notgoodforlife

[notgoodforlife]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t through it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[notgoodforlife]

you know those safety precautions women take just to feel a little less vulnerable in their own homes? house alarms or extra locks — even a pair of men’s shoes by the front door?

well, yours are sneakers. slightly scuffed and huge — just enough to pass as believable. like there is a man of the house. and honestly, you’ve never thought twice about it.

that is — until satoru visits your home for the first time.

like always, he’s halfway through teasing you. this time, it is about your adorable entryway rug. the sorcerer is passing through the doorframe, ducking his head slightly due to his towering height when he suddenly halts in his tracks.

the words stutter to a stop on his tongue. the very tip of his right dress shoe hovers in the air above the floor where he stands frozen — paralyzed.

you can sense the shift in the air. it is not hard to miss. after all, satoru never goes quiet just like that. not unless something shakes the man.

and consider him shaken by the sight in front of him.

he spots a pair of men’s sneakers in the corner of his eye. nothing flashy yet glaring. one is upright, the other on its side. as if they had been haphazardly kicked off just recently.

there’s an eerie silence. a pause. a throbbing in his chest.

to be honest, you didn’t think he’d notice. but that’s the thing about him — you always underestimate what he notices. what he sees.

because in a millisecond, those six eyes are scanning for a thousand possibilities — racing with infinite thoughts you can’t read. but you can feel it — the way his whole body has gone absolutely still on reflex.

“what are those?” he questions lowly.

there is no humor. no teasing grin. just a raw, shaky edge in his voice. and for once, he doesn’t even bother with the usual sarcasm to hide the hurt that’s bubbling up in his chest.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you — it’s that he wasn’t ready to feel this much about the idea of you letting someone else in. of having another man in your life. the very notion makes him sick to his stomach.

you blink, a bit caught off guard by his bothered demeanor and you hurry to explain.

“satoru, it’s not what you think— those aren’t anyone’s. they’re mine… for safety. you know, to make it look like a man lives here.”

soon enough, you watch your words land. you see the way his shoulders shift, the tension breaking only slightly with relief. but then — something darker shifts in his expression. angrier.

but not at you.

at the world.

at the fact that you even have to think that way. that pretending to belong to a man is the easiest shield society gives you.

satoru doesn’t say much after that. he just looks at you for a long, long moment before pretending as though it never even happened.

but the next time he comes over, he comes with a bag. and when you glance by your front door — the old pair is gone.

now, they’re replaced with a pair of his own — some obviously beat up sneakers from his school days. the kind he only kept around for nostalgia.

you lean against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed as you watch him shuffle through your pantry.

“so…” you start carefully, “are you gonna tell me what happened to my shoes, or should i guess?”

“it’s more convincing if they’re worn,” he huffs back quickly like he rehearsed in the mirror, trying to act nonchalant. but you see the way his eyes dart to the shoes in the front — his shoes now. as if making sure they don’t walk off on their own.

“they weren’t even really yours anyway…” satoru grumbles, acting like an unbothered cat marking its territory as he searches for his favorite chips you always keep stocked up for him.

“seriously didn’t expect to walk in and see another guy’s shoes by the door — off brand by the way.” he notes, continuing to mumble to himself before taking a little peek at you. “kind of a jarring welcome, don’t you think?”

you roll your eyes at his behavior. it’s clear as day — he was jealous. not that he’d admit it. not yet anyway. he’s too proud to admit he had gotten jealous over nothing.

when he finally finds his snack of choice, he shuts the cabinet and closes the distance between you in two lazy steps, arms slipping around your waist like it’s second nature and pulling you in close. your heart skips a beat.

“besides,” he adds, mouth close to your ear, voice dropping low. “you could’ve just told me you needed protection.”

and with that, satoru releases you before plopping onto your couch, big sock clad feet propping up on the coffee table like he owns the place — like he’s the man of the house now.

“my savior…” you mumble sarcastically, watching him open the loud bag of chips before popping one in his mouth and flashing you a charming grin as he chews happily.

but you know him. you know that there is something fierce beneath the casual tone — an unspoken promise.

he’s offering — no — he is telling you that he’ll be your home security system. unlimited plan. premium package. comes with a hot boyfriend as a plus.

because there is no world where he’d ever let anything happen to you. as if anyone could even dare to try.

[notgoodforlife]

Yamato was so real for being more mad than Naruto when Sakura told him she loved him

[notgoodforlife]

the lovers between forevers ─ words kept still. ⠀⠀⠀⠀boyfriend!itachi, the simplicity of you.

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who still doesn’t believe that you two are together. it seemed like a dream, a fantasy that tried to distract him from realizing how difficult life was. it seemed like an illusion, farces created by the gods to play with itachi’s heart. but it was true, the purest reality: you and itachi were dating. and it wasn’t just that — no. you and itachi shared such an enviable complicity and a bond so strong that every night the stars made a point of engraving your love in their constellations. itachi still wondered what he had done to have you by his side. in this life, itachi thought he had only made mistakes and misfortunes and nothing of his was worthy of being loved; therefore, he believed that he had met you in a past life and that your story was so brief, but so intense, that the gods gave him a second chance in this life. an opportunity to love you more, better, for as long as you needed. how was it possible for him to be with you? how was it possible for you two to be together? how fantastic the universe was. how lucky it was for him to have met and loved you at the beginning of time. ‘i confess that there are still days when i get too lost in your essence to think about anything other than why you are with me. sometimes i feel like i am not enough to love you, as if you needed a field of affection and i could only give you a plant of desire. but i hope you know that this plant is just the beginning of the garden that i will create for you, for us.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who pretends not to know that incredible story you heard on the street. it was impossible to have secrets in that village, especially if they were secrets linked to the various people who gave life to konoha. as such — it was only normal for itachi to know almost all the gossip and incredible stories that escaped the mouths of the villagers. but you didn’t know that. you didn’t know that because itachi always asked you which stories were holding your attention. as such, in your curious innocence, whenever you heard or saw something worthy of being reported and analyzed by you and itachi, you were quick to go and meet him and tell him everything you knew. itachi would like to hear you talking about the various stories that made the village an interesting place to live. your eyes shone with anticipation and the possible theories that could exist; your voice was adorned with interest and amazement in those stories; you all shone talking about fights and dinners, festivals and picnics. for a few moments, while you lost yourself in memories and stories, itachi lost himself in your smiles and looks. you were always beautiful to itachi, endowed with a beauty so unique that he couldn’t find it anywhere else. and when you were wrapped up in something, completely lost to pay attention to your surroundings, itachi only marveled once again at you. beautiful in every way, funny with all the jokes, simply unique. ‘i don’t think i’ve ever told you, but i really like listening to you talk. telling all those stories, you know? i don’t know, you seem like a happy child sometimes and it warms my heart. knowing that you’re happy, I mean.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who knows every timbre of your heart. whether you want your heart to play a lively melody, wrapped in pure joy and love, or you want it to just sing a melancholic poem, completely empty or dark, itachi knew all your symphonies. studying the songs that played in your heart for as many years as he loved you, it was easy for itachi to decipher what was in your soul. as if his ears had been developed only to pay attention to your heartbeat, itachi was quick to notice any change in them. your heart reacted faster than your words and it was in it that itachi could read what was in your soul. always ready to listen to your outbursts when your heart was beating faster, and always ready to share a kiss when your heart skipped a beat, itachi listened to your soul as if it were his favorite song. ‘i think i was raised listening to your heart asking for love. that’s why i came into this world and that’s why i know you so well. i hope you know that you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. words aren’t important to me. not when i can read you like you’re an open book.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who feels so warm when you laugh. itachi had to admit that among so many of your laughs, his favorites were the ones caused by him — obviously. your laugh was itachi’s favorite sound; feeling the joy in your voice, seeing you so happy that you couldn’t contain all the joy to yourself, was like finding the first ray of sunshine in a stormy winter. whenever you let out a laugh, itachi would stop for a brief moment, looking at you and remembering how you, the most beautiful person in the universe, really existed. you were not a vision of itachi or an invention created by the gods; you were not a lie told by itachi or a fantasy read by him; you were real. and, just like his love for you, you would be eternal. your laughter was heard by the stars and kept in a celestial drawer that contained the secret to happiness. it was so cozy to hear you laughing, as if your joy covered itachi with a small security blanket and helped him get the sleep he needed so much. ‘happiness looks good on you, i won’t lie. you shine brightest when you’re too lost in life to notice your disappointments. it’s amazing how beautiful you can be without even trying. you’re fascinating.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who treats the night as his confidant. lying beside you, one of his hands caressing your face and his eyes memorizing every perfection and imperfection of yours, itachi loved you most at night. it was as if it were a secret between you. only the stars knew your words, keeping all the promises and confessions in their eternal flames; only the moon knew of your love, bringing darkness to our world to give you the space to devote yourself to each other; only the night understood your relationship, watching throughout lifetimes your souls falling in love with each other. in its darkness, itachi found the light of his essence and was constantly guided back home, to your arms. the tenderness of itachi’s touch mixed with the delicacy of his words transformed the night into an ethereal paradise where your vulnerability was the bed you lay in. ‘i never thought i would like anyone, much less like this. sometimes i’m afraid i’m feeling too much, as if the excess of my love could drown you. but then i look at you and feel what’s in you, what you feel for me, and i understand that nothing i feel for you, nothing we feel for each other, will be too much. what we feel is our refuge, our home, and we will never tire of feeling safe.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who is sure that your touch has healing powers. itachi had to confess that he was not a simple person. inside him, storms collided with galaxies and worlds were created at the same time that stars died. he was complex: what was in him, in his mind, heart and soul, was a labyrinth of pure confusion. but all the chaos that existed within him was tamed in your presence. all the caresses you gave him on the most boring days, or the massages you tried to give on the most tiring days; your handholding and your little pushes; your hands, your heart, your soul — you had the power to calm the storm inside itachi and heal all his wounds. it was magic, a gift that only you possessed. with a small smile and a tender kiss you were able to calm itachi’s very existence. ‘it’s fantastic the tranquility you can give me with a simple look. to tell the truth, just your presence is enough to silence all the screams that break my heart. you are simply incredible and i am so lucky to have you by my side.’

