#gojo satoru hc

[4ngeldusstt]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

Gojo sensei finds it sooo funny and entertaining to see his favorite student all nervous, stuttering and not being able to concentrate on what they’re being told, looking down in embarrassment as they talk to principal Yaga. Trying their best to hide the obvious slightly visible marks that he left on their neck the night before when he sneaked into their dorm.

Satoru is sitting right there, mansplaning on the black leather couch with his usual cocky smile, the black fabric covering his beautiful blue eyes but you know and feel his full attention on you. He is enjoying every single second of this, watching as if you were putting up a show just ment for him to see, completely aware and proud of how nervous he is making you, he loves that just his mere presence has this kind of effect on you.

He didn’t even have to talk nor say anything to you, he was just there, his little student got in trouble so he, as your teacher, had to be there, right?

“Did you understand?” The principal said meaning the lecture finally comming to it’s end “y-yes, sir. It won’t happen again.” You stutter, “You’re dismissed.” As soon as you heard that you were out the door, trying to hide you bright red face as best as you could, how can he have this power over you? You run to your dorm and closed the door right behind you, leaning your back against it as you attempted to calm yourself down. After a few minutes you heard a knock on the wooden door. “I know you’re hiding in there, open.” you obeyed, opening slowly, locking eyes inmediately “Satoru” you whispered, as you saw that smile, the one you so much loved appear on his soft lips. "Hey baby."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

-

A/N: the student is NOT a minor, someone mentioned something in the comments and i wanted to clarify!!!!!

[sukunasun]

i wonder who which jjk men are into boobs, butt or legs in the debate 🤔

a.n. should preface this by noting that these parts have their advantages from a functional perspective (i.e. a mouth feels better than a hand) but when it comes to attraction...to each their own. preferences don't mean one lacks in comparison to the other. breasts, butt, belly, and everything else are all beautiful in their own way. they'd like you head to toe. that being said, this is less about appearances and more that every lover fucks in irreplicable ways + how it has influenced their tastes.

geto is an enigma...he'd choose the unpredictable parts and the brain happens to be one of them. mainly because sex is just as much a creative process and he gets bored easily. think up a roleplay scenario and watch how his eyes light up, try a risky position, doggy and missionary are overdone, and show him that toy you really want because it has seven speed levels and fourteen vibrational patterns. the possibilities are endless. the foreplay takes precedence, he doesn't mind pushing the boundaries or "broadening our horizons," as he puts it.

you forget he has whole other sides to him. he gets as passionate and all-consuming as his love for you. heart skipping a beat when he pulls back the curtains and fucks you hard against a window. presents you to the world without fear or shame, just that he's always wanted to try it. 'try' being the keyword here, something about your body being his body too. geto doesn't think he'd learn you well without sneaking in a few surprises.

copping a feel is the same as stealing an innocent kiss. leaving them in uninhabited spots. they're too obvious, too exciting. a secret you two share. no one wants to see his tongue licking a stripe down the nape of your neck while you're busy preparing dinner for company or that they can practically hear the two of you going at it in the bathroom. you can't help the squeal you let out, it's his fault for slipping his thumb past your asshole.

you don't bother to ask why he's so bold. geto's not the kind to elaborate too much outside the bedroom but within those four walls, he's got a dirty mouth, a wicked tongue, and he needs communication. talk you through it and the like. commentary is sexy when he tells you just how perfect you feel, how tight, how wet, how good you are when you milk his cock like you're hungry for it. his come feels so hot, sticking to you like honey, coating your insides like a mark—so tell him. let your mouth do the work.

