work began.

Stakeouts. Recon. Untangling the web of backroom deals and black-market trades.

He started piecing it together: who pulled the strings, who moved the money, who bowed to the people who ordered the hit that destroyed his family.

And that’s when he met you.

At first, he thought you were innocent.

Another victim, maybe—someone coerced into a life you didn’t ask for, just trying to survive under someone else's boot.

That illusion was shattered the second you landed a roundhouse kick square to his chest.

It hurt. More than he’d admit.

But what really stung was how fast you vanished after. No name. No trace. Just a smirk and a threat he couldn’t stop replaying in his head.

You kept showing up after that—each time more infuriating, more unpredictable.

Classy. Efficient. Dangerous.

You fought like someone with something to protect. You knew the players, the streets, the stakes. And slowly, he started to realize you weren’t a pawn in this world.

You were a contender.

He tried to figure you out.

But, you kept your distance. Kept your secrets. Until, one night, you didn’t.

A sliver of information here. A warning there.

Not trust exactly—but something close enough.

Maybe...it was the way he never treated you like a monster.

Maybe...it was the way he smiled at you, even when you had a blade to his throat.

Maybe...it was just the fact that, beneath the mask, you both saw something familiar in each other:

A broken heir to a broken system, trying to change the world the only way they knew how.

•☽─────────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧───────────────☾•

This may or may not be inspired by one of my favorite movie trilogies ever: The Dark Knight Trilogy.

PLEASE WATCH IT IF YOU HAVEN'T - i beg

[05-simply-06-simping]

JJK men x Reader

Sypnosis; you are a fellow Christian! So how would it be like dating the boys if they were also Followers of Christ!

Characters; Itadori Yuji, Ryomen Sukuna, Nanami Kento, and Gojo Satoru.

Tw; literally nothing! if you get triggered by mentions of religion or having a relationship with Jesus then maybe stay away. Grammar mistakes!

Author; YES I LOVE JJK MEN AND YES IM CHRISTIAN WE DO EXIST!!, ok so on a really note this was definitely a bit self indulgent but guys I’ve been trying to make some content for all my readers and I think it was only fair to do a smau with my fav characters without it having any sort of explicit and still remaining somewhat true to their personality’s. Constructive criticism is welcome but any hate comments/commenters will be either ignored or blocked! Thank you!

Itadori, Y.

Ryomen, S.

Kento, N.

Satoru, G.

[05-simply-06-simping]

Molecular romance

One awkward smile, two 'study mates', and a love story that’s chemically inevitable.

Synopsis: You only stopped at his science fair booth out of pity—but the tall, nervous guy with crooked glasses and a galaxy model has other plans.

Satoru Gojo is brilliant, awkward, and talking a mile a minute about black holes like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. You weren’t looking for a tutor. Or a crush. But he’s got stars in his eyes—and maybe, now, so do you.

Pairing: Nerd!Gojo Satoru x reader

Genre: MDNI, College AU, Fluff, Slow-burn-ish, friends to lovers.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff in this one, mutual pining, just two idiots in love and nerdjo being really, really down bad.

Masterlist

<-prev

You pull your blanket tighter around your legs and curl into yourself, remote in hand, flipping mindlessly through channels until you land on some over-the-top soap opera.

Onscreen, a man with three wives and a suspicious mustache is faking amnesia to dodge child support, and you find yourself snorting into your cup as you shovel another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

You’re halfway through another melodramatic monologue, reveling in each minute of bad TV. Which is also why you almost jump clean out of your skin when the front door swings open with a sharp click.

Your head snaps up, heart kicking hard against your ribs. “What the—?”

The pale figure stands tall and broad in the doorway, white hair sticking up in all directions.

You shift upright instinctively, the blanket sliding off your shoulder. “Satoru?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just steps inside with his hands jammed deep into his pockets, shoulders high and stiff, jaw tight like he’s been clenching it all the way here.

He shuts the door harder than he needs to, kicks his shoes off in a sloppy half-motion, and crosses the room straight to the armchair without sparing you a glance.

You feel your stomach knot a little, a cold wash of worry creeping up your ribs.

Gojo drops into the chair with a graceless thud, head tipping back hard against the cushion, and exhales sharply through his nose.

You shift forward, tucking one knee under yourself. “…Hey. What’s wrong? Something happen?”

He stays like that for a long beat, eyes on the ceiling, lips parted like he’s chewing through words he doesn’t like the taste of. Finally, he speaks up, dragging a hand down his face.

“It was a disaster.”

Your eyebrows draw tight, and that knot in your stomach twists sharper.

“…Disaster how?” you ask, voice softer, fingers curling into the blanket. “She already had a husband kind of disaster? Or… she doesn't like dogs kind of disaster?”

He lets out a short, humorless huff, rubbing his temples.

Then he peeks at you through his fingers, just for a second.

And that look, sheepish and vaguely irritated rather than crushed, loosens the knot in your chest just slightly.

"Neither.”

You exhale, shoulders relaxing as your concern eases. “…Okay. Then what?”

“She was pretty." Gojo drops his hands into his lap, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt, gaze fixed somewhere near his knees. "Funny, even. Everything she was supposed to be.”

You wait, watching the restless way he chews the inside of his cheek.

“And?” you prompt gently.

Gojo's fingers tighten, knuckles flexing faintly, before he finally speaks again.

“And it just… didn’t feel like anything.” he says quietly, almost to himself.

Something uncoils in you at that—not relief exactly, but a faint warmth, a glow you’re quick to smother.

Still, you tilt your head, fighting back the feeling of strange relief. “Not even a little?”

“Nothing,” he repeats flatly, shaking his head. He slumps back in the chair, shoulders sagging now, and lets his hands fall to the armrests.

“It was like kissing a…” he pauses, searching for the words, and then his lips twist in faint distaste. “…like kissing a decorative fruit bowl. Pretty to look at, but weirdly hollow.”

You stare blankly at him, before bursting into laughter despite your attempts to conceal it.

Gojo's head snaps up, a scowl pulling at his mouth even as his ears start to pink. “Don’t laugh!”

“Sorry—” you cover your mouth, even though the corners of it keep curving. “I’m sorry, it’s just… a fruit bowl?”

He groans and drops his head into his hands again, muffling his reply. “You weren’t there, okay? It was bad.”

You drop your hand back into your lap, chuckles trailing off. But there’s still a little weight lingering in your chest, and you let your eyes trace him for a moment longer. The way his shoulders hunch inward a little, the way his fingers keep kneading the hem of his shirt, like he doesn’t know where to put the tension buzzing through him.

You lean back slowly, the faintest crease between your brows. “You scared me, you know.”

His head lifts at that, confused. “…Huh?”

"I thought you were… I don’t know. Heartbroken or something.”

Gojo blinks at you, startled. He slowly leans back in the chair, gaze dropping to the floor. You narrow your eyes at him but say nothing, until he breaks the silence.

“…What if she wasn’t the wrong person?”

Your gaze lifts immediately.

He’s staring down at his hands now, thumbs rubbing over each other absently, as though they might spell out the right words for him.

“What if it’s not about her or the date. Or any of it. What if I…” His throat bobs, breath shivering faintly as he cuts himself off, then starts again. “Because I already…”

He presses his tongue into his cheek like he’s holding back more, shoulders curling forward.

You sit there for a beat, letting the silence settle between you. He doesn’t look at you anymore—just keeps staring at his own hands like they might explain him to himself if he keeps watching long enough.

But you can’t stand to see him like that.

So you shift forward, the blanket pooling at your waist, and gently reach over, laying your hand on his shoulder. You feel the way he stiffens under it at first, just faintly. And then very slowly, his muscles ease.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, soft but certain. “For what it’s worth… none of it’s your fault.”

That makes his head lift a little, but not all the way. His lashes flutter as his eyes find yours. You smile at him, small and kind, your thumb brushing once over the seam of his hoodie where your hand rests.

Gojo tips his head forward, letting his temple fall to your hand like he’s too tired to hold it up himself, rubbing faintly against your palm like some oversized, sulking cat.

You huff out a quiet laugh at the gesture, warm and a little incredulous. “What a man child.”

That earns you a faint, muffled noise from him—not quite a word. His eyes are closed now, his hair tickling your wrist. Your smile softens as you watch him there, folded in on himself but still leaning toward you.

“Hey,” you say after a long second. “You wanna eat ice cream and watch a movie with me?”

His lips twitch faintly against the back of your hand. And though he doesn’t open his eyes yet, he nods. “Yeah."

You squeeze his shoulder gently, then let your hand slide down to his sleeve as you stand and tug the blanket open wider.

“Come on, drama king,” you mutter, already tugging him toward the couch.

He lets you guide him, lets you tuck him in beside you, the blanket drawn over both your legs now. He sinks into the cushions like they’re the first soft thing he’s touched all day, shoulders finally uncoiling next to you.

