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let me have a bite of that

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(detail) Dhrti Devi Dasi 

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gojo satoru was spoiled, sure. but he wasn’t used to being cared for.

he had people who answered to him. people who revered him, feared him, respected him. his clan, his school, his students. everything he wanted, he could have. everything he needed, someone got for him.

but then there was you.

you, who didn’t flinch when he joked too loudly or smiled too wide. you, who didn’t tiptoe around his legacy like it was made of glass. you, who leaned into him instead of away, who called him “satoru” like he was just a man, not the strongest.

and when you touched him, it wasn’t reverent or worshipful or like you owed him anything. it was simple. kind. natural.

like reaching to fix his collar on a windy morning.

like putting his favorite tea on the stove before he even asked.

like dragging him to bed when he passed out on the couch, glasses skewed, mouth slightly open.

“come on,” you’d mutter, soft but firm, “sleep properly, sato.”

and he’d blink up at you, half-lidded and drowsy, and feel something sweet settle in his chest.

you didn’t do these things because he asked. you didn’t do them because he was gojo satoru. you just… cared.

it rattled something in him.

once, you made him lunch and packed it for him in a neat little box. he opened it during a break at jujutsu tech, laughing at a text from you about something dumb his students did.

inside, there was his favorite food. a little sticky note with a doodle. a stupid pun you’d written.

don’t fight anyone on an empty stomach!!

he sat there, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and just stared.

he thought about how no one had ever done that before. not like this. not with that silly, mindless affection. not because they wanted to make his day better.

and that night, when he came home, he found you on the couch in your pajamas, phone in hand, hair messy from the way you curled up against the cushions.

he walked over without saying a word, dropped to his knees in front of you, and laid his head in your lap.

you blinked down at him. “…long day?”

he nodded, face pressed against your stomach, arms winding around your waist.

“thank you,” he mumbled.

you snorted. “for what?”

he didn’t answer. just closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of your laundry detergent, your skin, your home.

he’d always had everything he could ask for. but until you, he didn’t know what it meant to be loved for nothing. for free.

and god, did it make him want to give you the world.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i love satoru 😔

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art nouveau tile pngs ! credit not necessary for pngs ! like or reblog to use <3

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nerd!satoru who yaps nonstop about the multiverse while you’re just trying to eat your lunch, waving his hands around dramatically as he explains the concept of alternate dimensions with half a rice ball in his mouth and crumbs stuck to the corner of his lips. who pokes at his food with a mechanical pencil because he forgot his chopsticks again, and then insists with wide eyes and a mouth half full, “technically, pencils are just wooden utensils for intellectuals.” he gets giddy over a new graphing calculator update like it’s a new iphone drop, tapping the screen like it’s a baby animal, and once dragged you into a 40-minute rant about ant communication hierarchies while you were just brushing your teeth, half-asleep and mouth foaming with toothpaste.

he has no less than ten tabs open at all times—reddit conspiracy theories, physics forums, a paused youtube video on quantum tunneling, a spreadsheet titled “do cats defy newton’s laws?”, a google doc labeled “reasons why kissing might be a form of molecular alignment,” and none of it has anything to do with the assignment he’s supposed to be doing. he zones out during lectures, doodling black hole spirals, equations shaped like hearts, and cats in lab coats in the margins of his notes. once, he drew you holding hands with a worm in a bowtie and captioned it “me and my universe.” somehow still manages to get top marks every single time, even though he once turned in an assignment with a greasy fry stain in the corner because he used it as a napkin in the library mid-cram session.