-------------

gojo on the other hand has an eye for pretty things. loves the art of the tease. spends all the time in the world watching behind his blindfold, letting out longing sighs with cheek pressed into palm fantasizing about lines and shapes fitted upon and in his hands. how large they are, he likes to take his time running them down sloping shoulders, a waist curving inwards, and mouth-watering thighs.

his eyes are just drawn to them, supple and succulent, he likes to get his full of it. all that plump flesh in his hands, you have no business being this sexy. in a pair of jeans, in leggings, or when they peek from below short pretty dresses. diaphanous thing damp with more than just water but your sweaty skin and slick, dripping pussy. it hints and hides just enough, not too much. accentuating, revealing something he can't wait to have. loves that bit of chub that sticks out when you wear thigh-high socks and garters. "you think im letting you leave the house like that?" he warns, fingers tugging at the elastic, wanting to rip them apart. then holds onto it when he drives you anywhere because he’s clingy isn't he? his fingers mark you with heat and his intent to get crushed like a watermelon between them, even when you do the ‘hovering’ straddling thing so you don't 'hurt' him. which is impossible. gojo is more than capable.

he'll pull you back down, wanting to feel your full weight atop him, grips onto them and watches as they tremble and shake. it's the best part. he'll kiss them, bite into the raw skin. not to mention it feels so soft when he’s laying his head on them, feeling you brush his hair back, "i could stay here forever..." he says and means it.

-------------

sukuna wants vulnerability. or rather he expects it of you when he doesn't intend to be gentle. call it arrogance, call it knowing what he likes but sex is also an act of trust and sukuna's the most unwilling when he isn't convinced he has a partner who—for lack of a better term—'matches his freak'. it's ironic when he'll ask "what's in it for me," but transactional, no-strings-attached sex still requires defenselessness.

so it matters that your reactions are a drug and he wants more each time. how you get feistier, friskier, bit by bit as he continues to pinch and prod. your pleasure matters, but don't get there on your own. not before he gets a taste of smooth skin and how it gives under his teeth. tits and ass are so pedestrian, he prefers the more... susceptible parts. a neck, a rib, and an ankle are all very prone to nasty accidents. it'll only hurt more when he won't apologise for the occasional biting bruise or stinging slap. your yelp of excitement is more than a green light for him to yield, inflicting just that little bit of pain.

he's got a tight grip on your wrists, after he's left languid, sloppy kisses down the length of your forearm, he won't say that he loves when you smell like him. a touch is never innocent but territorial when he leaves behind traces.

stop struggling. sukuna's a huge weight atop you like tonnes of water and it stays that way until he's done fucking you. how weak and helpless you are. but it never really ends there, his fingers like to linger, dipping them between the soiled mess you made, so what if he's come inside and you're sensitive, maybe he wants more, maybe he likes the trembling edges of your body, the way your eyes roll back, the choking, garbled plea that spills from you. begging not to stop but to make it last, harder, faster, i want to be full of you—a suffocating closeness.

-------------

there's no need to rush, nanami likes to take his time. won't say he's fervent but he is tired, so he'll rest his head upon a soft stomach. he pulls you in closer every time he's sat by the edge of the bed, a hand reaching out to yours.

buries his face and kisses a line down your sternum while he inhales sweet wafts of your perfume along the way, goosebumps rising to meet chapped lips and feeling that scratchy caress in return. you thank him with the soothing stroke of your fingers, parting blonde strands and massaging those temples. his groan tells you all you need to know. there's nothing better than his dear, bowing head.

he holds onto your middle as you bounce on his dick in reverse cowgirl. wild and wanting he guides you from below and you don't see the cogs turning in his head from where he watches over your shoulder. how could you, you're too busy feeling full from how big and sturdy he feels. chest so broad and steadying you like a brick wall. it's then his two large hands trail down, hot to the touch, to cup your womb in this warm and...careful hold.

he leaves them there while the bulging spot juts up to meet his pressing fingers, where the head of his cock is no doubt pummelling your cervix. it's too deep, knocking the wind out of you, but you won't stop him. his thumb caresses the shape, the skin, whole palm pressing down and judging by the scream you let out the pressure is immense. in and out, he's more transfixed with how big he is, how much he fills you up, and how you take him so well.