The screen flickers to life, the soap opera replaced with something equally trashy but comforting all the same.

For a while, he doesn’t even bother to look at it. His eyes flutter open halfway as he glances at you, then back at the screen.

And he doesn’t say a word.

But he feels lighter somehow. Like the world isn’t quite so loud. Like maybe he’s allowed to just exist for a little while, here, next to you, under this cheap fleece blanket that somehow feels warmer than anything else in his life.

You nudge the tub of ice cream toward him under the blanket, your knuckles brushing his knee. He glances down, then up at you.

Gojo hesitates for a second, but then his hand slides out from where it’s been buried in the fleece, long fingers curling around the tub. You press the spoon into his other hand with a quiet grin.

He doesn’t bother grabbing a clean spoon. No, he takes the very same one you were using, his lips closing around it without a shred of hesitation as he shovels a big bite into his mouth.

The TV screen in front of you is throwing soft blues and golds across the room, the speakers crackling with some overly saccharine confession scene. The kind of thing where the guy runs through an airport and shouts, “I’ve loved you all along!” and the girl cries and they kiss to applause.

But Gojo couldn’t be any less interested.

Because for him, watching you watch TV is somehow more captivating.

You’re leaning forward slightly, your cheek resting against your fist, your eyes caught up in the silly drama playing out onscreen. He can see the faint glow of it reflected in your lashes, the way your lips tug just faintly at the corners when the couple kisses.

And he’s staring—too long, too obviously—until your head turns.

His eyes snap up at once, like a deer in headlights. He swallows thickly, but he doesn’t quite manage to stop looking at you.

Your eyebrow lifts faintly, a slow smirk tugging at your mouth. “You like the movie?”

“Yeah,” he says a beat later, holding your gaze. “I like it. A lot.”

You hum, leaning back slightly, your fingers idly smoothing the blanket over your lap. But then you pause, your eyes narrowing just a little as you lean closer.

“There’s…” you gesture vaguely at his face. “Something there.”

He blinks at you. “Where?”

You chuckle softly under your breath as he fumbles at his mouth, missing it entirely.

“No—just…” you mutter, leaning in.

Your hand lifts, thumb brushing against the corner of his lips where a tiny smear of vanilla clings to his skin. He freezes under the touch, his breath hitching slightly as you swipe it away.

And then before you can think, you lick the ice cream off your thumb.

Gojo almost falls clean off the couch at that.

His shoulder jerks against yours, his knee knocking the tub as his arm flails instinctively—and the next thing you know, a cold splat hits your shirt.

You blink down, and a perfect dollop of ice cream sits dead center on your chest.

Gojo’s voice cracks through the soft hum of the TV. “…Sorry.”

You glance at him, half a smile tugging at your mouth despite the damp patch spreading over your shirt. “It’s fine, Satoru,” you say lightly, already pushing yourself up from the couch.

You pluck at the fabric, grimacing as the cold spot sticks to your skin. “Ugh. I should clean this off before it freezes to me.”

He starts to shift like he’s going to help somehow, but you wave him off, already padding toward your bedroom.

But you pause halfway, turning back to him. “Shit—I left my clothes in the dryer.”

Your eyes flick down at him, then to what he’s wearing. “You—uh. Gimme yours.”

“Mine?”

You gesture vaguely to his torso. “The flannel. You don’t need it.”

Gojo stills for just a second, like the words don’t quite compute. Then he looks down at himself—at the soft plaid draped over his T-shirt—and back up at you.

And without a single word, he shrugs it off, balling it in his hands before offering it to you.

“Thanks.” you say, taking it in your hands.

He doesn’t answer, just watches as you pinch the hem of your damp shirt and tug.

Right in front of him.

The fabric peels up over your stomach and higher, revealing the faint lace edge of your bra, peach-colored, delicate against your skin. His mouth goes dry before he even realizes he’s staring.

And yet he doesn’t stop.

The light from the TV flickers over the soft slopes of your ribs, the warm stretch of skin under the shadow of your hair as you toss the ruined shirt aside and slip your arms into his flannel.

Something low and unfamiliar churns deep in his stomach, and he suddenly hates how his heart is hammering loud enough for him to hear.

He forces his eyes away, one hand curling into the blanket beside him so he doesn’t do anything profoundly stupid.

You settle beside him, flipping your attention back to the TV, utterly unbothered.

Gojo, though, can’t quite convince himself to look at you yet.

Not with his pulse thrumming like that. Not with the faint smell of your skin sticking to his flannel now that it’s on you.

So instead he just sits there, staring at the screen, pretending. And telling himself over and over to get a grip.

The credits begin to roll, soft music filling the silence, and you stretch with a quiet groan. The back of your neck aches from being curled up on the couch for so long, and your legs feel half-asleep under the weight of the blanket.

“Well…” you murmur, already rising halfway to your feet. “I should probably head to bed.”

But before you can even plant your hands on the couch to stand, you feel the faintest tug at your sleeve.

Naturally, you glance down.

Gojo’s fingers are curled around the fabric, barely pulling, like even that much is an enormous act of courage for him. His head is ducked slightly, hair falling into his eyes, and he doesn’t look at you right away — just stares at the TV, his thumb rubbing circles into the seam of your sweater.

“…Satoru?” you ask softly, trying to catch his eye.

His fingers tighten just slightly, and when he finally looks up, it’s shy and uncertain, the faintest tinge of pink at the tips of his ears. He doesn’t say it out loud, but you can read it on his face. He's asking you to stay.

Your shoulders loosen with a quiet sigh, and you settle back into the couch, blanket sliding back over your legs.

He lets out a small breath of relief, maybe, and releases your sleeve, folding his hands in his lap like nothing happened.

You rest your chin in your palm, side-eying him with a faint smirk. “…You want to do something?”

His gaze snaps back up to yours, mouth quirking into a little, shy smile, and he nods once.

You laugh under your breath. “Okay… like what? What’s the plan?”

Gojo freezes, clearly having no idea what to say now that you’ve called his bluff. He swallows, gaze flicking away like he’s trying to think fast. “…Something. Anything,”

“How specific,” you tease, sinking further into the cushions. “We could… play cards? Watch another movie? Clean my apartment?”

That earns you the tiniest huff of a laugh, and he shakes his head, more at himself than at you. His fingers fidget nervously in his lap for another long moment before he blurts.

“We could build a… pillow fort?”

You blink.

“Pillow fort?” you repeat, trying not to laugh at how his voice went up at the end like even he isn’t sure if it’s a good idea.

He looks down, shrugging faintly, a self-conscious little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just… thought it could be… fun.”

You press your lips together, trying to stay serious, but the corners of your mouth betray you. "What are you, five?”

His shoulders sink, and he mumbles, “You don’t have to…”

But you shake your head, reaching for a pillow and tossing it into his lap. “No, no. We’re doing it.”

Gojo startles as the pillow hits him, then catches it clumsily and looks up at you, wide-eyed and stunned like he didn’t actually expect you to say yes.

“Okay,” he breathes, clutching the pillow to his chest.

And after that, it doesn’t take long for the living room to look like a war zone.

Every blanket you own is draped across the couch cushions and dining chairs, the backs of armchairs dragged closer to serve as makeshift walls. A broom handle sticks out awkwardly from the middle of the structure, propping up a sagging corner, and at least half the pillows you’d started with are now just scattered on the floor like casualties of an overzealous architect.

Gojo’s the one doing most of the fiddling. Standing on tiptoe to secure a corner of a sheet to a lamp, muttering under his breath when it slides down again. He’s smiling faintly the whole time, though, even when you catch him crawling on hands and knees to adjust the “doorway.” You can’t help but laugh softly at how serious he looks about it.

And when you both finally crawl inside — ducking under the sagging edge of the blanket — it feels a little like stepping into your own tiny world.

You flop down onto your back with a soft laugh, the carpet cushioned by pillows beneath you. Beside you, Gojo lowers himself carefully, his shoulder brushing yours as he settles. For a moment, you both just lie there, staring up at the faint twinkle of the lights above, catching your breath from all the rearranging and rebuilding.

Then you roll onto your side, propping your head in your hand as you turn toward him.

Gojo hesitates for a second, then mirrors you as he shifts onto his own side, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other draped loosely over his waist. His face is just a few inches from yours now, hair mussed from all his crawling around, his cheek pressed into the pillow.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just blinks at you with that calm, almost curious look of his, like he’s waiting for you to speak.

So you do.

“…Hey.”

His brow quirks faintly. “Hey yourself.”

You huff a quiet laugh, picking at the hem of his flannel on you. The silence hangs easy as you both just watch each other, chest rising and falling with an almost identical rhythm.

His eyes flick over your face like he’s trying to memorize your features, and you catch yourself noticing the way his fingers keep curling and uncurling where they rest between you.