he mutters the weirdest things under his breath like “i feel like a misaligned proton today” or “the moon’s energy was too sarcastic last night” and you just blink at him like🧍‍♀️while sipping your drink. he wears mismatched socks on purpose and says, “it’s a metaphor for duality.” has five alarms labeled “wake up genius,” “ur gonna flunk,” “your girlfriend will leave you,” “pls satoru,” and “EMERGENCY: CUTE, PRETTY AND SCORCHINGLY HOT GIRL WAITING” and still manages to sleep through all of them unless you call him. his glasses? perpetually smudged, held together with washi tape. his notebooks? an unholy fusion of complicated theorems, grocery lists, pressed flowers, cat doodles, love notes to you, and a page just titled “top 10 reasons why my girlfriend is cuter than entropy.”

his laptop is a biohazard—dusty, overworked, full of files like “time_is_an_illusion_final_FINAL_reallyfinal_actuallyfinal.pptx” and “uRwrong_iMright.docx.” the case is covered in anime stickers, tiny equations, stars drawn with glitter pen, and a wrinkled polaroid of you sticking your tongue out that he keeps taped on like it’s a sacred relic. he listens to lo-fi while studying and pauses every few minutes just to sigh dreamily and whisper, “this part sounds like you looking at me for the first time.”

and yet… he’s so fine it’s borderline illegal. tall, messy white hair that sticks up in all directions and defies every known force of nature, ice-blue eyes that melt when they look at you, and a cocky little smile that makes your chest hurt even when he says things like, “do you think our cells are spiritually linked?” he doesn’t even try to be charming—he just is, like he spawned with a flirt trait.

you fw it. you fw him. every unfiltered ramble, every hyperactive explanation about wormholes or why he thinks bees are secretly time travelers. the way his voice speeds up when he’s excited, and how his hands start waving like he’s conducting an invisible orchestra of nerdiness. you don’t even bother trying to follow every word—you’re just watching him, heart doing somersaults, because he’s so beautiful when he’s passionate. and the fact that you never laugh at him? only ever smile and let him go on? yeah. that cracked his emotional firewall a long time ago.

so now he’s all sunshine and sparkles around you. a literal bundle of joy. grinning at his phone like a middle schooler when you text him “lol ok.” kicking his feet while giggling, voice memos full of stuff like “what if we held hands inside a particle accelerator 😳👉👈” sent at 2:13 a.m., followed by three minutes of him wheezing into a pillow. he calls you his “favorite constant,” even if you don’t get the joke. and if you do? he twirls his hair, blushes, and stares at you like you just split the atom and made it cute.

he makes playlists named “gravity got nothing on how hard i fell for you,” draws you in lab coats saying “ur the thesis to my hypothesis,” keeps your photo in his pencil case and shows it to random people like “this is my girlfriend. she understands my quantum jokes.” if they blink weirdly, he’ll just smile and say, “it’s okay, not everyone gets theoretical perfection.”

being loved by you makes him goo. makes his neurons do the macarena. you make all his bizarre little pieces light up like neon signs. you walked into his strange little world and said “yeah, i’ll stay,” and now he’s rearranging every cosmic thread to make sure it’s perfect for you. adds fairy lights. labels his notebooks “our theories.” buys matching pens. you made his chaos feel like a cozy little planet. he buys you plushies shaped like atoms and puts your name in the acknowledgements of his lab reports. tells people “she’s the reason the data graphs came out prettier.”

nerd!satoru who’s helplessly, hopelessly, tooth-rottingly in love with you. who grabs your hand mid-ramble just to feel you close. who brings you hot cocoa and explains entropy like it’s a bedtime story. who kisses your forehead and tells you “you’re my favorite anomaly in this whole universe.”

and he thanks you—not in grand declarations, but in the quiet moments: when he scoots closer to you without saying a word, when he tugs on your sleeve with glassy eyes after a long day, when he looks at you after an hour of nerding out like you built the whole galaxy just to hear him talk.

his world was spinning way too fast. then you walked in and gave it gravity. and now he orbits you—and he’s never been happier to revolve around anything in his life.