BOYFRIEND!ITACHI who knew it was love, just needed to hear it coming from you. ‘you don’t even know the relief of hearing those words. don’t get me wrong, i’ve always felt that coming from you. but you have to admit that saying it instead of showing it is an immense comfort. god, i love you so much. i really love you. since day one. until now and other lives, i know that i will always love you. and it’s so good to know that it’s reciprocal. to know that this dangerous and unique feeling is really felt and lived by us. i love you so much. god!, you know how to say it so well.’

[notgoodforlife]

For those wondering about Itachi, he is a perfectly normal kid

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

[notgoodforlife]

satoru absolutely baby talks you when you’re sick.

not in a mocking way. no. this is full-blown softie satoru, disgusting levels of wife guy activated, baby voice on max, coddling you like you’re the most precious, fragile little thing in the universe—and not because he thinks you’re weak, but because it’s the one time you let him get away with it without putting up your usual walls.

because you’re sick. hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big watery eyes that blink up at him like you’re seeing god—or worse, like you might actually cry if he leaves the room. like you need him. and honestly? that does something to him. wrecks him, even.

and you do need him. you’re fevered, shivering, curled up in bed in one of his oversized shirts, your hair a mess, nose stuffy, brain thoroughly fried. your fingers twitch like you want to reach for him but can’t be bothered to try, lips parted in a weak sigh as you breathe through your mouth. your usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help self? gone. obliterated. absolutely bulldozed by the flu. all that’s left is a miserable little lump of a wife who clings to his sleeve like a koala and mumbles, “’toru… i feel like a soggy towel…”

his whole body stills. there’s a twitch in his brow, like his heart has physically clenched. his lips part, just a little, before curling up in the softest grin. eyes soften behind pale lashes—just a hint of red at the corners from how tired he is too—but none of that matters. not when you’re looking up at him like that. the corner of his mouth tugs upward, not in amusement—but in something far gentler. reverent, even. and then god. he melts. instantly. his heart shatters into a million pieces and reforms just to explode again.

“awww, my poor widdle baby,” he coos, already pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. his breath is warm, his nose brushing yours. “does my soggy towel need her soup? wanna be spoon-fed by the hottest nurse in the world?”

you don’t even roll your eyes. you nod. actually nod. sluggish, dazed. and then flop into his arms like dead weight, forehead nudging his neck, skin hot against his collarbone. you let him hold you like you’re made of glass.

he almost cries. really. because you’re letting yourself be coddled. cuddled. taken care of. no sass. no biting remarks. just tiny, pitiful sniffles and pouty faces and your arms wrapping around his waist like he’s your anchor. like you don’t want him to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

and satoru eats that up like it’s a feast.

“you want juice, angel? how about some water? apple slices? forehead kisses every ten minutes? medicine with a kiss as a chaser?”

“mmm… apple. but peeled…” you whisper, voice small and hoarse, eyes half-lidded and glossy.

“of course, peeled! only the finest fruits for my fevered little dumpling,” he gasps, hand dramatically on his chest like he’s been knighted for a sacred quest. there’s a shine in his eyes—something starry, something stupidly in love.

he tucks you in like a burrito, tugs the blankets up to your chin, and then scoops you onto his lap because apparently that’s where you sleep best. his fingers comb through your hair, slow and tender, while your cheek rests limp against his shirt. he puts on your comfort show, even though you barely keep your eyes open long enough to register the sound.

he hums something soft—tuneless and low—while cradling you like a fevered woodland creature. his tone dips lower when he leans in again.

“do you still love me even if i’m gross and sweaty and my nose is red?” you mumble, lips wobbling, brows pinched like the thought genuinely upsets you.

his hand smooths along your cheek. “i love you way more,” he says instantly. “you’re my sweaty, sniffly soulmate. cutest germ gremlin i’ve ever seen.”

“you’re lying…”

“baby, i would kiss your snotty nose right now if you asked.”

there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it—like it’s a vow. and he means it. he’d do it without hesitation, wouldn’t even flinch. because if it’s you, there’s no such thing as gross. not when he’s this stupidly in love. not when every part of you, even at your messiest, makes him want to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

you groan into his shirt, muffled and pitiful, and he grins like you just serenaded him.

“who’s the most handsome man in the world?” he asks out of nowhere, fingers curling behind your ear, brushing tenderly as if coaxing the answer out. his voice dips low, honey-sweet and just a little smug. not because he expects the answer—no, he needs it. his entire self-worth depends on your silly little validation right now.

“you are,” you mumble, cheeks squished slightly against his chest, nuzzling closer without shame.

his fingers twitch where they cradle your skull. his whole face lights up like a sunrise. pale lashes flutter, and his pupils dilate like he’s just been told he won a lifetime supply of you.

“louder.”

“toruuuuu… it’s you…”

the pleased little noise he makes is downright sinful. his lashes flutter shut as he closes his eyes in smug bliss, and he tilts his head back like he’s soaking in the warmth of your praise. if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“that’s right,” he beams, practically preening, fingers now stroking under your chin. “say it again. for my health.”