-------------

toji is a simple man with simple tastes. call it an oral fixation. a pussy tastes like heaven and feels even more so. all the things you could do with one, make her come, make her edge, he definitely prides himself on giving you the best orgasms with just his mouth or fingers. there's no need to complicate things, this man loves money but he might love pussy just a little more.

he doesn't get squeamish, toji stuffs his face and goes to town every time. hands spreading your legs apart, cupping your ass, he likes it when you grip his head tight too, either way, he's making out with it, hungrily lapping with tongue broad and flat, he licks and finds his way deeper.

in the middle of the night, he reaches under the covers for a feel. it's so soft and pliant when he slips his fingers in. he doesn't need to do much as you stir awake, toji kisses behind your ears, feeling you spread for him. "let me play with it," he grunts out, like he woke up and decided he needed to finger you.

there's jolt running up his spine the moment the head of his cock meets the slick, sticky folds of your pussy. he glides and stains the sheets with your combined juices, this wetness that clings to him. thin strands connected everytime he tap, tap, taps. if he were less eager he might just wait it out, let the tip kiss your clit and make it twitch.

but you're so swollen and ready for him, for when he stretches you out so wide you feel him splitting you in half. your aching back and hips can't withstand his heavy, brutal thrusts. pounding and pounding, you swallow him up like nothing, coated in cream and dripping with squirted mess, still spits on it because he can. squeezing him tight like a vacuum, he could never replicate this with his hand. maybe it's why he's so addicted, the sight of his cock moving in and out from between your splayed legs is better than a dream.

[pouringoutmythoyghtsbefore1drown]

Gojo Satoru training/growing up in the Gojo Clan.

None of this is cannon. It’s just an idea that won’t leave my mind.

Talisman:

Talismans that restricted him from accessing his technique were attached to his body via staples or sewed on etc.

At first it was to ‘prevent Gojo from harming others accidentally’ since a child with that much power would be insanely dangerous. Or at least that’s how they phrased it to him. Potentially, the Clan set up a situation so that Gojo (as a young kid) accidentally harmed someone he cared about as a mechanism to make him more willing to oblige and security for the future when he would be able to use infinity. This way, despite physically being able to prevent the attachment of the talisman, they could use the implanted fear for cooperation. (?)

Ultimately, it was just another way to exorcise control over Gojo.

He wouldn’t be able to fight back against the Gojo Clan with his techniques, rendering him a mere child which is easier to handle and control.

The talisman would be attached somewhere on his back so he wouldn’t be able to rip them off.

As time progressed and Gojo got older / more powerful (probably between ages 10 - 14) they would experiment with what they could restrict or enhance using the talisman. E.G. Increasing pain or damage received etc.

Even though Gojo didn’t know how to use RCT, they would always have one blocking RCT just in case. Maybe they wanted him to suffer or maybe they were training his pain tolerance.

By restricting his access to his Six Eyes, he had technically lost a sense. Meaning he was less aware of his surroundings and more on edge.

However, it did reduce the migraines his technique would give him.

The only thing preventing the Gojo Clan from engraving the seals/talisman scriptures onto his skin was the risk that it’d scar and Gojo would lose access to his techniques forever. They couldn’t do that because then he wouldn’t be the perfect weapon anymore. 🙄

Since he grew up being rigorously trained without his techniques, it meant that if he ever found himself in a situation where he couldn’t access them then he’d be fine (theoretically). It also made Gojo enjoy using his techniques so much and experimenting and learning how to use them in ways never seen before. It was something that went from being associated with punishment and pain to freedom. (yippee)

I had more to say but i forgot. Also my words were so inadequately expressed here i’m so sorry. brain moving too fast and there are only buzz words so typing it out in full sentences is quite hard lmao.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Yippee! Happy (late) New Year! Could I request Yuuji, Nanami, and Gojo with an s/o who loves to proudly proclaim her love for them to everybody?