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synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you talk about your husband like he is a dream and, frankly, your coworkers think that you are making him up. that is until your husband shows up.

you talked about your husband all the time.

nanami this nanami that

“oh, my husband makes the best lunchboxes”

“he stayed up to help me with my report”

“he walks me to the station when i stay late”

you weren’t annoying about it. not really. just a little too consistent. always saying things like “he’ll pick me up after work today, we’re going to get pastries!” and showing off texts that made your coworkers tilt their heads and squint.

kento nanami sounded fake.

a little too nice. a little too attentive.

and when you tacked on the fact that he was hot — “blond, tall, glasses, kinda quiet but really handsome, you know?” — people at work started to think that maybe you were pulling everyone’s leg.

just a little.

not out of malice — no, never that — but maybe you were lonely. maybe you just needed a sweet little fantasy to get you through the day. who could blame you?

because no way someone like nanami existed. not the way you described him. it just didn’t sound real. not in this world. not in this economy.

but you never let up.

you beamed like a lovesick fool when your phone lit up with his name. you refused to make afterwork plans on fridays because that was “friday pasta night with kento.” you sighed wistfully every time someone so much as mentioned a bakery and then whispered, “kento always remembers my favorite,” like you were in some fairytale.

you weren’t smug about it either. it was just… relentless. like you were trying to manifest it into reality.

and maybe it would’ve stayed harmless water cooler gossip — “hey, what do you think her husband actually looks like?” or “maybe it’s just her roommate who makes all the food?” — if you hadn’t mentioned that he’d be picking you up from work one day soon.

“he’s on leave,” you’d said, head bent over a spreadsheet, smiling to yourself. “wants to take me out for dinner. he’ll be here early. maybe you’ll see him.”

you said it innocently. with that dreamy lilt you always got when his name was on your tongue.

but that set off everyone.

bets were placed. theories floated. some said he’d never show. others swore they’d catch you whispering to your reflection in the hallway like a crazy person. one guy from accounting said he saw you with a facetime open to a picture of a k-pop idol and he swore it was nanami. it was all harmless. mostly.

people just didn’t believe it.

until the elevator doors slid open.

and nanami stepped out.

he wore a tan wool coat, fitted slacks, button-up half undone at the throat — all that fine-tuned, elegant masculinity that seemed sculpted into place. hair slicked back, wristwatch glinting, and an expression that was all quiet restraint, the kind that turned heads on instinct.

and his eyes — sharp, deep, familiar — scanned the room once, then softened the moment he saw you.

“you ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

your coworkers went silent.

someone dropped their pen.

you lit up instantly. grinned, grabbed your bag, waved at everyone with a cheery, “see you tomorrow!” like this wasn’t the most monumental moment of vindication in the history of your office.

nanami took your coat from you before you even shrugged it off fully. guided you with a hand on the small of your back. leaned in and brushed a kiss to your temple so naturally that your coworker audibly gasped.

he glanced up then. noticed the sea of frozen faces.

“good evening,” he said politely, like he didn’t just obliterate the collective doubt of your entire floor with one gentle peck.

you left with him. smiling, chatting, looping your arm through his as he opened the door and held it for you.

and behind you — a stunned, stunned silence.

“…so,” someone whispered, finally. “that was nanami?”

“the nanami?” another croaked.

“that man’s real?”

“she wasn’t even exaggerating,” came the hollow, awe-struck reply. “she was under-selling him.”

and in the elevator, nanami turned to you and smiled, faint but amused. “you were right,” he murmured, “they really didn’t believe i existed.”

you snorted and leaned into his side. “i told you. now they’ll think i made you in a lab.”

“i wouldn’t be bothered by that,” he said, tugging you closer, kissing your knuckles as the doors closed. “you did a perfect job, if so.”

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girl shocked to discover that inaction can have consequences too

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❀ In which husband!Nanami's ass is not safe around you

Kento knows to eye his surroundings when he ascends the stairs – it’s almost second nature now to look behind him. He does it at work too. Once. Twice. He scans the environment as if somehow he’ll find himself in a compromising position. So used to his habits, his colleagues find themselves picking it up too, looking for him, for something they wouldn’t recognise even if it was right in their face. What happens when he’s not on guard?