“you’re the handsomest… in the whole world… even when your hair’s stupid…”

he gasps, clutching his chest with a hand like you just shot cupid’s arrow straight through it. “rude and true. i’ll take it.”

his heart is doing somersaults. he’s convinced there’s never been a more fulfilling moment in his life. not the promotions, not the accolades, not even the recognition. just this—this feverish little version of you, croaky and honest and too tired to pretend you’re not as in love with him as he is with you.

he whispers the dumbest, softest shit while holding you against his chest like you’re something sacred. calls you every pet name in the book and then invents new ones on the spot: baby, sweetheart, princess, dumpling, snugglebug, fever bean, coughy cake, angel face mcsweats-a-lot.

you blink up at him between fits of sleep, lips parted like you want to say something else—but all that comes out is a pathetic little whimper. his hand smooths over your spine again, touch featherlight.

“what was that, baby?” he whispers.

“love you…” you murmur, eyes falling shut.

his heart flips. flips, spirals, and lands in a fucking somersault.

he kisses your temple and you go quiet.

and when you finally pass out, nose smooshed into his collarbone, snoring faintly like the most adorable little gremlin, he exhales like it’s the best moment of his life. like the universe aligned just for this. like his purpose has been fulfilled. his hand never stops moving—stroking your spine, combing your hair, tracing shapes into your shoulder blade beneath the fabric of his shirt.

he lives for clingy, soft, unguarded sick-you. because even though he adores the bratty, sharp-tongued, little menace version of you that picks fights and flicks him on the forehead and makes him earn every kiss—this version? this sleepy, dependent little furnace wrapped in blankets and his love? she needs him.

and satoru loves being needed. loves being the one you reach for, even when you’re half-delirious. especially when you’re half-delirious.

he leans down again, voice barely audible now.

“rest up, baby,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your clammy forehead. “you’ll feel better soon. and then i’ll go back to being emotionally bullied by my beloved wife.”

[notgoodforlife]

doodles

[notgoodforlife]

──on the move

a/n. in honor of father's day, i wrote a short drabble for our favorite daddy fictional husband. here's some good 'ol dadjo fluff 🩵 this was a request, but it's also inspired by a scene from the romcom life as we know it.

cw. your daughter's first steps. humor. domestic fluff. dad! satoru. husband! satoru. also, satoru is just too stinkin' cute (isn't he always though?!).

Neither you nor Satoru were prepared for the day your daughter decided to walk.

She’d been going through another sleep regression—clingy, overtired, and endlessly fussy. The last few nights had been brutal for you both; nonstop crying, sleepless nights—hell, you barely remembered the last time you’d eaten something warm or sat down for more than five minutes without a tiny hand tugging at your shirt.

So today, when she finally settles, babbling to herself instead of wailing, Satoru doesn’t hesitate.

“You go clean up,” he says, already hoisting her up into his arms. “I got this.”

And you don’t argue. Because a hot shower and ten minutes to breathe feels like the most luxurious gift in the world.

Downstairs, Satoru sits leisurely, sinking onto the living room floor, one of your daughter’s stuffed toys shoved behind his back like a makeshift pillow. She sits a few feet in front of him, chewing thoughtfully on a rubber block like she’s solving some ancient puzzle.

As she babbles cheerfully, he nods along, blue eyes soft beneath the fall of snowy hair. One hand props up his chin as he listens intently, like he’s getting a full debriefing from a tiny general.

“I know, right?” he murmurs. “They really said no dessert before dinner. Criminal, honestly.”

An insistent string of nonsense syllables spills from her tiny lips, animated and loud, flapping one hand as to make a point.

“Exactly,” he hums, nodding solemnly. “It’s injustice. You and me—we should unionize.”

Then, without warning, she shifts—pushing herself up with both hands, wobbling slightly as she reaches for the coffee table. One tiny palm finds the edge. Then, slowly… she lets go.

Satoru blinks.

Standing. She’s standing. No hands. No support. Just two steady little feet on the rug.

All by herself.

“…no way,” he breathes, straightening instinctively. “Hey, uh—princess?” clearing his throat, his voice catches slightly. “Uhh… whatcha doin’, huh?”

And then she moves—one step. Wobbly. Uncertain.

Satoru's mouth falls open.

“No, no, no—wait—shit—uhhh… babe?!” his voice pitches as he springs to his feet, torn between staying and bolting for the stairs. “Hold on sweetheart—wait for mommy, wait—!”

Twisting towards the ascending hall, his voice booms.

“Babe! She’s walking!!”

Upstairs, the shower pounds steadily as you scrub shampoo from your hair. A voice echoes up the stairway. With a pause, you tilt your head slightly.

…is Satoru calling you?

“Huh?” you shout back, reaching for the knobs. “What was that ’toru?”

His voice echoes again—louder this time, unmistakable.

“SHE’S WALKING!”

“What?!” heart lurching, you move, fumbling out of the shower, slipping slightly on the mat as you grab for the nearest towel and yank it around your body. “Shit—okay—hang on—!”

But downstairs, equal chaos unfolds.

Your daughter takes another step, and Satoru's still at the bottom of the stairs, caught somewhere between panic and awe. He doesn’t want to move—can’t risk missing it. Can’t let you miss it.

“Okay—just—freeze,” he says, crouching slightly in front of her. “Hold it right there, little lady. Stay. Don’t advance. Mommy’s coming.”

But babbling back in defiance, her little eyes brighten with determination as she takes another wobbly step forward.

“Shit—fuck. Honey, I need you to hurry!” he shouts toward the stairs, voice cracking.

“Coming! I’m coming!” you call back breathlessly, hopping down the hall with one towel clutched around your chest and another half-heartedly blotting your dripping hair. “Just—stall her! I’ll be right there!”’

“Stall her?!” he echoes, eyes wide as she continues toward him, arms extended, smile wide—like he’s the finish line and she’s already won. “How the hell do I stall a baby?!”

Another leg plants itself on the rug, and Satoru scans the room in panic. No bottle. No snacks. No plan. No goddamn time.

“Okay—um, hey—look at me,” he says, dropping to his knees in her path. “Let’s do… let’s do clapping, yeah? You love clapping!”

And there he is, clapping with exaggerated enthusiasm, a desperate smile plastered on his face. But she doesn’t slow down. If anything, she picks up speed—giggling now, like this is all a game.

“Shit. Nonono. You are not following protocol…” he mutters, backing up a step. She’s almost at him. “Please princess… please… wait for mommy.”

He’s at a loss, and so, with nothing else to do, he reaches out—gentle, barely a touch—tapping her belly with two fingertips. But it’s just enough, because with little balance, she blinks—wobbling, plopping her butt onto the floor with a soft thud.

There’s a pause.

Then, in a matter of seconds, her face crumples, lip trembling as a tiny, heartbroken whine spills out of her.

Satoru's eyes widen in horror. “Aw, no—no, no, hey, it was just a loving little stall,” he says quickly, hands out. “A nudge. A tactical nudge. Fuck, don’t cry—”

And you’re bursting into the room just as the first real wail escapes her lips.

“What happened?!” you gasp, chest heaving, towel clinging to your damp skin as you rush over.

Looking up, Satoru's face is wide-eyed, painted with guilt.

“You… you said stall her,” he says helplessly. “So I… I gave her a little push.”

You blink. First at him. Then at her. Then back at him.

She’s hiccupping through a sob, hands balled up against her chest like she’s been personally wronged. Yet somehow, his face is more pitiful than hers.

“She was walking,” he adds weakly, looking down. “I… didn’t want you to miss it.”

Exhaling slowly, the panic bleeds out of you now, replaced by something warm and humorous—the edge of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, ‘toru…”

He peeks up, sheepish. “I panicked.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping closer, “I gathered.”