Yuji Itadori

Yuji loves it! He’s a pretty expressive person himself, and an extrovert. He’s always been the kind of kid to go up to strangers and tell people about his personal life. Having someone he loves and is in love with him is something he would want the world to know. Despite it happening often, Yuji still blushes happily when they tell someone he’s their boyfriend or ‘the man I love’. He hugs and clings on to them after, just smothering them with affection.

Gojo Satoru

Gojo loves it too :3. He’s always being praised for being the strongest, but no one really loves him like s/o does. The fact that they want to tell everyone warms his heart as he’s not just valued as a tool for the jujutsu world. It does make him nervous sometimes about everyone knowing about it though. No one can get to him, between his physical strength, Infinity, and Six-Eye, but they aren’t as lucky. When you can’t strike the king sometimes people go for the pawns around them to their on detriment and inevitable death if they hurt them.

Nanami Kento

Nanami would prefer their declarations stay in private. Though he appreciates the sentiment, and their enthusiasm is cute, Nanami doesn’t really care for public displays of affection. He thinks that people should be more reserved and professional in public, and keep their private lives to themselves. Still, he doesn’t make an effort to stop them as he doesn’t want to dampen their spirit. It’s who they are and he appreciates that.

[baepsays]

Satoru always finds stains all over his bedsheets and pillowcases while doing laundry. Pinks and browns and reds— all lip products. Stains of smudged up shape of lips, left on most of his beddings.

He looks at them and reminisces about; how he shoved your face in the pillow while giving you backshots, or when you had to cover your face with his pillow so his roommate wouldn't be able to hear your moans, or when you'd drool and thrash around and hide your face in the sheets when he'd eat you out.

One second he's looking blank at the marks and the next second he's shoving the sheets in his face and giggling into them like a school girl.

Yeah, he really likes doing laundry.

[suksatoru]

it takes you a handful of minutes before you notice satoru's head resting against your thigh. he's staring off into space. there's a barely noticeable pout on his lips that replaces his trademark grin, and he looks... dejected.

albeit a little clumsily, you slip out of your seat as quietly as you can and lower yourself onto the ground beside him. satoru perks up once he sees you next to him, and everyone else around you two converses noisily, oblivious to you two crouched under the table like little kids.

you give your boyfriend a curious tilt of your head, and he smiles sadly.

"hi there, pretty."

"hi. who are we hiding from?"

there's a flush to your cheeks that is entirely from the drinks you've had tonight. your eyes are a misty haze — and in your intoxicated state, you fail to notice satoru's thumb brush over the small, velvet box in his hand as he tucks it back into his pocket.

tonight had been the night satoru wanted to propose to you. he'd give himself at least a dozen pep talks between waking up and picking you up for your umpteenth date — then, he'd taken you to your favorite restaurant, a modest little place tucked into the outer edges of the city.

he thought it was perfect. despite all the extravagant things that came along with dating the satoru gojo, he wanted your proposal to be personal and special. just the two of you.

what he didn't expect was to run into all of your sorcerer friends and co-workers.

satoru supposes it is kind of his fault for not telling anyone about his plans to propose to you tonight. of course, he planned to tell everyone after you two were formally engaged, but he never considered the possibility that you two could run into others.

before he knew it, tables were being pushed together and chairs were being dragged around to make room for everyone else to join. shoko, suguru, and a few other of your co-workers had all finished up a late night mission and headed to the nearest restaurant — which inconveniently happened to be the one you and satoru were dining at.

"no one in particular," satoru finally says, trying his best to mask his disappointment with a dorky grin as he pokes your cheek.

you catch his hand, eyes squinting as you look closer at him.

"you look sad. is it because i ate your spinach dip?"

your boyfriend gasps, loudly and deeply offended by the accusation as you break out into a silly giggle, telling him to shush before everyone eating notices you two under the table.

"is food the only supposed source of my emotions?" satoru laughs, and you shrug with a slanted grin

"if the shoe fits."