You happen.

“Sweetheart…I need to sort the fresh laundry out. Please no funny business.” Smiling, you’re the picture perfect image of an angel but your husband knows better. With his hands full, he can’t do anything about the hand reaching out towards him nor can he fight against the harsh smack that you land upon his behind. Jolting and with the tips of his ears burning, he shakes his head and sighs. “I see your strength has improved. Well done.”

Even when he’s cooking he’s not safe around you. You’ll creep up behind him and dive your face between his cheeks, ignoring his gasp. Motorboating the mounds, you giggle, squeezing and groping like it’s a stress toy. “Hmm, your ass is bigger than mine, Kenny. I’m so jealous.”

Making no attempts to remove you, he continues doing as he does and wonders where in this marriage he went wrong, that you’d be more interested in talking to his bottom than to him. He could tell you no, could tell you not to disturb him when he’s making dinner, and that he’s not the fondest of your attention to it, but instead he says, “Your ass is plenty big, my love.”

No hug with you is innocent. At first, your arms are wrapped around his torso, enjoying the hard wall of muscles of his back as you bury your face between his pecs. Soon, however, he’ll notice those arms descending ever so slowly, as if he wouldn’t know, as if he can’t feel the scratch of your nails and the tingling they elicit on his skin. Your hands will eventually find themselves resting on top of his buttocks for warmth. It happens sometimes when you’re out. People point and laugh. Kento holds you tighter. 

It gets worse in bed. At night, when he’s climbing into bed shirtless and wearing only pyjama bottoms, you wait to strike. He knows the routine at this point. If he doesn’t pin you to his front and constrict you into the spooning position immediately, you’ll pounce and dig your teeth into the flesh. The red marks he sees in the mirror the next day are a reminder of your hidden prowess, of the kind of beast he married, of your ability to bring him to his knees and have your way,

And that in and of itself is most likely the reason why he focuses so much on building his glutes in the gym, why he fights through the aches of doing squats and lunges whilst carrying heavy weights, why he buys more and more of the pants you claim hug his lower half in a delectable way, and why he doesn’t bother dodging your attacks though he can see them from a mile away. 

After all, to Nanami Kento, a man isn’t someone who avoids their wife’s odd interest in a specific body part of his; it’s someone who ever so slightly juts it out to grab your attention and smiles in relief when he realises your interest hasn’t waned at all despite all the years you’ve been together. Having learnt the hard way, he’s become a firm believer that it is his husbandly duty to simply brace for impact and become an award-winning actor with his winces, grunts, and mutters of ‘ouch’ and ‘gentle hands, dear, please’ that you seem to take pleasure in hearing. 

He supposes, if he really had to reflect on the matter, a marriage is a balance: for every squeeze, grope, and bite you land on him, he does to you. Ten-fold, actually, not that you seem to realise or care…maybe that was your devious plan all along. It’s getting harder and harder to tell who has the upper hand in this relationship. 

Though, he suspects it’s you. 

It’s always been you. 

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he knows you’re watching

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older boyfriend nanami headcanons

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A/N: i have exams soon so i have lots of ideas to write so i'm posting as much as i can rn 😭😭 also these contain some nsfw

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older boyfriend!nanami who always adjusts his pace to match yours. whether you're walking down a busy street or folding laundry side by side. He’s not rushing anywhere when he's with you. Being present with you is the point.

older boyfriend!nanami who folds your laundry exactly the way you like it. even your silly socks. even your oversized tshirts. he’s meticulous and thoughtful, and you didn’t even ask him to do it.

older boyfriend!nanami who keeps track of the smallest details: how you take your tea, what skincare products you’re running low on, that one book you said you wanted but never bought. He doesn’t announce it. You just find things quietly replaced or added to your shelf.