And sinking to your knees, you gather her into your arms. The second she’s pressed against you, the sobs dissolve into sniffles, cheek nuzzling into your collarbone like nothing ever happened.

“There we go,” you whisper, brushing your hand over her hair. “See? All better. She forgives you.”

“…you sure?” he looks doubtful. “Because she looked at me like I betrayed her entire damn bloodline.”

“Oh, shush.” Huffing a quiet laugh, you roll your eyes playfully, gently lowering her onto the rug in a seating position—pacified, for now.

Stepping closer, Satoru's gaze flicks between you and her.

“Five steps,” he says quietly, sliding his arms around your waist. “She took five real steps.”

“That’s incredible,” you whisper, arms looping around his neck. A slow smirk stretches across your lips. “Next time maybe just… record it, yeah?”

“Tch…” he huffs. “Right…”

And leaning in, his smile meets yours halfway—lips touching where laughter wants to begin. You kiss him, eyes fluttering, a hum rumbling through him.

But then—

pat-pat-pat.

Freezing, you pull away from that unmistakable sound. And turning, you’re left with the sight of your daughter tearing off down the hall with a delighted squeal, her bare feet smacking against the hardwood like she’s been walking her whole damn life.

“Oh.” Satoru's already straightening. “Oh shit.”

“Ohmygod…” you breathe in awe. “’toru… she’s walking!!”

“No,” he says grimly. “She’s running.”

And just like that—it begins.

Yeah. You’re never going to sit down again.

[notgoodforlife]

gojo treating your injuries :) feeling a little soft but still horny today

cw: blood and injury, sorcerer! reader

wincing as his fingers touch you, gojo sends you a little pout. the cut is deep, deeper than he originally anticipated.

"shit" he mutters under his breath, "don't worry we'll figure it out. just take deep breaths okay." you can't tell if he's reassuring you or himself.

he unwraps the black blind fold off his face, applying pressure to the wound. you can feel heat brush your face as you catch his baby blue eyes watching you carefully.

"hopefully this'll help, shoko'll be able to work her magic once we get back to campus. where's ijichi when you need him." he tries laughing to lighten the mood, but you have a hard time doing the same.

"hurts doesn't it?" he frowns while you nod. if it were anyone else he'd be making fun of them for being weak. but this is you, and a part of him feels guilty for not being able to protect you better.

"i'm sorry, baby," he places a small kiss on your forehead in the mean time, hoping that the bleeding will ease up soon. "next time i promise you won't get even the tinyest little scratch."

[notgoodforlife]

hands up, time's up! || gojo satoru x teacher! wife! reader

warnings: minors do not interact!, explicit content (fingering, semi-voyeurism, semi-public sex), fem!reader, established relationship, Nanami being chronically underpaid

There’s an unspoken rule at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech that Gojo Satoru is not allowed, under any circumstances, alone in a room with you—at least not without the door left open.

There’s been too many occasions where a student would aimlessly wander into a common area (highlights include the cafeteria, the gymnasium, and behind the water cooler—nothing stops Gojo) and find the two of you in a…less than decent state.

However, the breaking point was one sweltering summer day, when Nanami found Yuji outside the teacher’s lounge:

Nanami trudges down the hallway, counting down the seconds until he can remove his sticky blazer and steal a drink from Gojo’s Pocari Sweat stash in the teachers’ communal fridge. The kids should be busy frolicking while Gojo ‘oversees’ (read: scrolls through his phone or torments you) their ‘training’ (read: aforementioned frolicking).

It’s the perfect opportunity to take a breather; Nanami’s calculated the situation down to a T.

What he doesn’t factor into his calculations is Yuji standing awkwardly outside the teacher’s lounge door, weight shifting from foot to foot.

His head shoots up when he notices Nanami’s approaching figure. “Oh, Nanamin! What’re you doing here?”

Nanami raises a brow in response. “I think it’s more fitting to ask why you’re here, Yuji. Why aren’t you training with Gojo right now?”

Yuji looks like a deer caught in headlights, and Nanami’s already fighting off the impeding headache. “Oh, well.. you see… Kugisaki and I were going to train together—Fushiguro said he didn’t wanna join us because we get annoying and goof off (which is not true, Nanamin, trust me! We work super hard together!!)—but then we remembered that Gojo-sensei said he’d teach us a different way to channel our cursed energies today, and we decided we wanted to practice that instead, but first we needed to…”

Nanami stands there, nodding slowly and pretending to listen while Yuji rambles on, but he’d already zoned out the moment Yuji brought up Gojo. Of course, it was that idiot’s fault, and of course, Nanami would need to clean up after him. He lets out a sigh, noting that Yuji has taken a break to breathe. “If he’s inside the teacher’s lounge, why haven’t you gotten him yet?”

Yuji halts midsentence, face instead turning an alarming shade of red. Oh, this can’t be good. Nanami steels himself. “…There’s some… noises… coming from inside and I…didn’t want to intrude.”

Of course. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and Nanami does not get paid enough to deal with this. He closes his eyes a moment, calming and bracing himself for the incoming nightmare material on the other side of the door. “That’s very kind of you, Yuji. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. Why don’t you go join the others and I’ll send Gojo your way soon?”

Yuji perks up. “Thanks, Nanamin! You’re the best!” He leans in conspiratorially. “I’d cover your nose though—it sounds like Gojo-sensei’s tough time on the toilet in there, if you know what I mean.” He skips off with an exaggerated wink, leaving Nanami thanking every higher power that it was innocent Yuji and not too-jaded Megumi that walked on a potential Chernobyl 2.0.

Alright, time for Nanami to get this over with. Time to rip off the Band-Aid and face the carnage once and for all. Time to… time to stop stalling.

The door slides open with a bang and Nanami immediately looks to the ceiling, refusing to see whatever you and Gojo are up to.

You, however, jolt while in Gojo’s lap, his fingers pulling out of you and catching on your clit as he moves them to his mouth. You let out an involuntary whimper at the sharp stimulus. Nanami speaks loudly to drown out your noises. “You two. Have we not had enough discussions about this?”

“Aww, c’mon Nanamin! Don’t be such a—”

“Absolutely not, Gojo. In fact, you are the last person I wish to be speaking to right now.”

“Nanami! I’m so so sorry, oh my gosh. Um, can you give us a moment? We’ll be right with you, I promise!” You try swiveling your head to look over Gojo’s shoulder, but Gojo takes that as permission to grab your face and drag you into a kiss.

 “Mmpff!” You try to talk through the suctioned seal Gojo has on your mouth. “Justh gib me a thecond to—” You finally shove Gojo off and look at your poor coworker. Your hand covers Gojo’s mouth to block his attacks.

“Just give us a second, Nanami. I’m so so sorry, and I promise we’ll be out in two.” (“Five,” Gojo pipes up from behind your hand. You pinch him. Nanami ignores him.)

A deep, exhausted sigh comes from Nanami. “Please do not make me intervene again. I will be outside.”

Your attention returns to Gojo as the other man leaves. He looks too excited for the situation, ears perked like a dog and boner pressing even harder into your ass. “Satoru, c’mon. Let’s deal with the fallout and pray Nanami moves on from this.”

Gojo lifts you effortlessly and spins you so you’re straddling his hips and facing him. You feel like a limp kitten being dragged about. (You also feel your stomach flutter at the ease with which your husband manhandles you, but you ignore that.)

“It’s okay, sweetcheeks. Nanami’ll forget about it soon enough. Now, lemme apologize properly to your sweet lil cunt for being interrupted. I know she’s a finicky girl.” Gojo nuzzles his nose against your neck, pressing soft kisses down the column. His fingers sneak under your skirt, where your panties are completely soaked through and pushed aside, to rub small, slow circles over your clit.

