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call-memissbrightside · 23 days ago

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finally birthing male manipulator satoru with girl failure reader wwww

gojo satoru was used to getting what he wanted.

and he wanted you.

not in some deep, profound way—god, no. not at first. it started as a game. a challenge. a passing amusement that piqued his interest one random thursday morning when you stammered out an apology after bumping into his desk, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. he watched you trip over your own words, clutch your pen like a lifeline, and tuck your legs up onto the chair like you could shrink out of existence if you tried hard enough.

prime target. textbook girlfailure behavior. he could spot it from a mile away.

this was supposed to be easy.

he’d start small. nothing too intense. just a little white knight routine—softboy edition. give you just enough attention to get you spinning. love-bomb in casual doses. trauma-dump-lite over late-night fries. maybe let his voice go quiet and vulnerable one evening and say, “you remind me of someone i cared about.” glance away, bite his lip, look just the right amount of broken. play the victim just enough to make you feel like you had to fix him.

he’d make you think he saw you. that he understood you.

except you, with your messy hair and oversized hoodie sleeves pulled over twitchy fingers, dodged every single one of his perfectly curated attempts like your avoidant attachment style was running military-grade defense protocols.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asked one afternoon, leaning a little too close to your desk, silver hair slightly tousled, reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, his voice low and silky. lips curved into a smile that’d made stronger girls fold. “you looked a little sad today. i worry about you sometimes.”

you blinked up at him, lashes fluttering like you couldn’t believe he was talking to you. your throat worked around a half-swallowed gulp. then your face shifted. shutters slammed down. you forced a grin, lopsided and sharp around the edges.

“yeah, i’m just like this. it’s seasonal depression, but, y’know… year-round. i’m fine.”

you said it so matter-of-factly. like he was asking about the weather.

satoru froze, his hand briefly twitching near his glasses as he pushed them up slowly, searching for meaning in a world that had suddenly gone sideways.

what the actual hell.

okay. maybe you needed more.

he started sitting next to you in class. always coincidentally. elbows brushing, knees knocking. his thigh warm where it grazed yours. he sent you memes at 1:37 a.m. with captions like “us fr?” and “ur literally me,” despite you barely replying to half of them. he offered his jacket when the AC kicked on and watched the way you hesitated, blushed, and then said, “i run on spite, not warmth.”

and then, the pièce de résistance:

“i just feel like… you’re different,” he said one evening outside the library. the campus was quiet, sky the kind of inky navy that made everything feel more cinematic. he stood with hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, a calculated slouch, glasses slightly askew, hair falling across his forehead. his voice dipped low, coaxing. “everyone else is so fake. but you? you’re real. you’ve got this… broken, beautiful thing going on.”

you tilted your head. stared. then squinted at him like he was a suspiciously priced antique. “did you get that line off tiktok?”

he flinched.

bro.

he ran a hand through his hair. a slow, dramatic drag of fingers. girls walking by giggled. he didn’t look up. he was malfunctioning.

he was trying. actually trying. not just running a script. not just playing games. he was pulling every page from the softboy manipulator playbook and rewriting it with style. the gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss starter pack, optimized for 2025.

and still. you met his carefully calculated charm with self-deprecating jokes, sarcasm, and the kind of deadpan delivery that made him question if he was losing it.

“you should save that line for someone without warranty issues,” you said, staring at him with a crooked little smile. “i come pre-broken.”

he left that encounter walking in slow motion, hoodie sleeves dragged over his hands, mouth set in a pout. if a sad indie movie montage started playing around him, he wouldn’t have questioned it.

here’s the thing, though: you liked him.

it was obvious.

he saw it in the way your gaze flickered to his mouth when he talked. the way your fingers curled tight around your notebook when he leaned in too close. the way your breath hitched just slightly when he used your name in a sentence. you were down bad.

but you were also your own worst enemy.

years of romantic misfires and silent yearning had turned you into a master of avoidance. you would rather make a joke about your emotional damage than let someone touch your heart. rather ghost your feelings than face them.

and it was frying his entire nervous system.

one night, 2:14 a.m., satoru lay on his bed staring at your latest post: a blurry picture of your cat with the caption “me.” it had two likes.

he stared at it longer than any man should. took a screenshot. set it as his lock screen for five minutes. unironically laughed.

then groaned and stuffed his face into his pillow.

“no,” he muttered. “no. she’s the one who canceled our group study session with ‘sorry i’m busy disappointing my ancestors.’”

and yet.

he kept thinking about the way your voice dropped to a whisper when you didn’t think anyone was listening. the way you fiddled with your sleeves when you were nervous. how you always sat at the edge of a group like you weren’t sure you belonged there.

you never clung to him. never fed into his savior complex. never let him be the one who "fixed" you.

and for some reason, that made him want to try harder.

not because it was a game anymore. because… well. because you were infuriating. weird. unpredictable. not like the others. god, maybe you were even kind of funny.

whatever. it wasn’t that deep.

gojo satoru: male manipulator dodged by the one girl who wanted him back… just enough to sabotage it.

and now he’s the one thinking way too hard about someone who won’t even sit next to him two days in a row.

he doesn’t like you.

he just… finds you interesting.

that’s all.

shut up.

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call-memissbrightside · 24 days ago

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Hi,

For shits and giggles, you think Megumi was an accident? Hear me out! I really believe Toji’s self worth was low before he met his wife… and he most def didn’t want to bring a kid into the same cruel world he was raised in… but love and marriage and planning for a future with someone changed him… and maybe he got careless, and when he found out about the pregnancy? He was nervous, he felt no connection to his child, only that it was a part of her, and he loved her. But with her gone (fan theories!!! Do we think Mrs. Fushiguro died from sickness or murdered?? I think sickness!), Toji couldn’t step up to give the love his son needed. But he promised her, the last promise he ever tried to keep was to “take care of Megumi.”

But that was easier said than done because how is he supposed to care for a child he didn’t even want but now was stuck with? He wasn’t a perfect father, but I’d like to believe that he cared for Megumi bc that was the last piece he had of his wife. He was a blessing, Megumi was a symbol of their love— but without his wife, the one person who made him feel human gone… well… he’s depressed af and angry and tries to be a good parent in his own fucked up way. It wasn’t like he was around long enough to see what his lack of love did to Megumi.

Okay rant over, byeeee

#fan theory #jjk toji #jjk angst #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro

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call-memissbrightside · 24 days ago

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⊹ ࣪ ˖౨ৎ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭... 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐢𝐞 <𝟑

𐙚. total ass guy; This man cannot go five seconds without smacking the Mario coins out of your ass. Literally. You’d think he was winding his arm back like a baseball pitch the way it stings for a solid five minutes—but nope, he’s just heavy-handed as hell. God forbid you walk around the penthouse in shorts or tights. That’s an open invitation for him to make you jump like a cartoon character.