older boyfriend!nanami who doesn’t mind being teased for being a little bit of an old man. You’ll call him grandpa for drinking herbal tea before bed or sighing when he sits down, and he’ll just raise an eyebrow and say, “And yet you still insist on keeping me around.”

older boyfriend!nanami who keeps one of your hair ties around his wrist even though his hair is short. says it’s “just in case,” but you’ve never actually seen him use it. You catch him playing with it absentmindedly during meetings.

older boyfriend!nanami who calls you “darling” when he’s tired and his guard is down. It slips out like second nature; warm, low, reverent.

older boyfriend!nanami who always makes sure you’re walking on the inside of the sidewalk. It’s instinctive, not performative. If you switch sides by accident, he’ll gently guide you back with a hand on your lower back, no need to comment on it.

older boyfriend!nanami who sends you articles and short stories during his lunch break that “reminded me of you” sometimes it’s thoughtful, sometimes it’s hilarious, but every time it’s his way of saying I’m thinking about you.

older boyfriend!nanami who reads to you in bed when you’re too tired to focus. voice low and steady, thumb rubbing slow circles into your thigh as your head rests against his shoulder.

older boyfriend!nanami who doesn’t raise his voice when he’s upset. His anger shows in restraint. longer silences, slower breaths, the way he closes his eyes for a second like he’s trying to steady the weight of what he feels instead of letting it lash out.

older boyfriend!nanami who apologizes when he’s wrong. sincerely, without ego, and who listens when you’re upset. even if he’s tired. even if the day was long. You matter more.

older boyfriend!nanami who listens when you talk about your day. actually listens. Not just nodding along, but making thoughtful comments, remembering coworkers’ names, and offering advice only if you ask. Sometimes he just says, “That sounds exhausting. I’m proud of you for handling it.”

older boyfriend!nanami who takes his time undressing you, piece by piece, like every layer is a gift. You get the sense that he doesn’t see it as just getting you naked. it’s about revealing the parts of you you trust him with.

older boyfriend!nanami  who is very aware of his size, not just in height but everywhere. He’s careful, unless you ask him not to be. And when you do? His restraint crumbles just a little. He’ll fuck you slow but deep, jaw tight, voice strained with want.

older boyfriend!nanami who is unexpectedly vocal in bed. low praise, soft groans, breathy murmurs of “just like that” and “you’re doing so well.” Always with a hand somewhere on your skin like he’s grounding himself through touch.

older boyfriend!nanami who isn’t into degrading or overly rough stuff, but dirty talk? Soft filth murmured into your ear while he’s deep inside you? Absolutely. “You’re taking me so well.” “You don’t even know what you do to me.” “I’d give you anything.”

older boyfriend!nanami who fucks you with his whole body, not just his hips. His arms around you. His lips on your skin. One large hand holding your jaw gently while he kisses you deep and slow like he’s reminding you (and himself) that you’re real, and his.

older boyfriend!nanami  who prefers intimacy over performance. He’s not interested in theatrics. he wants to feel you, slow and deep, with your hands tangled in his, your breath on his neck, your voice in his ear.

older boyfriend!nanami who’s very composed most of the time, but the second you take control, straddle him, or kiss down his chest, that composure cracks. his voice gets breathier. his grip on your hips tightens. you see the restraint unraveling in real time.

older boyfriend!nanami who gets possessive in subtle, understated ways. he doesn’t say “you’re mine” in bed, he shows it in the way he touches you like you're sacred, the way his voice deepens when someone else flirts with you, the way he fucks you slow and deep like he’s leaving something behind.

older boyfriend!nanami  who loves aftercare. loves wiping you down, pulling you into his arms, holding your hand against his chest. He’ll murmur, “You okay?” with his lips at your hairline, and doesn’t fall asleep until you do.

older boyfriend!nanami who takes his time during aftercare. he wipes you down with warm towels, gets you water, runs a bath if you're too sore. he massages your thighs, kisses your forehead, and holds you close with his arms tucked protectively around your waist.