“No, ah—Satoru, we need to—oh shit, fuck that’s—no, we need to—oooh, yes—to see what he wants—” your words are cut off by a sudden moan as Gojo palms your tits, rubbing a thumb over a nipple visible through your shirt. The added friction only makes the feeling more intense, and you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your sounds.

“Talking about another man while I’m here?” The circles on your clit get faster, and your grip on Gojo’s shirt gets tighter as you try to keep quiet. Gojo’s hand leaves your chest to grab your face, cheeks squished between his fingers, as he forces you to look at him. “Eyes on me, honey. I’m all you should be focused on right now.”

You nod reflexively as Gojo’s hand sneaks to the back of your head and yanks your hair, forcing your back to arch while you maintain eye contact. “That’s a good girl. There we go. Listen to you—I bet you love that everyone outside can hear you—can hear the pretty noises you make for me.”

You whimper in response to his words, too focused on the feeling building between your legs to process what your husband’s saying. “You gonna come for me? Don’t forget Nanami gave us two minutes—I tried bartering for five, but my cute lil wife has so much faith in me that she only wanted two.” Gojo moves to suck on your neck, scratching with his teeth and soothing it over with his tongue when you let out a particularly high-pitched whine.

“Fuck, Satoru, don’t—oh—don’t stop, please, I’m so close baby, socloseI’m—” A loud and obscene moan follows your words as the feeling crashes over you painfully, spurred on by Gojo increasing the speed of his fingers to quickly push you into a quick and filthy orgasm bordering on overstimulation.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let it out—I want everything, so don’t you dare hold back.” Gojo keeps up the pace, even as your hips try to buck away from his fingers. His hand quickly moves from your hair to your ass, holding you in place as you try to squirm away.

“No, ‘Toru, ‘s too much,” you slur out, tears littering your lash line as you force yourself to continue watching your husband, no matter how much you want to close your eyes. “No more, please—”

“GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE, YOU TWO!” Yaga’s voice booms through the room, banging fists joining his yells. You and Gojo stop, wide-eyed at the interruption.

“Holy shit, Nanami brought Yaga. Fuck, what do we do?” Gojo whispers, fingers slipping out and wiping on your skirt. Your nose crinkles watching him.

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do’? This is your fault, idiot. You fix this!” You whisper angrily (and hoarsely) back, removing yourself from his lap and stretching to work out the soreness of your muscles.

Gojo scoops you bridal-style, barely giving you time to adjust your skirt before hurrying to the window. “Quick, this way—they’ll never catch us—”

The doors open with a crash, Yaga and Nanami on the other side. Shoko’s got her phone out, recording the scene as it plays out. (Probably for blackmail material, you mentally note.)

Your darling husband shoves you out the open window.

a/n: Sorry guys idk what part of my ass I pulled this out of bc this definitely wasn't on my wip list...

© 2025 saturntosatoru on Tumblr, all rights reserved

[notgoodforlife]

ᡣ𐭩 warnings MDNI, sexual content, pregnant!reader, nipple play, gojo’s deep affection for reader's pregnancy tits (husband!gojo is such a cutie)

husband!gojo’s attention had been a bit too scattered lately. even if it was his fault, he chose to blame something else for it.

your growing pregnancy tits.

yes, they were definitely the culprits. it definitely wasn’t his eyes glued to your swollen tits the second they came into view or his hands that wanted to grab and play with them every second.

gojo couldn’t be happier about you being pregnant. of course, seeing you carry his child with such patience and strength had never made him feel prouder and more full of love. the swelling, growing tits were just a bonus part of it.

the bonus part he wanted to do every filthy thing to.

he’d take care of your tits like they were his fucking lifeline. his big hands would caress them exactly how he wanted. then his fingers would find your nipples, slow and teasing, drawing lazy circles with just the right amount of pressure. before stuffing them into his mouth, he’d rub his nose all over your tits, riling you up until you told him to quit playing and suck them already. still, even before he got to your swollen, needy nipples, he’d kiss every inch of your tits like he worshipped them—soft at first, then dragging his tongue over your skin in slow, messy circles. and when his mouth finally latched onto your nipple—

“wake up, little pervert,” you threw the apple in your hand right at your husband’s head, pulling him out of his usual tit-dazed state.

he rubbed the spot where you hit him and looked at you like he didn’t know what he’d done. “hey, what was that for?”

he knew he was caught.

you crossed your arms under your chest and said in a mocking tone, “i wanted to show you that today’s tit—staring session is over.”

“what? that’s a really crazy accusation, darling,” he said, still rubbing his head as he picked up the apple you’d thrown at him.

“they’re just tits, satoru. not some magical fucking artifacts. yeah, they got bigger ‘cause i’m pregnant, but that doesn’t suddenly make them anything other than regular tits.” you gave him your warning and went back to preparing the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter.

gojo walked up behind you with the apple in hand. once he was right behind you, he set the apple down next to the cutting board. his arms wrapped around your swollen belly, and he gently pulled you against him.

his hard cock was pressing against your ass. as his hands gently rubbed your belly, you wanted them to move lower and rub your pussy the same way. and of course, for him to take your tits into his mouth like he hadn’t touched them all day and make you cum screaming.

“don’t ever say that about them again,” his left hand was still rubbing your belly while his right slowly moved up to your right tit. your hardened nipple was clearly visible through the white dress you were wearing. “you know how much i love them.”

when his fingers brushed over your nipple, a small moan slipped from your lips. gojo moved his fingers over your nipple again, as if he wanted to hear you moan again. “i really like this dress, mama.”

you knew exactly how much he liked it. you loved watching him lose his mind whenever he saw how your swollen belly and fuller tits filled out the fabric.

“i know i stare at your growing tits every day like a pervert,” he said, pulling his fingers back and setting his hand on your belly again. “but you love it, too, don’t you?”

you couldn’t answer, but your husband knew exactly what you meant.

“you’re so sneaky, mama. it makes me a thousand times hornier.”

“toru—”

“i don’t want to ruin your pretty dress by ripping it apart, so take it off. now.” he pulled his arms back from your belly and stepped back to give you space to undress.

when you turned to face him, meeting his impatient and hungry gaze, your fingers found the zipper at your back and pulled it down. the thin straps slipped from your shoulders, and the white dress pooled at your feet.

you were completely naked, wet, and ready.

“good job, mama. now let me do what i need to do.”

and you had no doubt your husband would take care of that exactly how he wanted.

a/n i don’t know where this idea came from but it did. it’s all because my period is coming…

© wickedvoices ⌇ do not steal or translate my work.

[notgoodforlife]

୨୧ You tried to sneak out after a one-night stand. Gojo wakes up — calm, shirtless, and not okay with being left behind. What follows is possessive touches, quiet threats, and a reminder of who you belong to.

I wanted to write something that felt like a slow unravel — soft words, sharp intentions, and Gojo being terrifyingly calm in the way only he can be. just a lil treat for the yandere girlies ♡ hope it ruins you in the best way. mlist

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences.

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you tiptoed across the suite.

Gojo’s apartment was too clean — pristine white walls, muted city lights pouring through wide windows, and expensive silence that made your breath feel too loud. Your dress from the night before was clutched in one hand, wrinkled and still smelling faintly like sweat and cologne. You hadn’t even put your shoes back on yet.

He was still in bed, you were sure of it. He’d been wrapped in those dark gray sheets when you slid out, dead silent. You hadn’t dared to glance back.

Until now.

“Y’know,” a voice drawled behind you — slow, amused, terrifyingly awake. “If you really wanted to leave quietly, you probably shouldn’t have stolen my shirt.”