"oh, you are asking for it, little miss—"

his hands find your sides, and you quickly cover your mouth to stifle your laughter as you squirm against him. eventually, shoko's head dips under the table, and her loud burst of laughter manages to distract satoru enough to allow you to pry yourself out of his grip.

"come on, satoru! you didn't even try the chocolate fudge cake yet. nanami accidentally ordered three, let's try and snag one to take home." you suggest with a grin, rising on wobbly legs from under the table and wiggling back into your seat as satoru follows

"ooo — quick! before utahime eats it all!"

his first attempt at proposing was a total fail. but, honestly, satoru can't even be mad. you had a great time tonight with him and all of your friends, so what's there to be disappointed about?

his next try will be better, he's sure of it. and maybeee somewhere on a remote island where the chances of running into anyone else was in the negatives.

in a few years, satoru's hopeful he'll be able to look back at this moment and laugh about it with you. so, he'll forget about the ring in his pocket for now and focus on the present — which was competing in the 'who can eat the most cake without barfing' competition against you.

spoiler alert: he ends up winning :P.... fatass <3

[yamsfrecklvs]

mmmm playing seven minutes in heaven with nerdjo and he gets hard just by looking at you as you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, and he could swear that you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. his breath hitches when you inch closer and he doesn’t know what to do because he’s never been more turned on in his whole life and god he wants you. when your lips are on his, he wastes to time - his hands are roaming over your body, tongues meeting sloppily, your hands through his silky, snowy locks. every fiber of his being feels electric because of your touch, his glasses fogging up as you two make out. the second your hand grazes his chest, the other one slightly tugging on his hair, you can feel him pant on your lips - it takes so little to work him up, and as your fingers slowly trail down onto his stomach, satoru swears he can’t take it anymore. in fact, he doesn’t - he tries to pull away as he whines into your mouth.

embarrassingly loud and oh so sweetly pathetic.

you soon realize that making out with you alone was enough to make him cum. he looks down at you, his pretty sapphire eyes mortified, cheeks flushed and glasses crooked on his nose, as an amused grin creeps up on your lips. yes, this was satisfying - but it’s not nearly enough.

looks like you and satoru are going to be needing way more than seven minutes.

@yamsfrecklvs - this is not proofread i just needed a break from studying

[arminsumi]

Bff!Satoru, who immediately tells every guy that asks about you "Nah, she's out of your league... but not mine."

Bff!Satoru, who denies having hidden feelings for you, ignoring the panging in his chest, "I was just joking."

Bff!Satoru, who claims to be joking around but also hotly presses his lips against your face and finds his way to your lips when he's high on the night air... but then promptly plays it off the next day.

Bff!Satoru who is the first to comment on your posts, especially on photos of you and him — and he stares smittenly into the pixels. Maybe sometimes kisses his screen, right over your lips.

Bff!Satoru who stands tall, 6'3, at your side, so close that people just assume he's your boyfriend.

[blubbduckies]

TiredHusabnd!Gojo x housewife!reader?

..........................................................................................

TiredHusband!Gojo who comes home after many consecutive missions, heavy bags underneath his eyes.

TiredHusband!Gojo who slumps down on the couch, too tired to move yet waves you over to him, pulling you onto his lap and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

TiredHusband!Gojo who seems to recharge just by breathing you in, heart speeding up at how you run your fingers through his soft hair.

TiredHusband!Gojo who snakes his arms around your waist, effectively locking you in place for hours.

TiredHusband!Gojo who somehow falls asleep in that awkward position, yet looks like he’s having the best sleep of his life.

TiredHusband!Gojo who wakes up to you making him a hearty congee for breakfast. One bite and he’s decided one thing for sure: he was NOT going on another mission for a long long time. The high ups could screw themselves.

TiredHusband!Gojo who spends all his time off helping his sweet wife around the house. For the “strongest” he seemed to be lacking at doing housework. Most of the time he’s just slacking off and staring lovingly at you or breaking plates.