𐙚. never lets you see the receipt/price tag on something you wanna buy; He never lets you see the receipt, ever. You’d think shopping was a heist with how you try to sneak a peek at the price tag before he catches you. If you do manage to see it, he’ll pinch your cheeks like you’re five and hit you with a “Why you looking?”—before buying it for you in two colors and telling the associate to wrap it up “real pretty.”

𐙚. surprisingly knows about nails; You made a joke once, asking whether you should get a red-bottom stiletto or a pink glittery coffin set. He didn’t even blink—just gave you a look and went: “Red bottom. Square. With rhinestones. Don’t play with me. There’s already cash in your purse.” …Sir????

𐙚. lowkey sassy asf; While Ryo usually lets his judgment show through an unimpressed side-eye or a scoff, sometimes… sometimes you get the pleasure of hearing him be downright sassy.

𐙚 “The fuck are you talking about? That shit is ugly.” 𐙚 “That was your ex? Did he sneak onto earth?” 𐙚 You have to walk away before he sees you wheezing.

𐙚. throws you over his shoulder when you have an attitude; It’s instinct at this point. You raise your voice, roll your eyes, stomp away—boom, you’re upside down. He’s walking around like it’s nothing while you’re kicking and yelling “PUT ME DOWN.” He won’t. He’s chuckling. Slaps your ass mid-walk too. “Talk crazy again. I dare you.”

𐙚. doesn’t like sharing food—except with you; He’ll side-eye anyone who asks for a fry, but you? You can literally eat off his plate and he won’t say a word. He’ll just flick your forehead and go, “You’re lucky you’re cute brat.” Bonus points if you feed him too. He’ll open his mouth lazily and say, “Hurry up, I’m not tryna be romantic, I’m tryna eat.”

𐙚. acts like you’re so annoying but lowkey worships the ground you walk on; He’ll be like “Why are you so needy?” while simultaneously wrapping you in a blanket, giving you a foot massage, and ordering your favorite food without being asked. Literally complains while doing everything for you.

𐙚. randomly flexes how strong he is; Opens jars with one hand. Lifts the whole couch just to get your phone. Carries all the groceries without breaking a sweat. Smirks every time you’re like “Goddamn, okay.” “Keep looking like that and I’ll show you what else I can carry.”

𐙚. so, so handsy; Not even just sexual—he always has to be touching you. Hand around your neck while you sit on his lap. Thumb brushing your thigh in the car. Rubbing slow circles into your back while you sleep. And yes, he still slaps your ass every time you walk past. “Don’t act surprised. You knew what this was.”

𐙚. calls you a menace daily—but he’s in love. - “You’re a headache in heels.” - “You cause me stress and I like it. That’s the problem.” - “I should’ve left you in that dressing room when you said ‘I only want one thing’ and - pointed at the whole store.” - But he never leaves. He never would. You’re his favorite chaos.

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call-memissbrightside · 25 days ago

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the thing about being married to gojo satoru is that it’s never quiet. not really.

not when he’s in the kitchen humming loudly with two different songs playing from two separate devices, not when he’s in the shower giving dramatic performances to imaginary audiences, and especially not when he’s coming home from a mission, letting the door slam shut behind him before he yells, “baby, i’m hoooome!” like he’s starring in a sitcom no one else auditioned for.

it’s never lonely either.

not with the way he keeps his hand on the small of your back when you’re out shopping, or how he takes your picture when you’re not looking and sets it as his phone background. not when he insists on holding your hand even in your sleep, fingers searching for yours under the blanket until they find their way back.

but gojo satoru is a good husband.

—

you wake up to the sound of rain.

soft, steady, almost meditative. the kind of rain that makes the world feel slower, quieter. in your half-asleep haze, the sheets are warm, the room is dim, and there’s a weight draped over your waist that’s breathing.

“you’re awake,” gojo mumbles against your shoulder. his voice is hoarse with sleep, his breath warm where it ghosts over your skin. “stay.”

you let your eyes flutter open. his hair’s a mess, flopped over his eyes, the blindfold discarded on the nightstand. he’s shirtless, always runs hot in his sleep, and his fingers are splayed across your stomach like he’s trying to keep you from floating away.

“wasn’t planning on leaving,” you say softly, your voice half-lost to the rain.

he hums, pleased. noses into your neck. and you feel it—the way he melts when he’s allowed to just be with you. not the strongest sorcerer. not a teacher. not a leader.

just your husband.

and gojo satoru, despite all expectations, is a good husband.

not a perfect one. but a good one.

he holds your hand under the table during family dinners. he buys you ridiculous little trinkets from vending machines and says they “reminded him of you” (even if it’s a glittery frog keychain). he does laundry wrong, folds towels into chaotic shapes, but still makes sure your favorite hoodie is clean and waiting when you come home tired.

he checks the locks before bed, triple-checks when you fall asleep before him. you pretend not to notice how he sits on the edge of the bed some nights, just watching you breathe. like he still can’t believe he gets this. gets you.

and sometimes you come home exhausted, the kind of tired that sinks into your bones and makes your fingers feel numb, like today. the world outside was cruel today—too many meetings, too many fake smiles, and not enough air. the subway was late, the rain was heavy, and someone on the street snapped at you for bumping into them.

your umbrella’s broken. your shoes are soaked. and by the time you reach the apartment, you’re so drained you can barely turn the key in the lock.

but the second you step inside, you hear it.

clattering in the kitchen. music low and sweet—satoru’s playlist, the one that only comes on when he’s in a domestic mood. and then, the smell. garlic, something savory, something warm. your stomach growls before you can even process it.

“baby?” he calls, not even turning around yet. “that you?”

you don’t answer right away. just stand there in the hallway, dripping water on the floor, eyes stinging for no reason you want to name.

he turns then, peeking around the corner of the kitchen. his white hair is messier than usual, pushed back with a headband. he’s wearing a navy-blue apron with little cats on it—something you bought as a joke last year—and there’s flour on his cheek.

he takes one look at you and his smile fades. gently. not because he’s annoyed, but because he knows.

“aw, my baby,” he murmurs, and that’s all it takes.

your throat tightens. tears well. you kick off your shoes blindly and cross the room in wet socks, falling into his arms with a helpless little noise. he catches you easily, pulling you into his chest like he was waiting all day for this exact moment.

“rough one?” he whispers, nose brushing your temple.

you nod, burying your face into the crook of his neck. his skin is warm. he smells like ginger and soy sauce and laundry detergent. like home.

he rocks you gently, arms strong around your back, one hand sliding up to card through your damp hair.

“you’re home now,” he says softly. “i got you.”

—

and yeah, he’s a whirlwind, sometimes.

shoes left by the door, coat tossed onto a chair, cursed tools dropped unceremoniously on the counter like they’re not dangerous. sometimes you follow in his wake, scolding, cleaning. other times, you leave it all there, because he’s home — which means he’s alive — and that’s always been enough.

he drags you onto the couch that afternoon, limbs tangled, head in your lap.

you run your fingers through his hair. his eyes flutter closed.