You froze mid-step, breath caught like prey in a trap.

He was sitting up now. Hair messier than before. One long arm braced behind him, the other pushing the sheets off his bare torso. His blindfold was gone, tossed somewhere on the nightstand, and his icy blue eyes caught the dim light like sharpened crystal.

You swallowed.

“It was cold,” you offered, lamely.

“Oh, totally,” he said, voice light and sarcastic. “That’s why you’re sneaking out like you killed somebody.”

You turned slowly. “I didn’t think you'd care—”

Gojo laughed. Not loud — just sharp, like a knife sliding across glass.

“You didn’t think I’d care?” he repeated. “Sweetheart… I’ve had your name circling my brain since the second you touched me.”

He stood, bare feet whispering across the hardwood as he stalked toward you — tall, loose-limbed, terrifyingly calm.

You backed up.

Bad idea.

He moved faster, one hand pressing against the wall just beside your head, caging you without even touching you.

“That’s mine,” he said softly, flicking the hem of the shirt you were wearing. His shirt — white, oversized, the one that hung just a little too low on you and hit just high enough on your thighs to drive him insane.

“You mean the shirt?”

His head tilted. “I mean you.”

You went quiet, breath shaky. “We hooked up once.”

“So?” Gojo smiled, slow and bright — but his eyes didn’t match. They burned. “You don’t do that with someone like me and leave. That’s not how this works.”

You opened your mouth, maybe to argue. But the words died on your tongue the second his fingers hooked under the shirt’s hem and pushed up — slow, deliberate, warm palms skating along the skin of your thighs.

“W-Wait—” You shifted, but he just stepped closer, pressing the full heat of his body into yours.

“Don’t run,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “You’ll only make me chase you. And you won’t like how that ends.”

Your breath hitched. His fingers kept moving — slipping higher, thumbs brushing over the crease of your hips, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“I liked seeing you in my shirt,” he said softly. “But I like you better out of it.”

You shivered.

Then he tugged — not gently. The shirt lifted over your head, arms caught for a moment before he pulled it free and tossed it aside. You were bare beneath, breathless and pressed against the wall like you didn’t know what to say.

“Pretty little thing,” Gojo murmured, fingers trailing over your bare stomach. “You really thought you could disappear from me? After the way you moaned my name last night?”

You blushed — visibly. It made his eyes darken.

He kissed you. Rough, breath-stealing, like he was trying to taste every sound you’d ever made. You clutched at his shoulders — and it hit you all over again just how strong he was. How fast he could crush you. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

“Bed,” he said. “Now.”

He didn’t yell — didn’t need to. You obeyed without thinking, legs shaky as you moved. He followed like a storm.

The sheets were still warm when he pushed you down, straddling you easily. His hands roamed — over your breasts, down your sides, fingers memorizing every inch like he’d been given a test on it.

“You looked so cute sneaking out,” he murmured, lips grazing your skin as he moved lower. “But you’re not going anywhere now. You hear me?”

You nodded — breathless, wrecked, unsure if it was fear or desire curling low in your stomach.

Maybe both.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering, before glancing up with those impossible blue eyes.

“I’m gonna remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And when he finally lowered his mouth to you — all heat, tongue, and expert cruelty — you forgot your own name.

But you remembered his.

Over and over and over again.

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[notgoodforlife]

the house is finally quiet. the baby surrendered to sleep at last, after a long battle, and now you lie in bed, body arching in the best way — exhausted but at peace.

you hear satoru before you see him — bare feet padding softly across the floor, the door creaking open just enough for light to spill in from the hallway. and then he appears, backlit and tousled, toweling off his hair with one hand while his shirt hangs loose around his shoulders.

he moves lazily, but there’s something about it — some unconscious swagger in the way he stretches, then pulls the shirt over his head and lets it fall to the floor like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. and maybe he does.

your eyes follow the play of shadows over his chest, the smooth ripple of muscle beneath pale skin. his body is all contrast — soft lines with sharp definition, collarbones you want to bite and a waist you want to grip. his back flexes as he turns slightly, the lines of his shoulder blades visible even in the low light. like a work of art that had somehow become flesh and heat and breath. honestly, he looks like he was handcrafted by a god with too much time on his hands and an eye for detail and perfection.

it’s not fair, really. it’s like watching a statue stretch and yawn — but warmer, realer. yours.

“satoru”, you say, voice low, more breath than sound.

he pauses, glancing at you with that knowing curve to his lips. “yes, my love?”

“do you know what?”

he rubs his jaw, cocking his head like he’s trying to read your mind. “let me guess… you’re finally ready to admit i’m the best husband and the hottest dad on earth?”

a smirk tugs at your lips, but your gaze lingers on him as your voice softens. “yes”, you murmur. “actually… i’m pretty lucky to have you”

…and that catches him off guard. usually, it’s him laying it on the thick. he is the one tossing over-the-top compliments like confetti, chasing your laughter like it’s oxygen. but now you’re looking at him like he hung the stars, and truth be told, he wasn’t prepared for the way his heart just stumbled over itself.

he blinks, the usual glint of teasing faltering as he looks at you, like he is suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.

“i—“ he starts, voice lower now, almost sheepish. “you mean that?”

you nod slowly. “you’re more than i ever thought i’d have. you take care of us. you make me laugh. you adore our baby. you love me so well. you make me feel wanted even when i’m sleep deprived and barely have time to brush my hair. you still look at me like i’m the only thing in the world that matters”

satoru moves toward the bed, slow, still smirking but the cockiness melting into something deeper. he climbs next to you, one hand finding your waist beneath the covers, the other brushing a strand of hair from your face. “you keep saying things like that”, he murmurs, “and i’m going to start thinking you’re trying to seduce me”

you arch a brow. “maybe i am”

he huffs out a laugh, lips ghosting against your jaw. “dangerous game, sweetness. i’m already crazy about you. you think i won’t worship you just because the baby’s asleep in the other room?”

his breath grazing against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. “i think”, you whisper, almost hiss, “that you talk too much”

“oh? then shut me up”, he says, already leaning in closer in search of your lips. “or better yet — let me show you just how lucky i am”

[notgoodforlife]

Aftercare with gojo after him being mean and rough to reader🙏🏻🙏🏻

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. degradation mentioned, aftercare, soft gojo

your body’s still trembling, sheets tangled around your legs, skin slick with sweat. satoru’s been so mean tonight. hips snapping hard, his words sharp and mean, calling you his little slut, his toy, while he fucked you into the mattress. every thrust left you gasping, his cock stretching you past your limits, leaving you raw and aching between your thighs.

you always wondered how he did that tho—going from being mean and fucking you so hard to being so soft afterwards.

“you okay, pretty girl?” he murmurs, voice low, blue eyes searching yours. he’s hovering over you, one hand brushing damp hair from your face. you nod, too fucked out to speak, and he frowns, leaning down to kiss your forehead, lips lingering. “shit, i went hard, didn’t i? c’mere.”

he pulls you into his chest, arms tight, and carries you to the bathroom, your legs useless. he sets you on the counter, running warm water, grabbing a cloth. “hold still,” he says, wiping the mess between your thighs, gentle around your sensitive pussy. “did so good for me,” he mutters, kissing your cheek. he cleans you slowly, hands tender, like you’re fragile glass.

his arms wrap around you, pulling you close, chin on your shoulder. “love you,” he says, nuzzling your neck, fingers massaging your sore hips. later, wrapped in a fluffy towel, he carries you to bed, tucking you under blankets. “no moving,” he teases, kissing your forehead.

the next days he’s basically your shadow—carrying you to the kitchen when you’re hungry, smirking, “legs still sore, or not?” you roll your eyes, but let him baby you, his soft kisses and warm hugs making the ache worth it.