[to00fu]

sukugo doodles

[bluebeesknees]

❤️‍🩹

[bluukive]

!MDNI: Random hcs - JJK

an - just some random thoughts about my malewives. VERY explicit, do NOT interact if you're a min0r

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

Fụcks you like he's shooting a pọrno, which he kinda is because of the camera that he's holding. Makes sure to get all the scandalous angles, like close-ups of your pụssy lips spread around his thick length. Obnoxiously zooms in on your face and mocks the way your mouth hangs open and eyes roll back.

Pụssy talking, hehe... has full-blown conversations to you when he's between your thighs and even assigned it she/her pronouns because he's inclusive like that. Tells your drenched cụnt all about his day whilst he's french-kissing your entire pụssy. Licks up all the strands of slick that connect his lips to yours like someone's starved him.

Messy. Won't hesitate to spit in your mouth and kiss you senseless, urging you to do the same. Nasty with it, quite literally tongue-fụcking you to the rhythm of his hips.

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

Has a dacryphilia kink TRUST ME. I don't mean it out of pain, but he likes seeing you cry out of desperation or because of how good HE is making you feel. Not anyone. Just him. He likes kissing or licking away each tear, murmuring condescendingly into your ear about how you look so pretty crying for him.

Wants his hair pulled. Not gently, but enough to have him hissing at the slight sting. He wants his entire head to move when you do this, especially when he's eating you out from below. He doesn't mind it when you forcefully guide his movements like this.

Heavy into worshipping. With you, he'll cụm all over your chest, thighs, ąss. EVERYWHERE, and that includes inside. Suguru would then lick it all up, muttering about how utterly devoted he is to you. His hands are soft when it comes to dragging them all over your body. He truly makes you feel loved.

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

NAASSTYYY MAN mmfngn my fave. This man grunts, groans, treats sẹx like a whole workout session and doesn't feel accomplished until you're both sweaty and red. He's so animalistic when he's really into it, leaving handprints and bite marks wherever he can.

Loves positions that can really show off his strength. This includes full nelson, mating press, doggy with a foot on the back of your neck hello??? Gets all mean when he deems the arch of your back inadequate (Inspired by @/tonycries I LOVE it when she includes this)

Voyeur but only with you. Likes watching you pleasure yourself and failing because he KNOWS he's better than whatever you use on yourself. Jerks off with that stupidly cocky smirk of his, pretending like his bąlls aren't aching to be drained. I don't know who he's trying to fool.

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

Has a secret folder in his phone named something completely random, like 'meetings' or 'important'. The folder only consists of the filthiest voice recordings of you during intimate times (sounds of you taking his cọck so well down your throat, skin slapping against skin, your moans most importantly)

Loves (consensual) sleepy sẹx. He loves how domestic it feels to wake up beside you and coax you into a state of arousal. There's no rush to either of your movements as he spoons you from behind, one leg over your hip and cọck nestled deep within.

Refuses to cụm until you have at least twice. Your pleasure comes first, and he takes great pleasure in gently squeezing his cọck so that he doesn't cụm early (just from seeing you feel good). His head would throw back, exposing the column of his throat that rumbles with a groan from edging himself <3

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

Scent obsessed. His senses are definitely heightened compared to yours, and he'll obscenely sniff every part of you, dragging his nose and tongue in areas ranging from between your legs or the crook of your neck. Can definitely smell the adrenaline and fear when there's (consenual) chasing involved.

Cụms literal buckets. Enjoys seeing that slight pudge in your belly after a thorough marathon of him dumping his thick load into you repeatedly. NOT ashamed to eat you out after either. Maybe fantasises about that bump growing into something more. He thinks you'd look pretty all pregnant with his 'heirs'.

Loves the sound of you gagging on his cọck. He knows he's big, but hearing you struggling to take him deep into your throat boosts his ego even more. Holds you down and feels the way you spasm around him, enjoying the way you let him roll his hips further into your mouth. Dare I say he cụms in your mouth and grips your throat tight enough to feel you swallowing...