“tired?”

“mmhm.”

you let the silence settle. his fingers brush the fabric of your pants, twisting lightly in place. he always touches you when he can — not possessive, not even needy, just… grounding. as if he still needs to make sure you’re real.

you think he always will.

“you’re warm,” he murmurs.

“so are you. your students probably think you’re a space heater in winter.”

“nah. they think i’m cool and mysterious.”

you laugh, soft and fond. “they don’t think that and you’re neither.”

he cracks an eye open. “rude. i’m a very enigmatic husband.”

“you’re a husband who tries to make omelets with chocolate chips.”

he grins, unrepentant.

“you’re a husband who re-folds the laundry after i’ve already folded it.”

“because your sock-folding method is barbaric. who even folds socks?”

“you’re a husband who bought six kinds of shampoo because you couldn’t remember the one i liked.”

his smile falters — just a little.

“…yeah, i did.”

you pause, hand stilling in his hair.

“hey,” you say softly, “that was sweet, satoru.”

he shrugs. “i just didn’t wanna mess it up.”

you lean down, kiss the tip of his nose.

“you never mess it up. not where it matters.”

he doesn’t always know how to be soft. not with words. not after everything.

so he shows it in how he holds you after nightmares. how he picks up your favorite snacks even when he’s running on three hours of sleep. how he insists on walking on the street side of the sidewalk. how he takes the brunt of any inconvenience — small or large — like he was built to carry it.

he doesn’t flinch when you yell. doesn’t crumble when you cry. doesn’t vanish when things get hard, even though part of him still thinks he should.

he’s here. always.

your friends say you’re lucky.

you agree — but not for the reasons they think.

not because he’s handsome or powerful or funny in a maddening, childish kind of way.

you’re lucky because he tries. because even with everything he’s seen, he still chooses to come home. to love. to be soft.

and gojo satoru is a good husband.

he’s chaotic, loud, sometimes childish. he hoards sweets in the back of the pantry and swears he has no idea where the last slice of cake went. he hogs the blankets and forgets to answer texts and insists on carrying all the grocery bags at once.

but he makes your coffee the way you like it. rubs your back when you’re anxious. makes bad jokes to see you smile.

he lets you cry. lets you be angry. never tries to fix you—just holds you close until you’re ready.

he’s safe. and soft. and real.

and when he looks at you, when he says, “come here, my sweet, i missed you,” with his arms wide open—

you believe him. you always do.

—

you’re brushing your teeth one night when he comes in, towel around his waist, hair damp, blindfold off. his eyes are tired but warm.

you spit into the sink. “you forgot to get more toothpaste.”

he frowns. “did i?”

you nod, mouth full of foam. “i wrote it on the list.”

he steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, rests his chin on your shoulder.

“i’ll go tomorrow,” he murmurs. “promise.”

you rinse your mouth. “you always say that.”

“and yet, somehow, we always have toothpaste.”

“because i go.”

he grins. “because we’re a team.”

you roll your eyes. but your hand finds his on your waist. you squeeze once.

you don’t say i love you. not out loud.

but he kisses your neck before bed. pulls you close, half on top of him, blankets tangled. he mumbles something into your hair — something that sounds suspiciously like mine — and falls asleep like that, breath warm against your skin.

and you think, yes.

gojo satoru is a good husband.

maybe not perfect.

but real. present. trying.

and that’s everything.

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call-memissbrightside · 26 days ago

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Gojo noticed.

He always noticed the strict distance you kept between yourself and everybody else. He noticed the twitch in your smile when people asked to hangout.

"Sorry, I have a shift to catch."

"My cousins are coming over tonight, so I have to take a rain check."

"I'm not really feeling up to it, next time maybe?"

The lies behind your teeth never seemed to run out, your eyes unblinking even when your friends tried to reason back at you.

He noticed how you’d deflate when no one’s looking, a quiet and long sigh leaving your lips when you think everyone’s too busy to hear. Your shoulders sink and your gaze lowers to the ground, the look in your eyes wishing everything around you to just stop.

Nothing could ever escape his six eyes.

Especially when it comes to you.

He sees the tall walls you’ve built to protect what’s already in pieces. He sees the way you want to be alone, but you’re too afraid of the silence that creeps in when no one else is around.

He sees everything and wants nothing more than to break everything you’ve barricaded around yourself.

Gojo Satoru knows what it’s like to desire isolation. He knows what it does to a person, and he knows he can’t allow himself to lose someone like he lost his best friend. He knows you are the second chance he has to love again, and he will never allow you to leave.

So he shows you bits and pieces of his soul.

He makes sure to show you the joy you bring him—in the way he laughs, in the way he looks at you, in the depths of his dimples every time he flashes you that boyish grin. He's opening himself up to you, stripping himself bare of any lies and facades.

He tells you about his day—the details including the little calico kitty chasing an adorable puppy down the street as he enjoyed his daily walk, and the sweets he had eaten within the day. (He often brings extra with him just in case you get hungry.)

And then, Gojo notices.

He notices how you smile a little brighter now. He notices how slowly you’re beginning to tell him more of your day—about how you had woken up and immediately drank water afterwards, and he notices because he knows in the past you would’ve said, “‘m doing good. Nothing special really happened."

He notices how you start to look less exhausted and spaced out, the color in your eyes twinkling a little bit more.

He notices how you begin to love yourself a little more, the mascara on your lashes, that keychain you held back from buying now swinging back and forth from your phone case, and the way you stare a little longer as you passed by mirrors, a small smile reflecting back all being little signs of the affection that's slowly beginning to grow in your heart.

Perhaps what you needed was a little reminder.

Perhaps what you needed was to remember that somebody cared.

Because one day, when he’s buying you your favorite drink simply because you had briefly mentioned wanting it, you find yourself noticing how wonderful the weather is. You notice that you’re starting to prefer the sounds of people chatting as they walk over the songs of radiohead looping in your earphones. You feel like yourself again—you’re no longer watching life pass by like a stranger again.

You hear Gojo call your name, the summer sun dusting a slight shade of pink on his cheeks. “That line was crazy, but I got your drink!” He smiles, gently handing you the cup.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

He stills at the tone of your voice.

He looks down at you—notices way you hum after taking a sip out of the cup and he knows.

He knows the walls you’ve built up aren’t gone, but rather you’ve let him in behind those walls.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

He knows it’s still a long way to go before you can heal from the damage that has been dealt, and he knows there is still an ache in your soul, but he also knows he’s made sure to let you know he’s going to be right here beside you, holding your hand and wiping your tears.

he doesn't notice it, but he heals a little seeing you so happy because even if he couldn't save geto, he saved you.

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call-memissbrightside · 27 days ago

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MIRAGE | gojo satoru x reader

He was fine. He was always fine.