[notgoodforlife]

The moment Satoru found out his wife was pregnant, something shifted inside him — like an ancient spell breaking open in his chest, releasing light and warmth he hadn't known he'd been missing.

He’d stared at the little test in your shaking hands, blinking under the harsh bathroom light, and when you looked up at him — nervous, hopeful — he didn’t say a word at first. He just fell to his knees and pressed his forehead gently against your stomach, arms wrapping around your hips as if to say thank you to the tiny life just beginning there.

From then on, it was like the world had flipped upside down in the gentlest, most absurd way.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, was suddenly anxious about everything. He kept one hand behind your back every time you walked as if you'd tip over without it. He scowled at the stairs as if they’d personally offended him. He triple-checked the expiration date on everything you ate, even the fruits. Apples!

“Do you think our baby likes apples?” he’d asked one afternoon, watching you crunch into one while curled up on the couch.

“I think I like apples,” you laughed.

“Okay, but we’re a team now. You and the baby are a package deal. So I’m asking for both of you!”

You'd just rolled your eyes — but smiled the whole time.

He thought your cravings were adorable. Even the 2 AM “we need fried chicken right now” kind of cravings. There was no mountain he wouldn't climb for you — and in fact, he did climb one once to get a specific type of peach you said you wanted. He’d teleport to different prefectures if needed.

Your growing belly was his favorite thing in the world. He loved watching you rest your hand on it absentmindedly, like you were already cradling the baby. He’d trace soft patterns over your skin with his fingers, murmuring nonsense stories to the child who kicked like they already had opinions.

He was fascinated by everything. The sound of your baby's heartbeat on the monitor. The way you waddled and scolded him when he called it cute — but he did think it was cute. You were beautiful like the moon — soft, whole, glowing in a way that wasn’t meant to be touched but cherished from beside.

He kept a journal. Something he never told anyone.

It wasn’t elegant or poetic — it was full of rambling thoughts, doodles, little “today the baby kicked again” notes, and things he wanted to tell them when they were older. Sometimes he wrote about how scared he was. How the world was cruel. How much he wanted to protect them. How he was afraid he wouldn't be enough. But always, at the end of the entry, he’d write:

“But your mom is here. And that makes everything okay.”

Satoru was the kind of man who laughed too loud and talked too much, but around you lately, he’d gone soft and quiet in the evenings. He loved brushing your hair back behind your ear. Loved kissing your shoulder when you leaned into him. Loved pressing his cheek to your belly and just… being. No missions. No curses. No battles. Just you.

And despite all his fears — the world, the danger, the weight of who he was — he was happy. Genuinely, finally happy.

It hit him one night when you fell asleep on his chest, your hand loosely over his heart, your child nestled between you two.

He whispered into the silence, voice rough with awe, “I think… I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

And for once, Satoru Gojo didn't feel like the last one standing in a war-torn world. He felt like a man — loved, loving, waiting for a life to bloom.

[notgoodforlife]

Can i request Sasuke x fem uchiha s/o? Sasuke meet s/o after war ended, S/o and Sasuke was introverted and loner basically have lot of similiarities (sasuke sometimes think s/o was mirrored version of him), S/o was kind of cat lady. Please make hc about how they interacted w each other, also understanding each other and then they found out s/o was pregnant. Thank you! Sorry if my request was too detailed, hope you received and write it 😄😁.

loved me back to life; sasuke uchiha

synopsis — post timeskip sasuke x uchiha!reader

a/n — again i am very apologetic for those who have excitedly requested and have waited so long.

— you arrive in konoha with nothing but your mother’s cloak, a sealed scroll of her recipes, and three cats who follow you like they’ve sworn loyalty.

— the uchiha crest is stitched clean across your back not loud, not proud — just there, like a wound that hasn’t finished healing. the villagers look, then look away. except him.

— sasuke uchiha sees you from across the training grounds. he doesn’t move. just stares — sharp-eyed, tense, like you’ve summoned something buried. before he slowly makes his way over

“…where did you get that cloak?” he asks.

his voice is low, scratchy, weathered. his left sleeve is empty — pinned just above the elbow.

you’ve heard the rumors. you know who he is.

“it was my mother’s,” you answer. “she was uchiha. so was my father.”

“…and?”

“he stayed behind.”

you don’t say the rest. you don’t have to, he exhales through his nose.

“…i’ll walk you to where you’re staying.”

— he doesn’t say much on the walk. but his eyes never leave your shoulder. your crest.

when you reach the house — an old rental on the edge of the village — you’re the one who speaks first.

“you can come in, if you want.”

“…i shouldn’t.”

“you look like you have questions.”

“…i do.”

“then come in.” he steps inside.

— the first thing he does is crouch to look at the cats. they stare back like they know who he is.

“they’re named mochi, okami, and soot,” you say, sitting your bag down, as you examined the place. not too bad.

“…this one looks judgmental,” he mutters, making you glance at him.

“that’s mochi.”

“…hm.” he stands slowly, eyes on the cats, then on you.

“…i need to tell you something.”

“alright.”

“i’m sasuke uchiha. i’m the last of the clan—”

“you’re not.” he falters. his eyes flick up.

“…you knew who i was.”

“everyone knows who you are.”

“…then you know what i’ve done.” you nod.

“i tried to kill my best friend. i abandoned the village. i almost destroyed it. i’ve hurt people.”

“and you came back, do you want tea?”

he’s quiet. stunned, but slowly, he nods.

“…you’re not afraid of me?”

“no.”

“you should be.”

“maybe. but i’m not.”

“why?” you shrug, looking him in the eye.

“because broken things still belong somewhere.” he doesn’t speak, but he comes back the next day.

— over the next few weeks, sasuke shows up in small ways. he brings you soup and rice balls. brushes mochi’s fur when he thinks you aren’t looking.

he lets your cats sleep on his cloak. he even reads aloud once — a travel scroll — and stops mid-sentence when he catches you smiling.

“what.”

“your voice is nice.”

“…don’t be weird.”

“you’re the one reading to cats.”

“…they looked bored.”

— naruto finds out immediately, i mean, he practically keeps tabs on his best friend

“YOU’RE DATING??”

“no,” sasuke says flatly.

“THEN WHY ARE YOU LIVING THERE??”

“i’m not.” you open the door behind him.

“he is.”

“…traitor,” sasuke mutters under his breath.

“do you love her??” naruto yells in excitement.

“leave.”

“do you kiss??”

“…do you want to die?” naruto flees. loudly. but smiling.

— sakura and sai aren’t far behind. ino pretends she just “happened to be walking by.”

— when they meet you, you’re polite. reserved. but kind.

“you’re not what i expected,” sakura says softly.

“neither is he,” you reply.

— sasuke hears that from the porch. he doesn’t say anything, but his heart is racing. he could only think, is this how naruto felt, when he liked sakura?

— your first kiss happens on a night too quiet to ignore. you’re sitting side by side on the roof, your legs swinging over the edge.

“…you’re always calm,” he says.

“not always. just with you.”

“…why?” you tilt your head.

“because you’re not afraid to sit in silence. most people fill it.”

“…you don’t need to fill something to feel it.”

you nod. he turns and your lips brush. then meet. it’s soft, warm, a little hesitant.

“…should i apologize?” he murmurs.

“only if you regret it.”

“…i don’t.”

“then kiss me again.”

he does.

— your first time is after he comes back from a long mission. he’s tired, stiff, and bruised across the ribs.

— you undress him slowly, carefully. help him out of his gear. kiss a scar near his collarbone. he sits on the edge of the bed, quiet. vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

“…i’ve never done this with someone i trusted,” he admits.

“you trust me?”