[gojoshooter]

HER HO!NY HUSBAND : GOJO SATORU

tw. suggestive, gojo flashes his goodies

Husband!Gojo coming out of the shower with a wet muscular body and a piece of towel hanging along his waist—only to see his wife laying on the bed right in front of him.

Pregnant Wife!Yn who had been insecure of her growing belly and weight since a couple months due to her pregnancy, watches Gojo check her from head to toe, an unexplainable look on his handsome pale face.

Sitting upright, she fixes her loose garments. Maybe he’s finally come to the realisation of not being such a big fan of my mom body.

Husband!Gojo sensing her dejected mood, snaps out of his internal thoughts as he decides to reach out and sit next to her instead.

“Baby? Something’s bothering?” he asks softly, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear.

Pregnant Wife!Yn ever a self-conscious overthinker, mumbles while looking up at her husband, “I saw you gazing at me few a many times now...” she fixes her garment again, in embarrassment “like... weirdly. You start looking stiff all of a sudden, as if you want to confess something. About my bad shape maybe.”

At her confession, Satoru pauses, lips parted open slightly and not sure which part to explain first. He brings a wet but comforting hand on her swollen belly.

“Silly girl. Are you worrying about your plump little adorable tummy again? I told you I like it.”

Pregnant Wife!Yn frowns, not really sure of his words. “Really? Then how would you explain everytime you stopped to stare at me? Your face doesn't seem as if you love it—or even like it, Toru.”

Husband!Gojo who shakes his head, body turning more towards her distressed wife. “I don't like it? I love you and every part of you babe, you know me.”

Yn sighs softly, looking down with an upset face. “I do... but maybe i shouldn't have asked for a baby. I just... I feel like you'd have appreciated my old body more, Toru.”

Satoru snaps his head towards her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. This was his last straw. She has to know what his pregnant, innocent wife does to him.

As he stands up slowly from the edge of the bed, he makes sure she's all eyes and ears. “Oh really now. Then I must give you a real reason to never regret your baby with me...”

Undoing the towel hooked on his dripping wet waist, the white haired man reveals his lower half of the riches. As her eyes set down, there comes in view an almost fully hard wet length of Gojo Satoru.

Pregnant Wife!Yn being taken aback, is unable to react for a good few first seconds, mouth agape. Light hue of red crawls up the neck to settle on her cheeks, when her husband hums in question.

“Mm? You see this? This is what you do to me, silly girl.”

Everything seemed suddenly more reasonable—Gojo stealing those frequent long gazes, his odd body language while he checks his pregnant wife out. Gojo gets aroused.

Pregnant Wife!Yn tears her gaze away from his manhood, cold sweat making her feel more or less like her currently out of shower dripping wet husband. Oh the thoughts that might be running in his perverted brain, all the ways he could take you in and you wouldn't be moving away with all the weight you bear of his baby, but comply, and relish, and whine.

“Oh-oh...” she mumbles shyly, the revelation lessening her insecurity effectively more than all sweet words combined could have ever had.

an. husband gojo >>> also this is my 1k readers special! ty for giving my writings your time, love y'all. likes & rbs are appreciated <33

tags: @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @ruins-posts

[just-cofffee]

Insecure, Gojo Satoru? The strongest? Pff, what are you even talking about?

pt2

Gojo Satoru—who would never admit that doubt stabs into his chest every time he sees you with Nanami. Who, despite hiding behind that cocky smile, feels something twist inside him whenever he watches you talk to him. He observes, scrutinizes every word, every little gesture, searching—no, dreading—a trace of what you once felt.

Gojo Satoru—who can’t stop his mind from poisoning itself with thoughts every time you’re assigned a mission with Nanami. What if you come back saying you remembered why you liked him? What if, after all this time, you realize that someone like Nanami is what you actually need? Someone calmer, more mature. Someone who isn’t a whirlwind of chaos like him.