The first time Satoru realized you were dying, he didn’t cry.

He didn’t panic.

Didn’t throw a tantrum.

Didn’t start tearing through cursed archives for some miracle buried under dust and blood.

He just blinked behind his covered eyes, that stupid grin tugging at his mouth like muscle memory.

"Funny joke.”

Because it was a joke. Had to be. Because people like you didn’t die. You were a hurricane. A pain in the ass. The only one brave enough to snatch his glasses right off his face and call him a nerd in public.

You were supposed to outlive all of them.

Outlive him.

And even when you started crumbling—

when your cursed technique faltered mid-mission, when you swayed in the hallway and brushed it off like it was nothing, when Shoko pulled him aside with a look in her eyes he didn’t want to name—

He just laughed.

Because if he didn’t laugh, he might crack wide open.

And if he cracked—

if he let even a splinter of it in—

he wouldn’t survive you leaving.

Not again.

Not you.

"You good?" He asked once. Just to hear you call him an idiot.

You were curled up on a hospital cot like you barely fit inside your own body anymore, pale under the fluorescent lights, fingers slipping off your phone twice in a row.

But you still cracked a smile.

“I look that bad, huh?”

He barked a laugh. "Please. You always look like shit. This is just limited edition."

You smiled at him like he’d handed you a goddamn crown.

And he sat there—grinning like an asshole—like he didn’t spend the entire morning eavesdropping outside your room, learning you had weeks, not months.

“You’re allowed to hate this, you know. You're allowed to hate me for it.”

He rolled his eyes. Flung an arm over the back of the chair.

"Hate you? You’re not that important."

You laughed.

And he memorized the sound like a dying man hoarding breath.

Because it was almost over.

And he was going with you.

After that, Satoru started keeping track of you like he was studying for the world’s worst exam.

He didn’t write anything down.

Didn’t trust himself to.

Instead, he promised he’d remember:

The way your cursed energy flickered when you lied.

The way you touched ramen bowls like they’d burn you, even when they were cold.

The way you lit up when it rained, like the whole sky had decided to throw you a party.

The way you always, always, left a light on for him when he came back too late even when you should’ve sleeping.

He thought if he memorized enough of you, he could rebuild you later.

Patchwork you back together when the world finally ripped you away.

As if remembering could save either of you.

One night, you asked him to take you outside.

You could barely keep your eyes open. Couldn’t stand without swaying like paper in a storm. Your breath rattled in your chest like loose change.

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t waste a second.

Just scooped you up like you weighed nothing, like it didn’t kill him to feel your ribs under his hands.

He told himself you were just tired.

Told himself you weren’t slipping through his fingers.

You blinked up at the stars and mumbled, "If I make it to winter... will you take me somewhere it snows? Like really snows. So much you can’t even hear yourself think."

Satoru snorted. Because that's what assholes did when their world was ending.

"You’ve seen snow, dumbass."

"Not like that." You whispered.

You smiled and he felt something inside him tear.

"Yeah. I’ll take you."

"Liar.”

He grinned like he had a choice.

"Always."

And you smiled like you believed him.

You didn’t make it to winter.

Didn’t even make it to fall.

The last week, you stopped eating.

The last three days, you stopped talking.

The last day, you opened your eyes once—

found him immediately—

and smiled.

That was enough.

He stayed with you until the machines went silent.

Stayed even after the nurses stopped checking.

Held your hand like it still belonged to him.

Like if he squeezed hard enough, he could keep you here.

At the funeral, Satoru didn’t wear black.

Showed up in his uniform. Wore stupid sunglasses.

Because you would’ve roasted his ass for wearing a tie.

You would’ve laughed.

He stayed after everyone else slunk away. Sat cross-legged in the dead grass, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

Waited.

Like maybe you were just late.

Like maybe you’d come barreling around the corner any second, cussing him out for being a dumbass.

When the wind finally stirred, he leaned down over your headstone.

"You missed it..”

"It snowed yesterday."

It wasn’t the right snow.

But he said it anyway.

Because lying to you felt more honest than admitting you were really gone.

That winter, it snowed.

Not a dusting.

Not a polite frosting.

A real storm.

The kind that swallowed whole cities, muted every sound until the world felt abandoned.

Exactly what you'd asked for.

Satoru didn’t visit your grave.

Didn’t lay flowers. Didn’t say your name.

Didn’t need to.

(He needed to.)

He walked the streets like he always did.

Smirking at the sky like he was too good to care.

He told himself he was fine.

That people died all the time. That he’d seen worse.

That if you weren’t strong enough to stay, that was your fault, not his.

He kept moving. Teaching. Fighting. Winning.

(Losing.)

Because that’s what the strongest did. That’s what he was supposed to be.

Untouchable. Invincible.

Not the kind of idiot who looked over his shoulder every time he passed your favorite ramen shop.

Not the kind of fool who half-expected to see you there—

grinning like a menace, waving him over.

(You were gone. You weren’t coming back. He knew that. He knew that.)

But sometimes—

when the world went completely still—

when the snow muffled everything so perfectly it felt like standing in a dream—

Satoru slowed down.

Let his hand brush the side of a bench you once tripped over.

Let his breath fog up the air in front of him, because he's still a human. So breakable.

And he whispered it, just once, because no one was close enough to hear:

"I loved you, you know."

It disappeared into the snow like everything else he couldn’t hold onto.

Didn’t matter.

He said it anyway.

Still did.

Always would.

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

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Seriously unserious ~ S. G.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader

Summary: Gojo’s constantly flirting with you, but that’s just who he is, it’s not as if he actually liked you, is it?

CW (content warning): nothing really, this is purely teeth rotting fluff.

AN (author’s note): Hey guys! I just wanted to thank you for the support on all my other works, it really means a lot 🤍 I’m already working on the last part of my Megumi college AU, so keep an eye out for it. As always a reminder that English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this on my phone so I’m sorry if there’re any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The morning air was crisp as it passed through the half-open windows of Jujutsu Tech, carrying the scent of rain and fresh earth. Students ambled around the campus, the more mischievous among them darting between buildings, hoping to avoid early training.

You sipped your tea slowly, glancing over a stack of lesson plans at your desk. Another long day ahead including exorcism simulations, cursed technique theory, and the ever-complicated emotional management of teenagers raised to fight monsters. Still, you found meaning in it. You always had.

Your door creaked open without a knock.

“Morning, sunshine.” Came a familiar, overly cheery voice.

You didn’t look up, you didn’t need to. “Gojo, it’s 7:03. Too early for your nonsense.”

Satoru Gojo leaned dramatically against the frame of your door, shades perched lazily on his nose instead of his usual blindfold. His snowy hair stuck up in disheveled tufts, as if he hadn’t even bothered trying to tame it.

“You wound me.” He pouted, hand in his chest, looking as if he was a Victorian lady who was about to pass out because her corset was too tight. “Is this how you treat the strongest sorcerer in the world?”