“…i want to,” he confessed, staring into your eyes, before pulling you into his lap. resting his forehead against you.

“then let me love you.”

he makes no sound, but his arm wraps around you like a vow. he kisses your throat, your jaw, your lips.

he learns your body like he’s memorizing a map he’s afraid to lose again. afterward, he lies on his back, eyes on the ceiling, your hand over his heart.

“…you make me feel like i deserve to breathe,” he says.

you kiss his cheek.

“that’s because you do.”

— the proposal comes one morning when you’re feeding the cats. you’re still in your robe, hair a mess, hands full of kibble.

he walks over, stands beside you, clears his throat.

“…marry me.” you blink, glancing at him like he’s crazy.

“was i that good last night? you haven’t even dressed yet,” you eyed him, wearing his typical black clothing

“…it was fresh on my mind, from last night,” you laugh. he steps closer.

“i’m serious,” he says. “i want to build a life. with you.” you look at him — at the man who’s lost everything and still chooses you.

“…yes.”

“really?”

“ino and your friends have reminded me of how you were, but sasuke, none of it matters to me,” he kisses you — making mochi meow.

“i think that’s approval,” you whisper.

“…we’ll invite him to the wedding.”

— then came pregnancy

— you know before the test confirms it

— your appetite shifts, your balance is off, the cats won’t leave your lap

— you tell him on a quiet afternoon, he quietly ate the fruit you had prepared for him, while you folded laundry

“…sasuke?”

“hn?”

“…i think i’m pregnant.”

— he stops mid chew, before he starts to choke. coughing harshly, he finally stops, before glancing at you — he blinks once

“…ours?” you almost laugh

“yes, sasuke. ours.”

— he stares at you for what feels like a full minute

— then he moves the bowl from his lap, crossing the room, going to his knees, and pressing his forehead to your stomach

“…i never thought i’d have a family,” he whispers.

“you do now.”

“…do you think they’ll like me?”

“they’ll love you. they’ll probably cry less than naruto, too.”

“…i doubt it.”

— while he is always away for your first three months, trying to save as much as possible, he slows down as you begin to show

— every mission becomes optional

— he takes shorter ones. insists on reporting back in person

— he stocks the pantry with tomatoes, rice, and ginger tea

— reads books on chakra-safe birthing techniques even though you’re not a shinobi anymore

— he won’t let you lift anything. one time you tried to carry a bag of groceries and he throws a kunai at it

“you could’ve just said no.”

“…you weren’t listening.”

— he talks to the baby constantly. when you’re asleep, when you’re pretending to be asleep, when you’re both awake but quiet

“…your mother’s the strongest person i know.”

“…you’ll be small at first, but loud, probably. like naruto.”

“…please don’t inherit my temper, just my strength, and good looks,” you laugh, while he smirks. mochi keeps trying to sit on your bump.

“move it…” sasuke grumbled, moving the cat. why couldn’t he be chill like the others?!

— at last the wedding came; small. simple. sunlit.

— naruto cries before he even starts officiating

“i’m so proud of you, man—”

“…read the vows.”

“you’re my brother—”

“read. the. vows.”

— sakura smiles, soft and sad, but happy. ino compliments your hair and whispers, “if your kid looks like him, i’m stealing her”

— sai sketches the scene while holding a cat. kakashi shows up on time, which freaks everyone out

— sasuke kisses you with both eyes closed

“…i never thought peace would feel like this,” he says. you rest your hand over his heart

“get used to it.”

— you go into labor at night, thankfully, sasuke is home.

— it’s long, painful, and terrifying

— your grip nearly snaps his wrist

“could you loosen up-,” he tells you

“i hate you so much right, i’m never giving you sex ever again—”

“…actually, just keep squeezing,” he sighs.

— you scream and he stays by your side the entire time

“you’re doing well.”

“you say that again and i’ll kill you.”

“…you’re doing terribly.”

“thank you.”

— when she cries, it’s loud and alive. your body shakes. your throat is raw. your heart is full

“…she’s perfect,” he whispers

“she’s an uchiha.”

“…she’s ours.”

— he named her sarada, because it sounds strong, because she kicks with precision, and because she looks at you both with eyes far older than they should be

“…she has your smile,” you say

“…thank god,” sasuke mutters. “i was worried she’d inherit my brooding.”

mochi curls up beside the crib, the baby tries to grab his tail

“…uchiha reflexes,” sasuke says

“…uchiha trouble,” you reply

— you fall into rhythm, you take care of the home, while sasuke comes and goes for missions

— when he is home, sasuke gardens while sarada naps strapped to his chest, she grabs tomatoes before she can sit up properly

— the cats follow her like security detail

— naruto comes over uninvited every other day

“do you need help? food? encouragement? backup bottles?”

“leave,” sasuke says every time

“he loves me,” naruto tells sarada

“…no i don’t,” sasuke mutters

“yes you dooo~”

— sarada’s first word is “mo”

— you think it’s “mama”, it’s actually “mochi”

sasuke wins that argument, but you win the war when she says “papa” next

— one night, long after she’s fallen asleep, you and sasuke lie on the roof together

— you’re wrapped in a blanket, he has one arm tucked behind his head, the stars are wide and endless above you

“…you still think you’re the last?” you ask, as he turns to you

“…no,” he says. “i’m the beginning again.”

you kiss him, he doesn’t ask for it. but he always kisses back like he needs it to breathe

“…you loved me back to life,” he whispers

“…you never stopped being alive. you just forgot.”

mochi meows from below, sarada stirs in her crib, and for the first time in a lifetime of loss—

you’re not grieving — you’re not running ��� you’re not alone

you are home. you are love. and you are free.

[notgoodforlife]

i like the thought of you never having been a sunglasses person before meeting satoru. not for fashion or for function.

before, the sun would be blazing overhead — and you’d still squint stubbornly rather than slide on the extra one you carry for him in your purse.

you used to say they made you feel like you were trying too hard to be cool, like you were pretending to be someone you weren’t (satoru definitely picks up on the way you inadvertently call him cool).

then, as fate would have it — satoru comes blazing into your life like the big fireball that is the sun itself. both blinding and impossible to ignore.

and of course, he wears sunglasses out like they are glued permanently to his skin.

but somewhere along the way, you find yourself wearing them too. you don’t know how — it simply just happened. maybe after a late night in bed when he wordlessly places his own shades on you just to see how they’d look and you’re too tired to fight it.

maybe then is when you finally start making use of the spare. and not just occasionally. always. and only bc it helped block out the annoying light. no other reason (you like to tell yourself).

and satoru notices.

he pretends he doesn’t at first. just grins with that usual cocky tilt of his head. but he definitely notices. especially when you pull an old pair of his from your purse mid walk and slip them on in sync with him.

the first time it happens, he pauses mid stride. blinks. then stares at you for a second longer than necessary before smirking.

“is that my influence i see?” satoru murmurs, failing to hide the swelling in his chest that is a mixture of pride and absolute joy — bc he already knows the answer.

“careful, sweets.” he points at your face with a serious tone like he’s warning you. “next thing you know, you’ll be walking around telling everyone you’re the strongest too.”

you roll your eyes behind the lenses, adjusting your purse over your shoulder. but the way you fidget with the strap betrays your nerves. you wonder if he thinks you look good in them. but you don’t ask.

instead you say, “oh, please. you wish.”

later that night when you’re asleep, he traces the arm of your sunglasses where they sit on the nightstand beside his. lined up perfectly — like they belong together.

and he smiles.

not his big, theatrical grin. but the smaller, softer one. the one meant only for you. bc you wear sunglasses now. and without ever saying it, you’re telling him he’s changing you in ways that stay.

and you’re letting him.