Eventually, you bite the inside of your cheek, gathering the words before you let them slip out.

“About earlier,” you say, clearing your throat. "I just… wanted to say sorry. For pushing the whole tinder thing on you.”

His brows furrow slightly, but you keep going, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket between you.

“I shouldn’t have forced it on you. I guess I was being kind of annoying and overbearing, and...” you trail off, shoulders lifting faintly in a helpless shrug. “You know. Me.”

Gojo watches you quietly, his gaze steady on your face. Then, after a beat, his lips quirk in the faintest smile, and he hums, low and gentle, like you didn’t even need to apologize.

“It’s okay,” he says simply. His voice is quiet but certain. “I know you… just wanted me to be happy. That’s all.”

His eyes soften at the edges as he says it, and you can clearly see how much he really means it. You manage a small, crooked smile back at him, feeling your chest unclench just slightly.

“Still,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “I’ll… try to chill next time.”

He breathes a quiet laugh at that. But then his gaze dips, just for a second, to your lips. So quick you almost miss it.

Your breath hitches slightly, a nervous heat prickling the back of your neck, and you let out a shaky little laugh to fill the silence.

“What?”

Gojo just shakes his head faintly, the corner of his mouth curling into the smallest, shyest smirk.

“Just… thinking about how bad I was at that kiss last night.”

Your cheeks flare instantly. Though you’re not sure if it’s more at the memory of his clumsy first attempt or the uncharacteristically bold way he admits it now.

You sputter out something—half protest, half laugh—but he only shuts his eyes again, settling deeper into his pillow with a small sigh that almost sounds content.

And as you lie there, heart stubbornly beating a little too fast, you can’t help but think that the kiss wasn’t bad at all.

Tags: @tonuhye @vynn30 @bakugouswaif @silkgardenias @gielwinchester9 @coffeeluvr96 @applepi405 @victorianxox-blog @minasuniverse @r9muka @n4me @goonforgeto @allysainz @jcissors

@fictionalmenlover5 @duydyycfuu @slightystressed @qngelq2666 @urmotherswhor3 @girlywhooooops @lumiamoureads

@kianatrg @maaic @libr4sonsa @moonlight-inthe-sea @kkataleena @petaltheory @mikadrawsstuff

@reveriennn @sbicybb @torusbbg @mooskie @satotorulove @shoruio @muscovitechick @d34ly @arabellasolstice @forever-paramore28 @enouche

[05-simply-06-simping]

getting freaky in gojo’s domain expansion. 18+

inside the UNLIMITED VOID, a cosmos stretches thin and vast, stars bleeding cold light through endless black. distant galaxies unfold at impossible distances, their edges redshifted into infinity. the great black hole yawning like a wound in the fabric of existence, pulling at the seams of perception. there’s no ground here. no air. no tether to time. what exists is light and thought, fracturing all at once—then receding, swallowed by darkness.

you’re not afraid though. you’re safe in his arms.

GOJO SATORU is holding you to his chest with one hand hooked under your thigh, your legs splayed indecently around his waist. half undone and collar askew, his shirt gapes open down the centre, exposing the pale musculature of his abdomen. with exquisite control, his cock presses deeper—impressive in length, girth, and curve—filling you like a singularity pulling you inward, erasing boundaries between pleasure and oblivion. overfull, your cunt grips with fierce desperation as the strongest sorcerer fucks into you inexorably. he does all of this without effort. methodical, in how precisely he seeks out that hypersensitive spot within you—struck at the exact angle that makes your vision strobe.

through it all, satoru’s face stays haloed in the impossible light of a void that bends around his will. he watches with the serene, clinical attentiveness of a physicist cataloguing fallout, lips parted ever-so slightly.

above him, stars blink out of existence. behind you, the void pulses like a living thing. yet your focus remains fixed on him.

he’s beautiful in a way that shouldn’t be real.

half-illumined by violet glare, his translucent lashes shimmer crystalline, kissing the crests of his cheekbones when he lowers his gaze, then lift again, revealing what waits beneath. god—his eyes—they undo you. they’re not merely blue. they’re phosphorescent. volatile. platinum diluted into crushed sapphire, the whites swallowed by light, shot through with hues that shouldn’t exist in any living creature. a cold, glittering fire that burns behind the dense lattice of his lashes. as if every star caught in the hollows of this void had collapsed and condensed behind his irises. radiant. ethreal.

you stare in awe and helplessness, straining to hold his gaze. every slow grind of his hips sends another wave of white static through your skull—raw sensation fed through open synapses. his expression cracks with something tender.

he dips his head to murmur against your cheek. “don’t think, baby. just come for me.” the words hum through your skull, bypassing language entirely. his hips roll forward again, and it’s all too much. your walls clamp down, desperate to keep him, and the ache coils tight at the base of your spine.

pleasure surges, your climax shatters through, it’s a supernova inside your core—white-hot, freefalling through a tunnel of light. you come undone around him, tears streaming unbidden, and still he keeps you aloft, cock buried to the hilt, fucking you through the aftershocks. he holds you steady, never letting go.

and somewhere behind him, galaxies collaspe.

but he never looks away from you.

[05-simply-06-simping]

18+

gojo has a folder named after you.

not even your full name, just the pet name he moans when he’s got your face pressed into the pillows. it's hidden, locked behind layers of encryption he could break in his sleep, but no one else ever will. no one but him gets to see how you look when you fall apart.

tonight, he’s sprawled on his bed. blindfold off, hair a right mess, shirt riding up his stomach. there’s a single lamp on, the light catching the edge of his phone where the video loops again and again and again.

you- on your hands and knees, eyes half closed, mouth open in a helpless little o while he’s buried so deep inside you it’s obscene. and that part- that part- your ass bouncing back on him, all soft recoil and slick sounds that make his teeth grind together.

he’s got it set to replay that three second clip fifty times, probably more. he's watched it enough that he knows every ripple, every tiny shiver in your legs, the exact second your moan goes higher because he hit that spot just right.

his fist drags up himself slow, wet with spit, thumb rolling over the head in lazy circles. he lets his head fall back against the headboard, breath hitching when the loop resets again- your hips slamming back, cheeks jiggling, his hand smacking down on one side, the sound sharp and perfect.

he could get off on just that forever. just that part, that angle, the way you look so good taking him like you were destined for it.

"look at you baby," he pants under his breath, voice rough and slurred. his other hand curls around his phone- more videos, dozens of them, all angles; you on your knees, you choking on him, you spread open and squirming. but this one? the bouncing? that’s his favorite.

his hips stutter up into his hand, chasing the pace he remembers so well- the slap of your ass, the wet drag of you milking him while you whimper his name like you’ll never say anything else.

"fuck, baby-" his head drops forward. he goes faster, sloppier, more careless and desperate, precum slicking his knuckles. he wants you here right now, wants to grab your hips, push you down on him, watch that recoil in real time- not some pixelated replay but your warm skin under his palms, that perfect give when he slams you down and you take it like you’re proud to be ruined by him.

he moans- low and wrecked when you moan in the video. the sound faint but enough to punch through his ribs. the way you gasp for him to go deeper like you don’t even know how deep he already is.

his grip goes brutal. he's not being gentle with himself, but why should he be? you’re not here to tell him slow down. you're not here to drag your nails down his stomach and stroke his ego even more.

he hits pause at the perfect moment; your ass bottomed out against his thighs, your back arched, your head thrown back so he can see the drool shining on your chin. he bites his lip hard enough to sting, then cums with a grunt, hips jerking up into his slick fist, hot splatter across his abs. the video stays frozen, you pinned there, open, dripping, still bouncing in his head even when it’s paused.

when he catches his breath, he swipes the screen back to the start.

hits play.

starts over.

because once is never enough when it comes to you.

[05-simply-06-simping]

So his eyes are luminous when he uses sixeyes tech.

[05-simply-06-simping]

My window away

(UNFINISHED WIP, read at your own risk ig)

A Gojo Satoru/Fem!reader.

Coffee shop AU, no curses. Slowburn?

Rival companies, lover employees.

You were a full time college student in a small town. A small town that had an abundance of café nooks and coffee spots, but you loved it for that. Managing to finally snag a job- and at a coffee shop no less -you were elated.

Sure there was the whole "who wants to work?" Of your generation, but you didnt mind in the slightest when it meant living out your reading fantasy of work(until you got your degree, anyway) plus, it would help pay for your classes!

The base pay was a little low, but with your excellent performance and chipper personality, the bonuses and tips more than made up for it.

Perhaps it was a bit unfaithful, but you would always stop for a coffee after your shift- at the shop across the street. Could they blame you really? The coffee and drinks where you worked were good, whimsical even with the shops theme, but the Kcup across the street had a calmer vibe and smoother coffee. Somewhere you could relax and work, read or write. They hadn't been hiring there, but that was okay, it worked out in a way since TophatsOff needed your energetic personality.