“Only when he barges into my classroom uninvited.” You muttered, tapping your pen pointedly against your clipboard.

Gojo sauntered in anyway, dropping himself onto the edge of your desk, crinkling a few of your worksheets. You narrowed your eyes, but he only smirked in return.

He plucked a sticky note off the top paper and held it up between two fingers.

“What’s this? ‘Yuuji needs extra training—still underestimating curses at Grade 2 level.’ Sounds harsh.”

You swiped the note from him and set it back where it belonged. “It’s called teaching. You should try it sometime.”

“I do teach!” He defended. “Just... unconventionally.”

“Gojo.”

“Yes?”

You gave him a look that managed to both scold and plead.

“I’m working.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No more distractions. Just came to say good morning. And, you know...” He leaned a little closer, voice dropping half an octave. “To admire your radiant beauty.”

You rolled your eyes. “Subtle.”

“I thought so.” He grinned.

You didn’t bother replying. He always flirted like that grand declarations, poetic exaggerations, and endless teasing. You’d learned early on not to take it seriously. Gojo was like this with everyone: loud, charming, untouchable. He was Satoru Gojo, the most powerful sorcerer in the world. What would he ever want with someone like you?

Still, you couldn't deny that his visits were becoming... habitual. He never missed a morning to drop by your classroom. Sometimes it was under the guise of needing something from the faculty. Other times, he just "happened" to bring you coffee.

It was always playful. Always safe. Always Gojo.

So you treated it like you would a student’s tantrum with patience, detachment, and a firm boundary.

But Gojo wasn’t just another jujutsu hormonal teenager, even when he sometimes acted like one. And deep down, you knew it.

——————————————————————————

Your days blurred into a rhythm: early mornings, student evaluations, cursed object containment drills. Every so often, an active mission took you off campus, but you always returned to your little classroom and your stack of reports. It was safe. Predictable.

And then there was Gojo.

Relentless as the sun, he flared into your orbit with his teasing quips, spontaneous gifts that varied from sakura-flavored gum to an entire picnic lunch on a rainy day, and offhanded compliments that left you oddly breathless.

“You’re tense.” He noted one afternoon as you rubbed your shoulder after a particularly brutal sparring session with your second-years.

“I’m fine.” You muttered.

Then, without warning, he moved behind you and gently pressed two fingers into your upper back, right between your shoulder blades.

You froze. “Gojo—”

“Relax.” He cut you off, voice low and not teasing for once. “You’re always carrying too much weight.”

You opened your mouth, but the words died there. His fingers worked slow circles into your back, gentle but firm. You hadn’t realized how sore you were. How tired. How long it had been since anyone touched you with care.

You hated how easy it was to melt under his touch.

He leaned closer. “You know, I give great full-body massages too.”

And there it was.

You snorted. “You were doing so well.”

“What, you thought I wasn’t gonna flirt? That’s half the fun.”

You elbowed him lightly and stood, brushing his hands off your shoulders with faux irritation. “You’re incorrigible.”

He smiled, but there was something quieter behind it. Something that flickered too fast for you to place.

——————————————————————————It wasn’t until a mission went sideways that things changed.

You’d taken a team of third-years into the outskirts of Kyoto. A Grade 1 curse, allegedly, in a crumbling hospital. You’d handled worse.

Except the information was wrong. The curse had evolved. It tore through the building like a banshee, separating you from the students. You needed to protect them. You fought it, injured it, banished it. But not without cost.

You limped back to the students with blood on your uniform and two broken ribs. They were safe. That was what mattered.

But the moment Gojo stepped off the helicopter that arrived to retrieve you, you saw his face go pale.

“Don’t.” you warned as he reached you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t speak. Just stared. His sunglasses hung low on the bridge of his nose, allowing you to get a glimpse of his blue eyes, his expression tight. You realized you’d never seen him this serious outside of battle.

“I said I’m fine.” You repeated, firmer now.

“You’re not.” He said, serious, so unlike him that it almost made you feel bad for even letting yourself get injured like this.

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He looked at you like he was trying to burn the answer into your skin. “You almost didn’t come back.”

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the noise of medics preparing to fly you out. His voice, when he spoke again, was barely audible.

“I can’t lose you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He exhaled harshly and turned away. “Forget it.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

——————————————————————————

The hospital stay was short. A day and a half later, you were back on your feet, albeit with a wrapped chest and strict orders not to overdo it.

When you returned to your classroom, there was a note on your desk.

"Take one more step into that classroom and I swear I’ll seal you in a box." –Gojo. > P.S. Come to the staff lounge. I have muffins.

Despite yourself, you smiled.

When you arrived, he was there, lounging like a cat across one of the couches, reading a comic book.

“You’re not my doctor.” You said.

“I could be.” He offered with a wink.

You sat across from him, avoiding his eyes.

“What happened in Kyoto…” You started. “You said—”

“I know what I said.” He interrupted, sitting up.

You studied him. “Did you mean it?”

He met your gaze, his usual grin replaced by something far more fragile.

“I always mean it when it comes to you.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Look.” He said, “I joke a lot. I flirt, yeah. But that doesn’t mean I’m not serious when I say I care about you.”

You said nothing. You couldn’t even if you wanted to, your brain was going high wire trying to process the words that were coming out of his mouth.

“I get it.” He continued. “You don’t think I’m capable of real feelings. That I’m all jokes and power and blindfolds.”

“That’s not what I think.” You whispered.

“Then what?” His voice cracked, just slightly. “Why do you never take me seriously?”

You stared at your hands. “Because it’s easier.”

“Easier than what?”

“Easier than letting myself hope.”

The silence that followed was thunderous.

Gojo reached across the table and took your hand, carefully, like it might vanish.

“Well,” he said, “what if I told you I’ve been hoping for a long time?”

You looked up, heart pounding.

He smiled, softer this time. “Don’t you think it’s time we stopped dancing around this?”

You didn’t know what startled you more, Satoru Gojo holding your hand like it meant something, or the fact that you were letting him.

His palm was warm. Slightly calloused from years of battle. It was the hand of someone who carried too much, who made the world laugh while quietly shouldering the weight of it.

And now, he was offering that same hand to you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now.” He said gently. “I just... I needed to be honest, for once.”

You stared at your intertwined fingers.

For months, years even,,you had tucked away the tension that lived between you. Labeled it as “Gojo being Gojo.” Flirting for the sake of amusement. A man who could have anything, playing games because nothing ever stuck.

But this, this wasn’t a game. At least it didn’t feel like it.

“You really meant it.” You whispered, unsure, as if tasting the words on your lips.

He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it for far too long.

“Yeah.” He said. “I really did.”

You looked up at him, and for once, didn’t find the ever-present smirk or playful glint. His expression was open. Raw. Nervous.

It struck you all at once, how long he must have been waiting for you to see him.