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hopefulcore photo dump

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Boyfriend Toji who was a bit confused when you stopped cuddling him.

You’d usually go to sleep with all of your limbs wrapped around him, if it was even possible since he was much larger than you. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he hated whatever this was. Why weren’t you on top of him? Why weren’t you snoring on his chest? To say he was confused was one way of putting it, in reality he was annoyed when he didn’t feel your weight on top of him.

“S’to hot” you’d say, reminding him you were now in the summer, and rolling over onto your own side of the bed, it was comfortable and firm, not sunken in as much as your boyfriends since theres only one of you sleeping on your side.

It was rare for you to sleep without physical contact with your boyfriend, you were needy even in your sleep, needing to be close to him in everything you do.

So “what the fuck is this?” He thought.

“So? Why’s that stopping you from sleeping on me.” He said with a grunt, half awake, annoyed, missing your presence even if it was burning hot in your shared apartment.

You only groan in annoyance and curl up a bit, if you were awake enough, you’d roll your eyes.

How could he not be hot like that?

With a swift motion, before you can even realize he’s grabbing you gently and placing you ontop of him before lazily reaching over and turning on the fan next to your bed.

“This better doll?, ‘cus I can’t sleep without ya”

A small grin formed across your lips, softly replying.

“Mhm.” As you got comfortable on his chest again, slowly drifting back to sleep, the cool breeze putting you at ease. You hated being hot. Toji knew that, but he wouldn’t sleep without you despite being able to handle the heat.

You both got your beauty sleep that night.

Au. this was my first ever freaking post , im tired and wanted to post

TAGS; #sfw #drabble #toji #Sfw!!!

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''My daddy!" your daughter squeals, her tiny hands grabbing at Sukuna’s sleeve as she tugs with all her might, her little face scrunched in fierce determination.

"No, my daddy!" you shoot back with mock seriousness, yanking on his other arm with equal intensity.

Sukuna, seated on the couch with his arms stretched out like he's being crucified by love, with a rainbow unicorn bandage is stuck to his forehead. Why? No one knows. His crimson eyes remain glued to the TV screen but he’s not really watching anymore, quietly accepting his fate.

He doesn't say anything, though there’s the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

''My daddy gives me more kisses'' your daughter declares, raising the stakes with wide, victorious eyes.

You gasp. “Traitor!” you chime in playfully, gripping his other arm and pretending to pout. “I saw him first!”

"Unbelievable," he murmurs under his breath, eyes glancing between the two girls tugging on him like he's a prized teddy bear.

Your daughter tugs harder, giggling. “S' Mine Papa forever!”

You gasp in mock betrayal. “What?! I give him goodnight kisses! And make his tea!”

“I draw him pictures!”

“I keep him warm at night!”

Sukuna finally exhales and tilts his head back against the couch. “I should’ve stayed a curse.”

You and your daughter both throw yourselves against him in an instant, wrapping him in tiny arms and grown-up affection. He lets out a low, exaggerated groan but doesn’t move he just melts quietly into your combined warmth.

The room is filled with you and your daughters giggles high-pitched, unfiltered, contagious, Sukuna’s arms slide around the two of you, one large hand gently cradling your daughter’s back, the other resting over your waist.

Silently complaining like a grumpy old man, lips pressed in that familiar irritated line

And despite the complaining, he doesn’t push either of you away.

All rights reserved © 2025 ksuojelly. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

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au where gojo gets more into guitar and starts a band called 6 eyes

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“satoru, stop! someone could see us.”

“let them watch as i kiss my gorgeous amazing beautiful partner.”

“when you put it like that, it’s so hard to say no to you.”

thank you so much to @yuutaguro for the wonderful comm 🤎

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