You'd caught a glance one day, cleaning up the shop windows, of a tall white haired man with dark round glasses on and a dark uniform apron. He was wiping down the window tables, uniform sleeves rolled up to his elbows and an easy expression. You couldn't help but stare for a few moments. He was quite possibly one of the mose attractive men you'd ever seen. Resuming your work with a small, suprising blush and clocking out.

Your shift had run a bit later than usual, and you had a lot of homework this week, so coffee at Kcup was unfortunately off the table for today. You couldn't help but have your thoughts wander to the man in the window, though. You mentally chastised yourself, for acting like a girl with a middle school crush. You had work and responsibilities, you couldn't be thinking of relationships right now.

(Sorry to end this here, 1 I feel like its really bad, and 2 I ran into a small writer's block😅 mb gang. Might be a part 2 might be a series or just a revamped oneshot, I'll let yall know, but I just needed to get this down and out.)

(Sure it already exists, but if anyone uses this idea or trop, please tag me, I'd love to read it. Have a good one, yall.)

[05-simply-06-simping]

₊✩‧ Dad!Sukuna when he meets his daughter's boyfriend for the first time.

"So."

The word drops like a guillotine, clean and cold.

Sukuna leans back in his chair with deliberate calm, arms folded across his broad chest. The low, ambient clink of cutlery dies in the air. His expression doesn’t shift much—but the stillness is the warning. One pair of eyes is already intense enough. Two pairs? That’s judgment day in stereo.

He studies the poor boy like he’s something he found under his boot. The kid’s spine visibly stiffens, shoulders pulled back like he’s trying to mimic confidence, but the tremble in his hands as he lifts his glass gives it all away.

You see it coming before Sukuna even opens his mouth.

“You thought you could waltz in here,” he murmurs, voice deceptively low, “with that shaggy-ass hair and that limp little aura... and sit at my table?”

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. It’s the kind of quiet that hums with something ancient and violent. Your daughter groans into her hands, trying to disappear. “Dad,” she hisses, already dying of secondhand embarrassment. “Please. Stop.”

The boy gives a shaky laugh, trying to mask the way his ears have turned a dangerous shade of red. “Haha… uh, sir, I—I respect her. A lot. I promise—”

Sukuna tilts his head slightly, his mouth curling into something that might be a smile, if it weren’t so goddamn threatening.

“He respects her,” he echoes, voice flat. "That’s what you said?"

He leans forward slowly, elbows resting on the table. His forearms tense, inked muscle shifting under the weight of his restraint, and his fingers flex once on the wood like he's imagining how hard he'd need to press to crack it in half.

"You think you’re the first kid to say that to me? You think respect means something when it’s dripping out of your mouth like piss from a scared dog?"

You sip your wine like it’s your favorite episode on repeat. Not alarmed. Not even mildly irritated. Just... waiting.

“Ryomen,” you say, voice light but firm. That tone you use. The one that stops curses, storms, and your husband in their tracks.

His mouth shuts. You don’t even look at him—just calmly set your glass down and raise a single brow.

“We talked about this,” you murmur. “No death threats before dessert.”

A tense pause. Then a disgruntled grunt.

“Tch.” Sukuna slumps back into his chair, like a sulking god of war denied bloodshed. “Fine. No death threats. For now.”

Your daughter exhales like she’s just survived a natural disaster. The poor boyfriend lets out a laugh—too relieved, too early.

And then, because Sukuna is nothing if not sadistic— “So,” he says again, eyes narrowing. “You fuck yet?”

The soda your daughter was drinking goes straight down the wrong pipe.

You? You keep chewing your seaweed salad, completely unfazed. You've lived with him for too long to flinch at anything.

“Ryomen.”

“What?” he snaps, offended you’re even scolding him. “I didn’t threaten him. I asked a question.”

“You’re going to scare him into celibacy,” you mutter, lazily reaching across the table to pluck a salmon roll off Sukuna’s plate. He doesn’t stop you—he never does. That’s your roll now.

“Good,” he says simply.

The boy is pale. He looks like he’s on the verge of a medical episode.

You shoot him a wink, smooth as silk. “Don’t worry. He’ll relax eventually. Maybe. If you live long enough.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow again. The weight of his stare sharpens like a blade. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ her like that.”

“Ryomen,” you warn again, this time with the lazy finality of a lioness too full to hunt, but willing to swat.

He groans and rubs his face like this dinner is his personal hell. “This is hell.”

You dab your mouth with your napkin, serene as a saint. “No, baby. Hell is if you make me sit through another dinner with our daughter’s ex. The one who thought being a philosophy major gave him an edge in an argument. You remember him?”

Sukuna pauses. His jaw tightens, like the memory causes him physical pain. “...The theater kid.”

You smile. “This one’s an upgrade, right?”

He grunts. “At least this one doesn’t wear eyeliner.”

The poor kid perks up, daring to look hopeful. “Thank you, sir.”

Without breaking eye contact, Sukuna pulls a knife from up his sleeve and begins to peel an apple. Slowly. Intentionally. Not for food. Just to watch him sweat. Your daughter shoots you a desperate look across the table. “Mommmm.”

You sigh, placid and calm. “Sweetheart. If he survives dessert, we’ll know he’s a keeper.”

Sukuna carves a thin slice from the apple. Still staring. Still deadly. He offers the piece to you like it’s a peace offering to the only person who can keep him tethered to civility.

You take it with a small smile. Chew. Swallow.

“God,” your daughter groans, sliding down in her seat.

The boyfriend swallows hard, eyes flicking between you two like he’s being filmed for a documentary on predators.

“So… uh…” he says, clearly desperate to shift the energy. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Sukuna?”

The air stills. You almost feel bad for him, almost.

[05-simply-06-simping]

Oh how this warms my heart. Makes me even more excited for physics

i asked my best friend how to know if a girl likes you, and he gave me the worst advice ever

gojo satoru x fem!reader - gojo satoru has liked you since you walked into the physics 1111 lecture that one fateful morning. And he’s tried so hard to flirt, to dazzle, to amaze, but you’re like an unreadable brick wall. so what does gojo satoru do? read the impossible book, of course, with suguru's help. 

warnings/tags: 16+, university/college au, non-sorceror au, smitten at first sight, lowkey nerdjo, gojo being a sucker, gojo being horrendously down bad, ice queen!reader, mentions of Shoko and Utahime, Suguru as wingman, the lightest lightest smidge of angst, happy ending, mutual pining, swearing

word count: 4k

His fingers stopped flying across his busted laptop’s keys once he heard the door to the lecture hall swing open, as he shuddered at the breeze instead. 

Who could be the one walking in so late, in the middle of the professor’s sermon? Disrupting this class that he could pass with his eyes closed, really — how rude! (not that he was listening either, the daily wordle was more his jam). 

And then his sharp, blue gaze landed on you. 

God, he hates cliches, but it did really feel like an angel fell out of the sky to bless him that day. 

Your muffled footsteps on the clean cut carpet were so unhurried, so constant, against his increasingly racing heartbeat — pulsing so hard he could feel it thudding against his eardrums.

Your own laptop, and some blue notebooks — the colour of his eyes, oh you were meant to be — held in the crook of one elbow, as you shut the door with an effortless grace that his buffering brain can only describe as cool. 

He notes that it’s because you don’t want to let it slam shut, and echo through the packed hall, and his heart stutters at the care you put into the little things. 

When you glide by him to sit in the row ahead, as smooth as the breeze that entered the room, the scent of your perfume blankets him — and for the first time in this class, Satoru feels alive in a way that has nothing to do with the scribbled equations plastered across the whiteboard. 

And then you pull out your laptop, and his keen eyes pick up on how you’re actually typing out whatever Professor Yaga has moved onto right now. For the second time that day, Satoru does something else that he has never done during Yaga’s monotonous monologues. 

He starts jotting down notes. 

Safe to say, you were forgiven for the travesty of making him cold (and is it charming if he says it’s because your presence warmed him right up?)

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Listen, Satoru has tried everything. Everything. To gauge whether you like him or not. 

He’s moved closer to the front row, even if it means having to brave Yaga at a distance much closer than he’d like. Now, you sit beside him, but it feels like he might as well be on the other side of Japan. 

Satoru isn’t used to this. He knows he’s pretty, knows that his face has the power to blind others with sheer beauty. Knows that usually, one casual glimpse of his face is enough to make someone fall for him like they’re slipping on a romantic sheet of ice. So, the way you ignore him — except maybe to ask him for his notes (on a good day) is driving him up the wall. 

By six weeks of this, he considers you a friend, but he thinks you might think of him as an annoying seatmate who won’t stop jabbering in her ear. 