“How long have you...?”

His gaze flickered to your lips before returning to your eyes. “A while.” A sheepish smile on his lips, almost as if he was shy about that.

You squeezed his hand without thinking. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

He chuckled, low and almost self-deprecating. “Because you always laughed it off. I thought maybe... if I kept it light, I could stay close to you without scaring you off.”

“And if I had known?”

“I didn’t want to risk losing the version of us I already had.” He admitted. “At least that way, I still got to be near you.”

God.

You’d misunderstood everything. He hadn’t been trying to get under your skin. He’d been trying to get to your heart and you’d locked the door because you thought he was just knocking to be funny.

“I’m sorry.” You said.

He shook his head. “You don’t have to be. I get it. I’m not exactly the most... convincing romantic candidate.”

“Because you’re a manchild?” You teased gently.

“That too.” He grinned.

You were quiet for a long moment. The hum of the staff lounge’s refrigerator was the only sound in the background.

“I never thought you could be serious about me.” You confessed. “Not with... everything else. You’re Gojo. The strongest sorcerer. The one who never shuts up. I just assumed it was all a game.”

“I know.”

“And I guess I didn’t want to hope.”

“Why not?”

“Because hoping can hurt.” You said softly.

His thumb brushed along your knuckles.

“Yeah.” He murmured. “But sometimes... it heals too.” You could see a shadow of his past passing through his eyes as he said that, you knew exactly what he meant.

——————————————————————————

The days that followed were strange. You and Gojo hadn’t defined anything, not exactly at least. There were no grand declarations, no sudden shift in routine.

He still dropped by your classroom too early in the morning, still teased you about your coffee addiction, still stole your chalk. But now... now there was a new softness to his presence. A quiet tension. A thread you could tug on if you were brave enough.

And you were starting to want to tug.

One afternoon, after a long day of training the first-years, you found yourself wandering toward the faculty rooftop, a place Gojo often escaped to when he wanted to avoid paperwork.

Sure enough, he was there. Lounging against the railing, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, arms folded loosely as he stared out at the horizon.

He heard you approach, of course.

“You’re getting predictable.” He said without turning.

“So are you.” You replied, stepping beside him. “Always hiding out here after combat days.”

“I prefer to call it strategic retreat.”

You snorted. “Is that what you tell the elders?”

“Only when I’m feeling generous.”

You leaned against the railing beside him, the cool breeze lifting the strands of hair at your temples. It smelled like distant rain and pine.

He glanced at you, and for a second, there was nothing flippant in his gaze. Only quiet curiosity.

“You’ve been distant.” He pointed out, breaking the delicate silence that had fell between the two of you.

“I’ve been thinking.” You replied.

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the tension ripple off him in waves.

“I think I’ve spent so long telling myself you were a flirt... that I forgot to ask what I actually felt.”

“And?” His question is almost breathless, expecting.

You turned to him. “I feel... stupid.”

He blinked.

“Because I didn’t see it sooner.” You explained. “Because I kept pushing you away. Because part of me wanted to believe it was real, but I was too afraid to risk it.”

He studied you in silence. His hands twitches lightly at his side, itching to touch you.

“I’m not afraid anymore.” You said.

Something softened in his eyes.

“Is that your way of saying you like me?” He asked, voice carefully light.

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. “Yes, Gojo. I like you.”

He looked at you for a long beat, then reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that.”

“Why me?” You asked quietly. “Of all people?”

“Because you’re the only one who treats me like a person.” He said. “Not a weapon. Not a god. Not a joke. Just... Satoru.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You see me.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And even when I tried to be annoying, you never pushed me out completely.”

“I should’ve.” You joked weakly.

“Probably.” He grinned. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

You hesitated.

Then, slowly, carefully you reached up and brushed your fingers along his jaw. He tilted into the touch, like it was instinct.

No blindfold. No mask. Just Gojo. Just Satoru.

“I want to try.” You whispered.

His eyes burned into yours. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “But you have to promise to stop stealing my coffee.”

“Absolutely not.”

You laughed, and that was when he leaned in.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting his whole life for it soft at first, almost reverent, as if afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. You tilted your chin and kissed him back, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was better. It was steady. Familiar. Real.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“So, what now?” He murmured.

You smiled. “Now we get to be insufferable together.”

“I can live with that.”

Taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

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ugh that ex husband gojo fic HURT but i loved it sm,, do u think u can write ex husband gojo AGAIN but even after the divorce he's still so in love w/ u? thank uuu!!

the ex husband gojo in question ✧

→ f!reader, angst... mostly angst

sure, gojo took it well, but at the beginning, he was a mess.

it was fleeting at first—you two had only been married for five years before it all got too much. but five years in the grand scheme of things was a long time. he was your twenties personified—a walking shell of your old self—but he was just too distant.

your marriage wasn't a marriage. there was no partnership, gojo is married to a job he can't even tell you about.

so those first few weeks without you were hell. you're the one who finally did it in after moving out, sending him a classified bundle of papers to his address at jujutsu high. then, you hit no contact. you left him in the dust.

must be nice, pretending like he never existed. gojo died that night, standing alone in the manufactured shell of your love.

that big-ass apartment in the city he doesn't even live in—he leased it for you—your love that you could decorate to the sound of his voice. right now, it's an expensive thorn in his pocket.

and he's only here because half of his wardrobe is here. It's sad how bad he is at doing his own laundry. it's the first time he needs to be on top of it in over ten years. luckily for him, clothes you laundered just before you left him sat untouched in the expansive walk-in closet. some of those shirts will be a good buffer until he finds a good laundry service.

yeah... that's his reason for being back at this apartment, key sliding through the gold-plated doorknob. it's locked, just like he left it a few days ago. if he were counting on his fingers, it's been exactly ten days since you left him.

and only his second time being back.

so when he walks into the door, footsteps light as he shuts it, he's shocked silent when he sees you.

you're in the kitchen, back turned, packing a reusable bag of cooking tools. the first thing he notices... your face. you're so beautiful. even just your side profile shines in the low light. his unshakable form quakes when you look up at him. his gaze softens. you're the same as you always were.

"hi, stranger."

"i'm just here to grab some dishes. i'll be out in a few." you're emotionless and quiet as you pack your bag. some of the things in here are your favorite—it's been hard to cook without them, but you just couldn't come back yet. gojo's schedule is too all over the place, the wound is still fresh.

"take your time. i've been meaning to talk to you." he's talking to you the only way he knows how: soft and loving, dripping sweetly because his heart still sees you as his wife.

you're trying everything to ignore him, not to listen to the words that you know will sway you. this divorce was not easy. you're trying to relearn your life without your external heart—the heart standing at the doorway with a relieved smile on his face. all he had to do was call you by your old name, paint you in lovelicked daydreams backed by the sweet sound of his laugh. it's what made you fall in love. he covers up so much of himself with the humor, that you reveled in the time it took you to peel it all away.

but he's peeled, now. waiting to be devoured like a piece of oddly-shaped fruit.

"don't really wanna talk..." you're murmuring, not wanting him to hear you. you don't want to make him laugh—can't bear the weight of it anymore. "sign those papers when you get a chance, yeah?"

gojo watches you hoist your bags over your shoulder, the way they catch your blouse under the arm. he can't help but smile, I mean... you're right in front of him. "sign what papers? i'm not signing any papers, you're a gojo. always will be—never gonna change."

"you're bitter."

"so i'm gonna wait for this to pass... this, whatever it is for you," he's waving at you, noting the small embarrassed scowl on your face. "a call for help, maybe? a desperate plea for more attention? i understand, it's okay." he's so sure of himself that it makes you sick, but he won't come closer to you. won't even take a step. "you can just move back in, we'll fix it together. that's all we can do."

"i don't deserve to hang on your string for weeks, barely any contact. not when you agreed to be my husband." suddenly sure of yourself and your crafty ability to turn him down, you're pummeling for the door. "you make promises you can't keep, satoru. i don't want an absent marriage."

"you not wanting to be married to me is fine—we don't have to be married, just wait." now, he's pleading. palms held together at his chest as he watches you reach for the knob. you're angry, he sees that, but he knows you. "i love you so much, please don't go."

"no matter what you think, this isn't easy for me."

"you want the apartment? you can have it. the diamonds I bought are all yours."

"i just want you."

"here i am! come get me, i'm here in the flesh." you can feel yourself starting to cry as he finally walks up to you, vaguely reaching for your hand. his eyes are sad, yet passionate against some form of the word. it's a familiar look on him, as hard as that is to sit with...

"come get me," he whispers as his final plea, voice so distinctly low between the heavy wood door.

you're left speechless for a second, shaking away the tears that start sliding down your face. he makes contact against the door handle and it frightens you.

"i've made my choice."

that's what you leave him with, tearfully and starkly indifferent to his suffering. the knob turns, he backs away, and you bolt out of that door like the room is on fire.

and when you're alone in that hallway, face-to-face with the elevator, you cry. because, of course you do.

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

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𐔌 𖹭 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐﹕𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 ˖ ࣪✧

ᡴꪫ. ex husband satoru & protectiveness 𖹭 f. reader ˖ ࣪ꮽ˳

“who the hell do you think you're talking to?”

ex husband!satoru towers from behind you. the higher-up nearly flinches. a thousand revaluations flash before his eyes. maybe he should have thought better before taking up such a tone with you.

you, ex-madam-gojo. you, the only thing that could make the strongest sorcerer of the modern age — weak.

“this is none of your concern, gojo. show some —” satoru's towering form shadows you in seconds as he flips position. now standing in your place with you securely behind.

“I said." lights above flicker. “who. the fuck. do you think you're talking to?”

the old man only gulps. blindfold or not, hell reigned so evidently in satoru's gaze; and it's cold. icy. the higher-up scampers away with pride swollen in his throat. satoru might have just went after him if —

“satoru.”

oh, that voice. not that voice. you devastate him with only a gentle touch to his bicep. his jaw slacks and muscles ease. if only turning around didn't mean the dying, fruitless urge to pull you into his arms. he'll settle for a head tilt over his shoulder. just enough to see your concerned, grateful gaze.

“whooo," he cheerfully whistles. “got a bit heated there. you see that? this is the part where we make out.”

it pains him to joke about such. once upon a time, that would have been apart of the script. but you've long since left the play, and he stands upon the grand stage alone. empty.

still, you grace him a smile. he melts. shatters.

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

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two mirmir

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

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Your month your Jujutsu Kaisen date 🫵🏻

Cause why not? This is for the shits and giggles. I DID SPIN THE WHEEL TO BE FAIR, otherwise Gojo would be in my month obviously. I got the idea from those "your month your ___" insta posts. Y'all know what im talking about right?

January → Sukuna

He took you to a secluded area he knew. It was nice. You sat on top a huge stone and watched the view from above, which was peaceful. Miles of trees, wild animals and mountains. Sukuna after that killed you, cooked you and ate you, sharing some parts of you with his loyal follower Uraume.

February → Geto

He chose his temple, but late at night, so you wouldn't be disturbed by people he said. You drank a glass of red wine and after a while of talking, you said that you unfortunately couldn't help him anymore economically, so he used one of his curses to get rid of useless you.

March → Nanami

He took you to an expensive, elegant bar that screamed luxury to spend the evening together. The conversations between you two were pleasant but somewhat uptight. Before it got too late, he payed for everything and took you home.

April → Kashimo

He wanted to try something of this era, so you went to karaoke. Not even 15 minutes in there, he said he didn't like it so you left. After that, you just walked around the streets until you found somewhere not crowded to sit. Meanwhile, all he was talking about was wanting to fight Sukuna and how strong Sukuna is. You went home alone.

May → Mahito

He chose a random but tall building and took you to the roof. It was beautiful. You stargazed for a few minutes until he suddenly touched your side and turned you into a shapeless meat with many eyes and tiny hands and legs. He laughed at you and decided to keep you as a pet.

June → Gojo

He took you to a beach in Okinawa. It was lovely and you had fun. You swimmed, chased eachother and he even threatened to throw at you a sea cucumber. Despite those, you could feel he wasn't exactly with you, his mind clearly was elsewhere. He took you home and said he'd text you.

July → Choso

He wanted to go to the movies and insisted to watch human earthworm. It was weird. Also, he was emotional for some reason during the movie. After it ended, he walked with you until you said you will continue by yourself. He waved goodbye, and so did you.

August → Hiromi

He chose to go to an aquarium. He knew a lot about fishes and you liked watching them swim around. It was beautiful. After that he bought you a snack. He said that sometimes he takes a bath with his clothes on which shocked you. You went home by calling an uber.

September → Toji

He took you to a nice restaurant. The prices were high but he shrugged you off saying that he has a lot money to spend for now. An hour and a half later you went to a nearby hotel and did it many times. You woke up alone in the morning.

October → Naoya

He decided it's the best for the date to be in his room. After drinking a glass of alcohol and saying his ideologies about what the role of a man and a woman is, he fucked you, not forgetting to remind you that you should obey him every second of your life. He satisfied only himself and fell asleep.

November → Ino

He took you to a local bar. It was small and cozy. What you remember is that he talked about Nanami-san quite often. It seemed he looked up to him. He offered to pay for the bills but in the end you payed 50/50. He also offered to take you home, but you declined and went home by bus.

December → Shiu

He wanted to visit an art museum lately, out of curiosity, so that's where you went. He seemed kinda bored but the conversations with you went good. You two left the museum sooner that expected. He smoke a cigarette and took you home with his car. He said he'll call you later.