The tell-tale signs of being flustered are noticeably missing from you — the classic nervous laughter, secret glances, you don’t even put your water bottle on his self-assigned seat so that no one else will sit next to you (that’s fine, he’s warded off anyone who dares now) — and ever present on him. 

Pink-tinged ears? ✅

A sweat that breaks out whenever you so much as turn to look at him? ✅

The way his thoughts take twice as long to form, and yet he still doesn’t know what to say to you? ✅

Not that you even spare him a look, not that you even care. 

When he gets an amused huff as you exhale through your nose, he considers that a victory.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. 

He finds that he doesn’t mind it one bit. 

Satoru literally ascends when he strolls into the lecture hall on one mundane Thursday, having given up all hope, and he spots your blue water bottle on the spot right next to you. 

He rakes his fingers through strands of white, knowing how that makes his eyes pop, and then, with hands in his pockets, walks to your side. You glance up when you hear him come to a stop, and you give him that serene, close-lipped smile — like you’re actually happy he’s here — and you move the blue placeholder. 

“Saved you a spot,” you say, like you’re reading a particularly boring news article. 

And all the words that he wanted to say — he rehearsed them in his head, a suave mantra meant to swoop you off your feet — leave his mind like water flowing down a pipe. Because you saved him a spot. You wanted him here, right next to you. 

“Aww, next time just confess to me.” Oh. That was decidedly not cool. Projection was not suave. 

You huff like you’ve just regretted every decision that led to this moment in time, especially accepting your course offer. “In your dreams.” And Satoru has to fight the urge to confirm that his dreams do include you. 

The minute that lecture ends, he’s rehashing every detail to Suguru, down to the colour of the socks you were wearing. 

“And she saved me a seat. The seat, Suguru.” 

“I literally do the same for you during calculus,” comes Suguru’s matter-of-fact reply.

And Satoru’s delusions come crumbling down like sandcastles against mighty waves of reality. Could it be that you just thought of him as a friend? His heart throbs like he’s been shot by one of Cupid’s lead-tipped arrows. 

He’s quiet, like a puppy that’s been kicked down — and Suguru wonders if he’ll start whimpering, before the pity starts to seep in. “You know, there are certain ways to tell if someone likes you. Aside from the usual signs.” 

Satoru’s head snaps up like Suguru has offered him the elixir of immortality, and not just tips from his psychology elective. 

“Tell me, right now.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

No. 1: remembering the little things that he’s told you

Normally, he’d threaten Yaga (only in his head, of course) with mumblings of ‘i’m gonna shave all your hair off’, and ‘i’m going to replace your coffee with decaf’ for assigning a group project this close to exams. Now, he wants to kiss the ground that Yaga walks on, because you’re in his group. 

Your other group mates are absent from your first team meeting (Satoru wants to send them all flowers and chocolates) at the cafe, and now, you’re discussing when to meet next. 

You’re in that sweater he adores, and he thinks that you’ve walked out of a magazine in your outfit. Your hand is cupping your cheek, elbow propped up on the table, and he doesn’t even think you realise you’re pouting while deep in thought. “I’m free any day next week.” Noted. 

“Shoko’s volunteering on Monday, and Tuesday,” you hum, “so we can’t do those days.”

You stir the hot chocolate you ordered, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. “Airi has work on Wednesdays, and Thursdays, so not those days either.” 

Across from you, Satoru swears that you can hear his heart hammering in his chest. He informed (read: badgered) you just this week that he had a basketball game on Friday — a not-so-subtle hint for you to come to it. If Suguru was right, and you recalled that, then that was ⅓ of the three signs. 

Like something important just sprung into your head, you look up at him. Yes. This was his moment. “You don’t have anything on Friday, right?”

Oh. Oh man. “Actually, I have a match then.” He tries to hide his disappointment. 

Your eyes widen — just a fraction. “Oh, you do?” 

Owch. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Sign number two — starting up random conversations with him

When Utahime slides into the other seat beside you the following Thursday, you immediately turn to her, eyes bright, and ask her whether she would rather give up kissing, or sauce for the rest of her life. 

You didn’t ask him that. And he got here first! 

Satoru stares at you, scandalised. His jaw drops so dramatically it might as well hit the floor. He even gestures at himself (behind your back, Utahime rolls her eyes). Hello? Present and ready to be questioned about weird hypotheticals. 

But then you giggle, and all the fake outrage melts away like ice on a hot summer day. 

He exhales, loud and proud, muttering something about being betrayed in broad daylight. “I guess I’ll just sit here, sauce intact and tragically unkissed,” he murmurs, more for the drama than anything else. 

You shoot him a look that is ice-cold, like looking down upon a mere insect. “Hey, Gojo. Did you do the pre-reading?” 

What a totally normal question to ask a classmate. That’s strike 2 out of three. 

But at least you’re talking to him now, and so he sits up like an overexcited dog. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

You turn back to your laptop like the matter is of no importance to you anymore. “Just curious.”

And don’t you dare ask anyone how Gojo Satoru reacted to your two word response. Because he definitely, 100%, did not, sink into his chair like a deflated balloon, clutching his chest like you delivered a mortal wound.

Utahime has to smack him on the back of the head to get him to stop his dramatic groaning. 

“Pathetic,” she hisses, but Satoru only shoots her a thumbs-up from where he’s sprawled, eyes closed in an agony he wears like a badge of honour. 

Meanwhile, you keep typing, like you don’t even care for the scene unfolding beside you — but the slight twitch at the corner of your mouth betrays you. 

And he catches it. 

Oh, he catches it. 

He straightens immediately, blue eyes lighting up like fireworks. Because for Gojo Satoru, even a single twitch of your lips is enough to keep him hoping. 

This counts as half a sign. For him, at least. 

Suguru delivers a similar blow to the back of his head when he regales the tale later. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Sign three — reacting to his presence 

“If she likes you, she will subconsciously adjust herself when you are close by.” Suguru flicks the laser pointer to the third, and last sign. They commandeered an empty lecture hall for this, and Satoru knows it’ll be worth it. 

“What would that look like?” Satoru pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, scribbling sprawling notes on the notebook in front of him (and if they’re the brand you use, that’s nobody's business). 

Suguru sighs. This was going to be a long night. 

~

It’s Suguru’s voice that echoes in his mind as Satoru steps foot into the library. ‘She’ll straighten up when you enter the room.’ As he enters the study space for an impromptu study session with your friends, his eyes search for you amongst the gaggle of students — to find that you’re already looking at him. 

At this, Satoru’s heart skips a beat. Were you waiting for him? The thought turns him to mush. 

“You’re late,” you say, voice utterly devoid of anything but grim disappointment. 

His cheeks are positively burning now. “Fashionably,” he counters, grinning as he slides into the empty seat beside you — the one you didn’t put your bag on, even though you definitely had plenty of time to claim it (another sign? He’ll ask Suguru later). 

“You missed Shoko’s riveting explanation,” you tell him, not unkindly, nudging your laptop in his direction. “We’re doing practice questions now.”

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or maybe it’s the sheer high of seeing you again, but for a second, Satoru swears your arm brushes his on purpose. That you tilt your screen toward him just a little more than necessary. That you lean in when you speak, like you’re not just explaining a question, but letting him into a secret only the two of you share. 

Satoru goes very still. His heart is doing cartwheels. He’s 90% sure he’s not breathing. 

But then you shift away to grab your pen, and you do it with such ease that he wonders if you felt the pull that he felt to you just now (probably not).

He coughs. Nods. Pretends he needs you to explain the question again, but he’s re-evaluating the facts, and trying to not think about how close you are right now. 

You did not straighten up like you had been electrocuted when he walked in — if anything, you slouched further, turning to face the wall. 

You crossed your arms when he sat down. A sign of defensiveness. 

It was immediate, how you turned back to your laptop, avoiding facing him like he was contagious with some sort of illness. 

Huh. That makes 0.5/3 for Suguru’s signs of attraction. 

Maybe it was time to give up. 

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Gojo hasn’t responded to your text yet. Usually, the three dots appear right as you send the message. Your brows furrow, and your heart pinches. Did you fumble it? 

You first saw Gojo Satoru during orientation, and my god, he was breathtaking. Literally. You choked on the water you were sipping, almost drowning in the flood of feelings. Your friend had to repeatedly batter your back, until the water evacuated your breathing tube. 

But how could you not? He looked like he’d walked straight out of some unfairly aesthetic campus brochure — the kind of handsome that university photographers would beg on their hands and knees to shoot, the kind that Deans would insist on plastering on glossy promotional leaflets to lure in potential students.

Tall, impossibly tall, with messy white hair that somehow managed to look perfectly styled, each lock arranged by Aphrodite herself. He didn’t wear his glasses that day — and when you first saw them perched on his nose, it felt like it was inevitable that you’d be caught staring, with the amount of times your eyes kept drifting his way.

He moved like the whole campus was his personal runway: hands in his pockets, earbuds dangling, a half-finished ice coffee (whipped cream on top) in hand that he never actually seemed to drink.

Every small movement felt effortless, magnetic — like he knew he was beautiful, and owned it like another asset up his sleeve of tricks. 

But you thought he was just a pretty face. 

Until he sat next to you. 

And you knew he was smart — you had to be, to get into Tokyo Jujutsu University — but you didn’t know how smart. Not until he leaned over during the first lecture (eight weeks ago, on the dot), and pointed out a mistake in Yaga’s equation with the kind of casual confidence usually reserved for people who had discovered the laws of physics on their own. 

“Prof wrote it wrong,” he whispered, voice low and amused. “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take him to realise?”

But you, you just stared at him. This fine specimen of a man was talking to you. How long had you stared at the back of his head during this very lecture? How long had you thought that this was just a silly crush? 

Your words failed you, but he was undeterred. He just gave you that grin — the one that made his eyes crinkle, and his entire face light up like the sun itself decided to live in his smile. 

From that moment on, he kept sitting next to you. You didn’t really know why, but you did know you felt like you were the first to discover some absurd fact about the universe at the thought of it. 

You chew at your lip. Did he tire of you? Did he seriously not get your hints?

You saved him a seat. 

You smiled at him. 

You brushed his arm. 

You explained the problem to him so many times, that the logic of it was beginning to unravel in your head — you had to re-work it out by yourself, before going through it with him again, so you didn’t look like an idiot. 

Okay. But to be so, so, so fair, you did accidentally forget the date of his basketball game that one time.

But that was one time!

And it was because you remembered exactly the day, the time, the team he was playing against — his jersey number — and you didn’t want to sound like a stalker by saying that, so you messed up the date on purpose. 

By then, you were too embarrassed to even show your face at the game. So you didn’t turn up, even though you had bought his favourite snack for it (you were trying to Pavlov him, before Shoko told you how insane that was). 

Okay, fine. That one was on you. But still!

You check your message again. 

Left on seen?

How dare he. 

Without a second thought, you’re slamming the door of your dorm shut, and you’re racing through the halls. 

⋆｡°✩

“Geto Suguru.” The voice that calls his name rings more like a death toll than a greeting. 

Suguru lifts his heavy head, still groggy with sleep — his notes stick to his sweaty cheek as he does. You swat them off his face like they’re the layers you must peel off to uncover a secret. 

“What is up with Gojo?” 

Suguru groans. “Why are you asking me, and not him?” 

Suguru could probably say that about almost all the questions that Satoru has asked him thus far. They stick to him like fruit flies desperate for even a drip of the nectar of his knowledge. Which isn’t much, mind you, but apparently more than Satoru. 

“You’re his best friend. His confidante.” You’re not backing down, and Suguru flicks sleep-addled eyes to your imposing figure — you’ve placed your hands by your hips like it’ll intimidate him into answering. “Does he like me?”

Now that’s a question that has his eyes snapping wide open. He didn’t think you’d be so bold.

Huh. Nice. 

Suguru rubs a hand over his face, as if hoping the action might buy him time or magically teleport him out of this conversation. It doesn’t. You’re still standing there, radiating an energy so fierce it makes him feel like he’s being interrogated under a spotlight. 

“Look,” he starts, voice still gravelly from his impromptu nap, “Satoru is…Satoru. He’s not exactly subtle.” 

And with the way he can practically see the question marks in your eyes, and floating around your mind, he knows you two were made for each other. You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. 

“He talks about you. All the time,” Suguru continues, his tone resigned yet still affectionate.

Suguru sighs, gathering his scattered notes like he’ll actually review them. “He likes you, okay? He likes you so much it’s driving me insane. He’s like a walking, talking Pinterest board of you.”

He finally looks up, and now his eyes are sharp, despite the sleep lingering in their corners. “So,” Suguru says, tone mischievous, “are you going to keep torturing me, or are you finally going to tell him?”  

Your hands drop from your hips, heart slamming against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. 

Tell him. 

Tell Gojo — the boy with constellation eyes and the too-loud laugh and the doodles of Yaga he draws in lectures — that you like him too. 

You don’t realise you’re already moving until Suguru’s muffled ‘Good luck!’ echoes behind you, chased by a triumphant snicker. 

⋆｡°✩

You slam into a solid body, and you feel the arms helping you up before your eyes trail up to see who. 

Oh. Gojo. 

And for all your determination, you’re rendered speechless, except for one, exclaimed, “Sorry!” 

Because the man is in front of you now. And courage is so much easier to fake behind closed doors. 

Your eyes flick up and down his body. His chest is heaving, like he’s also run through winding corridors to get here.

His hair is messy, yet again, but it’s not styled — it’s like he’s actually rolled out of bed. You glance down. Oh. He did actually just roll out of bed, if the Digimon pajama pants are anything to go off by. 

And yet, he still looks exquisite. 

Screw this guy (which coincidentally, is also something you plan to do). 

His hand is still resting under your elbow, holding onto you — not because you’ll fall, but because he just wants to hold you. His thumb grazes your skin, and it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, because his eyes are fixated on yours, and yours alone. 

You can practically hear your brain short-circuiting, and it feels like puffs of smoke are coming out of your ears, each neuron screeching at you to say something, anything. 

But he beats you to it. 

“Hey,” he breathes out, as if he hasn’t seen you in years, instead of what? Eighteen hours? His eyes are wide, sparkling even in the dull hallway light, and there’s a hesitant curve to his mouth that you’ve never seen before. “Are you alright?” 

You nod. 

He stares at you for a moment, gaze dipping to your lips, then back to your eyes, like he’s trying to read an answer before you’ve even asked the question. 

“I, uh —” you start, but he blurts over you. 

“Did I mess up? The text...I didn’t mean to ignore you, please believe me! I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation.” You’re staring at him, lips parted like you want to interrupt him, but a part of you aches to know more. “And then Suguru’s text — like just right now — woke me up.”

You blink. Wait. He thinks he messed it up?

“I thought I fumbled it,” you say at the same time, voices overlapping like a badly mixed duet, or some kind of romantic comedy accompanied by a whimsical soundtrack. 

There’s a beat of silence. And then, he laughs. The kind of laugh where your head is thrown back, that echoes down the hallway and makes your heart slam into your chest so hard that you’re worried it might just burst out and hand itself over to him. 

“You thought you fumbled it?” he repeats, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I mean…yeah,” you admit, and you drop your hands. He catches your wrists, tugging you closer. And then, he moves forward, stepping so close that you have to crane your neck to look at him. 

You can see the flutter of his ridiculously long lashes, the curve of his sleepy smile. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters, and before you can process it, his hands are cupping your face, warm and careful, and he’s kissing you. 

The world tilts — or maybe it just stops for you, for this moment in time. You clutch at his sensible hoodie, nails digging in like you might float away otherwise, and your knee knocks into his stupid (cute) Digimon pants as you step nearer. He tastes like toothpaste, and cheap instant coffee, and somehow, it’s perfect. 

When he pulls back, he’s breathless, and his forehead rests against yours. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded in a way that has nothing to do with sleep deprivation. “I just really, really like you.”

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah,” you whisper, fingers sliding to tangle up in his hair. “I like you too.” You tug at his white locks, and he groans into your ear in a way that makes a heat pool between your thighs. 

And then he’s pulling you in again, kissing you with a ferocity. His hands are more demanding, more needy, as they travel your body — greedy, and consuming, like he won’t ever get to touch you again. And you say it again, and again, in the spaces between the kisses.

On his lips, against his cheek, to the corner of his smile. You’re only making up for every second you didn’t say it before. 

Somewhere down the hall, you swear you hear Suguru yell, “Finally!”, before a door slams.

But right now, none of that matters. 

It’s just you, Satoru, and the electrical crackle of everything you were both too scared to say. 

Now, it’s out in the open. 

Now, the real fun begins. 

a/n: the drabble…it got away from me………. anyway! hope this was okay !! i finished like 5 episodes of true beauty while watching it i fear i am not a speed typer

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[05-simply-06-simping]

nerd!satoru noticed you the first day you started school, watching as you made friends and he too wanted to be on the list, only, he kept putting off, and as your popularity grew he decided you were never meant to be. He just didn’t have the courage.

nerd!satoru was shamelessly obsessed with you despite that. When he wasn’t fussing over Digimon, trying wacky new sweet treats or studying for the next set of exams, he was thinking of you. Sometimes he even lost focus during his hobbies because he pictured you by him, enjoying them too.

nerd!satoru loved your laugh, your voice, the little customisations you made to your uniform, all the different styles you wore your hair, and he has to show his adoration for you in some way.