I'm going to make more of these. They're fun. Leave your opinion in the comments if you want. Thanks for reading and don't steal my work, savvy?

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

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satoru "fake backshots" gojo who likes to sneak up on u when ur doing the most mundane tasks around the house and give you fake backshots.

yes, fake backshots.

washing dishes? the man is trying his hardest not to make any noise as he slips into the kitchen, watching u from behind, licking his lips at the sight of u in pajama shorts n' a lousy excuse for a tank top, tapping ur foot n' humming to a song playing in your earbuds. completely and blissfully unaware of the mischievous man lurking behind u. until u feel him, his hands sly n quick, his left getting a hold of ur hips while, his right pushes ur back into a arch. barely having time to react, all you could do was gasp, n try to push him away.

to no avail, satoru presses his pelvis into ur butt, before pulling back n thrusting his hips back n forth. satoru grinned eliciting small sighs and gasps from the same lips that complained "pervert! i can't even do the dishes in peace anymore!" . the man behind u leaned down to obnoxiously moan in ur ear in response "yea? yea? you like that, huh? like it when i take you like this?" u rolled ur eyes in annoyance, pushing his head away from your ear as he continued to thrust his bulge into ur ass. "satoru, ur so weird!"

"ohhh you love it, huh? feel good? yea? you gonna cum for me, baby? don't worry im right here with y-you- fuckkkkk!! nghhhhhh !!!!" satoru threw his head back n' at this point you couldn't tell if he was being serious or overly obnoxious like he always is. that is until he slows his movements and you look back at him. ready to scold him, but then ur eyes shift to his navy blue sweatpants, an obvious darker hue over his bulge.

"whoops" he shrugged stepping closer to u

the weirdo came in his pants

ur fully facing him as he towers over u, caging u in with the sink behind u,

"wanna do it for real now?" he lazily grinned at ur perplexed expression.

a/n: here damn 🙄.

#this is how he is #fight with the wall #rina recs

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

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this broke and mended my heart at the same time 😭🫶

you don't dare to say those three little words to sukuna. not ever.

he's a stoic and hard man, not built to ever really engage with sentimental behaviour. so you choose to read the room and keep the words of 'i love you' to yourself.

not even when he makes you a cup of tea without you asking, a cure from your current sickness which was spreading around.

not even when you show up on his doorstep overwhelmed by life and not knowing who to talk to.

not even when he indirectly asked you to move in basically asking why 'don't you keep your shit here all the time?'

not even when he makes you breakfast because he knows how you tend to skip when your schedule gets too busy.

not even when he takes the time to pick you up from work on a rainy evening when you're working overtime despite the fact he told you to stop picking up unnecessary shifts.

not even when his face is between your thighs, making your eyes roll back and leaving you lightheaded when he's done with you.

not even when the two of you pillow talk, his hands caressing your skin as you mumble your way to sleep.

you don't want to make things awkward, or worst case scenario, you scare him.

so you keep your warm feelings bottled up inside your chest. leaving them for another day and another time where you think it's more appropriate to say those things.

#rina recs

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call-memissbrightside · 1 month ago

Text

too much — satoru gojo

contents : gn!reader but written with f!reader in mind, one description of reader having longer hair, established relationship, insecure reader, vent piece/self insert hehe, comfort, fluff, no use of y/n — wc 0.7k

“you okay?” satoru asked innocently, tilting his head slightly to get a glimpse of you leaned on his shoulder. a small spark of worry had ignited in him when you had very suddenly turned silent.

“do you think i’m too much?”

“what do you mean ‘too much’?”

with a shy shrug of your shoulders, you opened your mouth again to answer, “you know… too much.”

“not to me, you’re not.”

lifting your head to look at him, your eyes locked instantly. he was wearing a relaxed expression, the tiniest smile at the corner of his lips persevering through his concern.

“you sure?” you blinked.

“has someone told you you’re too much?” he suppressed the small chuckle that bubbled up inside him at the share disbelief of the scenario you were hinting at.

again, you shrugged. “something along those lines.”

an aggressive scoff very abruptly shot past his teeth along with a dramatic roll of the eyes. “it’s not you that’s too much, it’s them who aren’t enough,” he said, slowly starting to rile himself up over the fact that someone would even dare think you were too much.

“oh?” was all you managed to squeak out, satoru quickly having you turn speechless.

“i just mean-“ he cut himself off, licking his lips in frustration, haven taken serious offence at the scenario you had presented. with eyes flittering about, he racked his brain to form his explanation further in hopes he could get his point across. “i suppose, in those relationships, you probably were too much. but not because you’re too much, you know?”

you blinked at him rapidly, “nooo?” you dragged out.

“you’re too much in the sense that you’re too much for them, as they are just not able to handle all the beautiful things that make you you!”

somehow, his frantic rambling was slowly starting to make sense, and he was very clearly going into his speech with his entire heart and body. and with the intensity he explained, he caused your own heart to start beating faster against your chest and clenching your jaw shut, curiously waiting for him to continue.

“whoever said this to you is a glass-“ and again he lost you. “say they’re a glass meant to hold ten ounces, then they are simply too small a glass for you to pour yourself into as you are sixteen ounces.”

“i see,” you whispered, nostrils starting to flare as satoru now had your eyes start to water with threatening tears.

your breath hitched when he reached out to grab your hand in his, thumb stroking comforting lines on the back of your hand, softly securing the grip with a light squeeze.

“it’s not your fault when you end up overfilling a glass that’s just not good enough to hold you,” he said, his tone having returned to a more calm rhythm, holding your gaze. “lucky for you, you have a boyfriend who is a twenty ounce glass,” playful pride carrying his words that had the corners of your lips turn upwards for the first time that evening. “which means i have room to hold all sixteen gorgeous ounces of you, and then some.”

a shaky chuckle tumbled out of you, all his words tugging at your heartstrings in all the right ways. as ridiculous as he was, he always knew how to turn a bad situation around. scaring away any negative thoughts before they settled permanently, he proved once again to be the person you could rely on to be your rock — your safety.

“besides,” he sighed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “look who you’re dating. you could never be more than me.”

now you let out a genuine laugh, leaning into his hand as he hand moved it to cup your cheek. “well, true,” you played along, continuing to giggle a little when he softly pinched your cheek as ‘punishment’. “but i think i’m a big enough glass to hold you as well.”

a soft smile painted his face. “i’ve never felt as if i’ve spilled over.”

“that’s good,” you whispered, carefully turning your head to place a chaste kiss agains the palm of his hand. “thank you.”

“always.”

author's note : can yall tell someone recently triggered my insecurities hehe... well i'm bringing myself comfort by writing this then. also, this is inspired by a very sweet ig reel i saw comments and reblogs are appreciated

tags (open — link to taglist form) : @sad-darksoul . @madaqueue . @gdamnackerman . @toadtoru . @harperluvgojo . @nishislcve . @ichore . @sugurunugget

#rina recs

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