So, he began leaving presents in your locker. He nearly shit himself out of fear every single time, but he couldn’t stand you not knowing someone absolutely adored you. He left expensive jewellery, flowers, hair accessories, chocolates and even money so you could treat yourself however you liked.

nerd!satoru got painfully hard when he saw you wearing the necklace he had bought you for the first time, the one with his initials engraved on the back. He wasn’t worried about being exposed because why on earth would you know who the nobody Satoru Gojo?

nerd!satoru nearly combusted on the spot before he gets his physics test results when he finds himself next to you in the school dinner queue, standing so pretty with your hair down and curled, none of your friends in sight.

He starts shaking, his glasses falling down his nose, but his hands are far worse and when he adjusts them, he drops them.

nerd!satoru feels the need to curl up in a ball and die when you glance over and notice his idiocy. You stand no chance now, Satoru.

nerd!satoru watches as you bend down and pick up his surprisingly intact glasses and smile all bright at him. Yeah, his Digimon and manga can take the backseat for you.

“You dropped these.” With his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, he didn’t respond. Real lame, Satoru.

Not taking his silence as rudeness, you reached up and brushed his snowy hair off his forehead, slipping his glasses back on for him. Satoru’s knees were about to give out. He needed a chair, fast.

nerd!satoru has fantasised about the ghost of your touch for longer than he cares to admit, and the real thing surpasses every expectation he had, and all he can think is that he wants more.

nerd!satoru only just manages to find his voice when you ask a question he had used in many of his fake scenarios.

“What’s your name?”

“Satoru.”

The next parts are sat in my drafts.

[05-simply-06-simping]

lonely hearts diner

sleeping around with the staff at your shitty waitressing job can't go that wrong...right?

synopsis: feelings and fucking should be kept separate. especially in the work place. so how come it hurts so bad to watch the hot bartender who brought you home with him last weekend flirt with pretty customers? and how far will you go to get over him - or under someone else?

pairings: Gojo x Reader, Geto x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Nanami x Reader

content: mdni, smut and angst and fluff, restaurant AU, waitress!reader, bartender!Geto, waiter!Gojo, chef!Sukuna, manager!Nanami, also includes food runner!Choso, casual sex, friends-with-benefits, flirting, teasing, tension, hurt/comfort, falling in love, idiots, horrible customers and workplace drama, semi-public sex, pretty much anywhere you could possibly do it in a restaurant lmfao, more tags will be included in individual chapters

divider by @saradika-graphics !!

tickets

one | two | three | four | five

six | seven | eight | nine | ten

comment to be tagged <3

[05-simply-06-simping]

satoru gets SO offended when he finds your sex toys, because why do you need those when you have him? he always tells you that he's yours for you to use for your pleasure, wanting nothing more than to be the sole cause of it.

cue the dramatic pouts, the interrogation of why you possess them when you possess him, the jealousy over a piece of silicone.

but then, he decides to have a little fun with it. well, fun for him, not for you.

“‘t-toru, pleaseee, help me,” you whine, eyes half-lidded, brimming with tears. not of pleasure, but because of his torturous games.

him completely dressed, while your naked body writhes against the soft sheets, wrist lazily working the dildo in and out, in and out, just like he told you to. although with less enthusiasm than he desired.

“no, no, i insist, keep going. i thought your toy can make you feel sooo good,” he taunts, though his tone drips with innocent affection. he pushes the dildo deeper inside of you, smirking when a gasp escapes your mouth.

“show me just how good it makes you feel when i'm not around.”

[05-simply-06-simping]

A possesive Yandere!Gojo, but his darling knows hes doing it.

Who knows, but doesnt care. Not to say shes obsessed back, but shes not trying to fight it, either.

He doesnt want you to work? Hell yeah! Who wouldnt want to be home without a care in the world? He can, will, and does take care of your every need. You want for nothing. maybe some independence, but its a sacrifice you're willing to make. After all, you can have all the freedom and independence you want in his mansion

He doesnt want you talking to your guy friends? Sure you may have been closer to them than your few girlfriends, but you can understand his point of reason logic. Empathize with him. Get in your own head about it a litte too. You know what hes doing, but you dont say anything. Just give your friends a goodbye and well wishes, and forget their numbers, their socials. You were even willing to do the same regarding your girlfriends, but even he knew you needed some human contact outside him even if he didn't want it, he was willing to grit his teeth throigh it for you.

A Yandere!Gojo who allows you total and complete freedom over what you do in the house, and in the gardens of course. Something you accept to an extent. Knowing you just had to wait and go with him if you ever wanted to go anywhere else. Reminding you of those summers as a kid, stuck at home waiting for your parents. How that same waiting at home still happened even after you go your license. How it came full circle with him, and gave you some twisted sense of comfort.

You knew what he was doing, but you didn't have the care to complain. He was keeping you safe, keeping you happy. He didnt stop you from enjoying your at home hobbies. Ones that you had years of practice with from childhood, and even new ones you had an endless budget and time to indulge in.

Hobbies that would keep you busy most of the day, and almost like magic, the moment you grew a bit tired of them, your favorite person in all the world was back home. To love and dote on you, and who you could unbashfuly love and dote on too.

Never afraid of scaring him off, or being too much. Confident and happy to be you full, weird, self. Because you knew, he would never let you go.

You weren't obsessive over him anymore than a girlfriend in a heathy relationship well, maybe a bit more jealous, and a bit more clingy, but thay was a given. You knew he was obsessed, but you were glad for it. No more fear of ever being alone or unwanted. Those life long insecurities and fears, and dark episodes reduced to nothing. Or, as near to nothing as possible. Anytime they reared their ugly heads, started whispering again, he was quick to notice.

Quick to chase them away with endless attention and affection. Cheering you up in any and every way he could think, until the dark cloud passed, and you felt better. Who didnt let up on his expressions of affection, until you lightly told him it was a bit much.

A Yandere!Gojo who, even if reluctant, was proud of you telling him, and eased off a bit. No longer glued to you the moment he was home, but he did at least stick around in the same room as you. Even if you didnt know it. But you did know it.

Even with as sneaky as he was, you could sense his very being. Hear him, catch a flicker of movement or feel the suble shift of air.

You had grown up in the harsh, dangerous world, and was raised to be aware and always cautious. Always ready to defend yourself. Your senses honed to a sharp point, able to wake you from even your deepest sleep if someone was so much as outside your room. Senses that gladly relished in easing their duty, since you never had to worry about being safe again, when you had him.

You knew what he was doing, you knew it wasn't normal or healthy for anyone to be this obsessed, but you didnt care. You loved him and found that comfort and love in his possesive actions too. He just loved you so much, after all. And touch and love starved as you were before, you ate every bit up.

You were glad he was so obsessed. Glad he would never, ever let you go. Knowing you were far too indecisive of your own, you didnt mind when he made choices for you. You made your own few too, that you were sure of, but for the most part you let him.

Want to go to school? Get another degree in anything you wanted?

"Sure thing, sweets. Online classes, and you have my card already."

Hell, if you for some reason wanted a job, some motivatior or reason to work, sure. As long as you could do it from home. Maybe once ore twice he had let you tag along to be his personal secretary when yoh wanted real work, but that was soon put to an end when you got a few too many stares.

Even then, if you were just a touch disappointed, you didnt complain much. You had felt the eyes that lingered. Ones that made you feel acutely aware. Ones that, even with Satoru, made your instincts and life long habits spark to life. Even if it was just a little over reaction. Could they blame you for being a little paranoid?

Always be aware of your surroundings, never be alone from Satoru, never trust anyone. Always know the exits, always know who and how many people were there, never trust you were safe.

Something drilled into you from childhood, and wordlessly reminding you of itself in moments like this. Unfortunately having been put into practice a few times before you met Satoru, and even a few moments early in your relationship. Going out for coffee or a quick store run before he told asked you to stay home waiting for him. Something Satoru made sure you never had to worry about again with him.

You knew what he was doing, but you didn't complain. Becase maybe in your own, a bit twisted mind, you felt you found your perfect match.

Really long drable hope you liked. Just a thought that sprouted from my real life experiences(the danger anyway) and yandere!gojo readings. Like, I wouldn't be oblivious maybe just a bit, but I dont think I would care lol. Can be read as older Satoru, can be read as husband/fiancé/boyfriend Satoru. If anyone writes related drables or a fic from this, please tag me, I would love to read it.

Im not encouraging this behavior or acceptance of it, I'm just writing a demented drabble

Plagiarism is not authorized, this is an original work of mine that I ask to be credited in. Should other writings occure.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.

[05-simply-06-simping]

Since you and obsessive!satoru broke up, you haven’t felt safe. You are wary of what you wear, notice the men who leer at you with fear because who was there to step in if they decided to harm you?

Now you had dumped Satoru for being too full on, giving you no breathing room, no one.

You were vulnerable in a way you hadn’t been in years, and you hated it. The freedom Satoru’s presence offered you was something you had taken for granted, not appreciated.

He was always on standby, ready to fight, beat up or demean a soul who dared get too close. A blanket of safety. One you had thrown away.

Tightening your jacket, you sped up, heading to Satoru’s building on impulse as the guy behind you gained ground. He could just be walking home from the mall like you, but God if your mind wasn’t somersaulting with fright.

What you’d give for Satoru to be on your back like a bear now.

The footsteps got even closer, right behind you, you couldn’t help it, you started running, so fucking scared, most of it probably in your head.

But it wasn’t, the man started running too.

Bursting into the fancy reception of Satoru’s building, you fumbled with your bag to retrieve your access card to the elevator. The security guard looked concerned but you just wanted to feel safe, and there was only one place on this planet you felt that way.

The moment the lift doors opened into the foyer you banged on Satoru’s door, not having a key after throwing it away in a fit of annoyance.

Satoru opened the door after mere seconds, eyes widening with concern when he saw your watering eyes. “What’s wrong sweets?” Collapsing into his arms, you squeezed him tight, so relieved to be against the hard muscles of his chest with his familiar smell laced into his cotton shirt.

“Someone followed me… I am sorry I broke up with you, it was stupid. I understand now, you only wanted what was best for me and I saw it as overbearing and-”

“Don’t be silly sweetheart. I get it, I can be full on at times, but we have all this penthouse if you need a lil breather, yeah?” Shaking your face by a thumb and finger on your chin, he grinned at your teary eyed expression. “Yeah.” You agreed.

Cupping your face in his hands, he kissed your upset right off your lips, your fear melting away with his presence. Sweeping you up bridal style, he carried you to your shared bedroom, not having moved a thing.

Was it a horrible thing for Satoru to send a hooded man after you? Yeah, he was going to hell. But all he was trying to do was prove to you what he already knew, that you needed him to feel safe, and that was his duty and he prided himself on it.

That, and Satoru Gojo was never letting the love of his life go. Not for anything.

[05-simply-06-simping]

| obsessive!satoru hates you having a job

Why?

That is his main question. His net worth is in the billions, he has old money, the type passed on through generations of ridiculous wealth. Money has never been an issue, never will be, so imagine his displeasure when you insist on remaining employed.

If you worked at home, Satoru could deal with it, hell he would probably encourage it. He wants you to need him, course he does, but he also doesn’t want you bored. Bored means you’ll search for excitement outside of his arms, that he can’t have.

But actual work? The type you have to leave the house for, smile kindly at others, clear other peoples dirty plates?

He bought you a custom Porsche for your birthday you don’t need to do such things for money.

No matter how hard he pushed on it though, you refused, claiming it was the one thing you could never give up because it was something for yourself.

“C’mon Toru, you’ve known about this shift all week.” Yeah, it was his least favourite shift. 5pm until 11pm. What sick individual decided they were suitable working hours, especially for you, his pretty little girlfriend.

“Call in sick. Pleaseeeee sweets. Your boyfriend is in desperate need of cuddles after a day of being the strongest.” Smushing his cheek against your stomach, he listed five ways he could burn down your workplace while making it look like an accident in his head.

Coaxing him off you was no easy task and you were almost late from his clingy habits.

Satoru, on the other hand, had decided enough was enough. That pesky job had torn you from his arms one too many times and he wouldn’t stand for it anymore.

Dialling up the number he waited until someone answered, his jaw ticking with every ring. “Hello? Jenna speaking.”

“Hello Jenna, I’m gunna need you to grab your manager real quick.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Just go get him, yeah?” Impatience packed his tone, his control slipping. All he wanted was his beautiful girlfriend in his arms, was that so much to ask?

Apparently so.

“Hello?”

“Hiya, I need you to sack (y/n) immediately.” The man down the line blubbered, unsure how to react to such a preposterous request, never mind the fact you were one of his best members of staff.

To your manager, the notion wasn’t appealing.

“I’m sorry but-”

“Listen, I get it, she is irreplaceable, but that is why I need her at home with me. Does five grand sound good enough to weaken your morals?”

Silence. Very loud silence.

“Not enough huh? How about 10?”

Long story short, the man was not as strong hearted as some may believe, and you were already on your way home. Of course, he was tracking you on your phone, watching with a heaviness in his chest only you could ease.

The minutes dragged, comparable to hours as he watched the door knowing any second you would slink inside.

The jingling of keys stole his breath, his leg bouncing in anticipation.

“Why are you back so soon sweets?” He called over his shoulder, trying his best to appear nonchalant and concerned.

“I was laid off because of staff cutbacks.” Your voice was heavy with emotion and he almost felt bad for putting his beautiful girlfriend through such an upsetting ordeal.

Almost.

“What? How could they have let you go sweets? You were their best member of staff.” That he didn’t have to lie about.

Embracing you in a hug, he kissed the top of your head over and over, comforting you in your moment of need.

Soon you quietened down, your eyes a little puffy but other than that you were OK, something Satoru craved to see. You, healthy and happy, with him.

Nuzzling his nose into your hair, he let out a pathetic little noise of content, rocking you gently to soothe you while simultaneously satisfying his urges.

Satoru had never claimed to be a good man, but he was a man in love, and he would sacrifice the world to have you in his arms, even if that meant stealing the last fraction of your old life.

[05-simply-06-simping]

fiance!satoru personally drives you and your friends to the most luxurious boutique in all of Tokyo, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back. He is a strong believer in tradition, that he shouldn’t see the gown you pick on before your day, in fact it terrified him because he didn’t want to jinx your marriage.

Never forget, you are the world to Satoru, his everything, his reason for breathing, and because of that he wishes to give you nothing but the best.

Yet you, his sweet, beautiful fiancé are modest about taking his money. Satoru always had to gift you things which cost over a certain amount, always had to push back against the resistance you put forward.

For your wedding gown, he would not allow you to settle, not at all.

If your dream dress cost £3,000 or £300,000 he didn’t care, so long as it was what you wanted and it made you happy. That was all Satoru ever wanted.

His job being present today was relaying that to your bridal consultant.

“So, I don’t want her to see a single price, not one, don’t let her give you a range or a recommended price, don’t hint at how much the dress is. I want her in the dark about it so she can’t change her mind or is biased towards one dress over another.”

Beside him, you were buzzing with nerves, terrified you came off as entitled or spoilt. Your friends on the other hand were cooing how sweet it was, that your fiance was the standard as guilt ate you alive.

“Just to be clear, absolutely no budget.” Satoru smirked, squeezing your waist. “Absolutely no budget. Her wish is paid for by my card.”

Leaning down he kissed you nice and slow, slightly upset he had to sit in the car and wait, away from your arms and pretty smiles.

“You have fun sweets. Call me when you need me to pay.” Satoru knew if he left the card with you at the end you’d likely see the price and back out, he couldn’t have that, so he had thought out every step of the process to ensure your happiness.

And everyone around you saw it, the love in his eyes, the extra stretch to his smile, his desperate obsession with ensuring you were happy.

For you, Satoru was a puppy, at your every beck and call, you knew it, everyone knew it, and you loved him all the much more for it.

[05-simply-06-simping]

babyfever!satoru virtually combusts when you get the OK to bring your son home, the baby carrier in his hand a new beginning, one he owed to you.

babyfever!satoru has all of your presents waiting for you when you get home, and he most certainly went overboard but he has no apologies, there was nothing you didn’t deserve after giving birth to a literal human being.

babyfever!satoru is first to get up when you or your son need anything, the man has springs in his feet and not a complaint in his body.

babyfever!satoru goes above and beyond.

“Toru, he is due a feeding, can you-”

The atoms in the air shift, a brief wave of nausea hitting you as your surroundings blur. You are back home. In your living room.

Looking behind you, you see Satoru fluffing a pillow, your favourite snack and drink on the coffee table and the show you are currently watching playing on the TV.

“Can I get you anything else sweets?”

babyfever!satoru is obsessed with your boobs ever since you started lactating, this man has a greedy mouth and he isn’t ashamed of it at all. He nips, bites, kisses, sucks until your breasts are marked up and so sensitive the lightest brush of air makes you flinch.

babyfever!satoru doesn’t let anybody babysit your baby, and that means no one. He doesn’t care how long he has known them, worked with them or even if they have saved his own ass, he trusts no one with his babies life, but you his perfect little wife.

babyfever!satoru takes time off work for the first 6 months of your sons life, only to become a house husband because you were excited to return to work, and whatever wifey wants wifey gets (he made you go down to part time, but hey is he a monster for wanting his family around 24/7?)

babyfever!satoru is thankful for the life you have gifted to him every day and he will never stop showing you just how much he loves you for blessing him with this reality.

Part 1 Part 2