Gojo Satoru—who, months after you started dating, suddenly understood why Nanami had been your crush for so long. It wasn’t just his composure or his intelligence. It was his maturity, that unwavering confidence that made him seem unshakable. And Gojo… Gojo could make you laugh, he could make you feel light, he could promise you that even when you were sixty, he’d still make you feel young.

Gojo Satoru—who nearly fell apart when he found out that Nanami had also had a crush on you. That in another time, under different circumstances, maybe you would have been his. That the only reason it never happened was because Nanami had been too damn shy. And Gojo wasn’t.

Gojo Satoru—who, this time, didn’t flood you with messages while you were away. No relentless calls, no meme spam, no voice notes whining about how much he missed you. Just silence. And when you finally noticed, you missed his annoying ass, his pretty voice, his laughter, his beautiful face.

Gojo Satoru—who was quieter than usual. No jokes, no teasing Utahime, no attempts to rile up Nobara. Everything about him was… restrained. He even finished his paperwork on time. He hadn’t asked for coffee overloaded with sugar this time.

Gojo Satoru—who bottled up so much tension, so much damn unease, that he didn’t even notice when you walked in. And when you ran to hug him, when you threw yourself at him like you always did—you couldn’t.

His Infinity was activated.

You. Couldn’t. Touch. Him.

You. The one person in the entire world he always deactivated it for.

“Toru…?”

His gaze, uncovered, without blindfold or glasses, lifted to meet yours. There was no warmth. No mischief. No teasing.

Just cold. Distant.

PT2?

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react to your simping

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: request from this ask!

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

It starts as a bit.

A joke.

A funny little thing you do to pass the time.

"Satoru," you say one day, dropping into the seat across from him, locking eyes with the intensity of a protagonist about to deliver a monologue that changes the trajectory of the plot. "You're the most stunning man I've ever laid eyes on. A masterpiece sculpted by the gods. A celestial being walking among mortals."

Gojo, already grinning, slurps his sugar-laden monstrosity of a drink. "Keep going."

"And your eyes," you continue solemnly. "If I stare too long, I think I might ascend. Transcend, even. Witness the birth of a new universe."

"Mmhm, mhm," Gojo hums, nodding. "I am quite pretty."

You squint. "That was supposed to be my bit."

"Hey, I can't help it if you're spitting facts," he says, flipping an imaginary strand of long hair behind his shoulder.

You let it go. But only because you have a mission.

The mission? Spoiling Gojo so hard he actually malfunctions.

Gojo is used to being worshiped. Adored. Gawked at. What he's not used to is someone actually putting in effort beyond the usual "oh my god satoru, you're sooo hot!" routine.

So later that day when you casually drop a bouquet of fresh flowers onto his desk, he blinks. Once. Twice.

"What's this?" he asks, twirling a rose between his fingers.

"A bouquet, obviously," you say. "They reminded me of you."

He preens. "Because they're beautiful?"

"Because they're high-maintenance and will die if left unattended for too long."

He chokes on his own spit.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Gojo is not prepared for the sheer level of simping you unleash upon him.

You leave handwritten love notes in his coat pockets.

You text him daily affirmations like "Rise and shine, my shining deity of a man. May your day be filled with adoration befitting a being of your grandeur."

You make a whole PowerPoint presentation titled "Top 10 Reasons Satoru Gojo is the Pinnacle of Human Evolution", complete with graphs, transitions, and a Q&A section at the end.

Gojo is thriving.

Nanami, witnessing this firsthand, is suffering.

"You're just encouraging him," Nanami says one afternoon as Gojo dramatically rereads a love poem you wrote on parchment paper.

"He's thriving under my care," you say, flipping through a list of future compliments to deploy. "It's called nourishment."

"It's called enabling," Nanami corrects, watching Gojo dramatically place a hand over his heart.

"I AM LOVED," Gojo wails, pretending to faint into his chair.

"What you are is insufferable," Nanami mutters, sipping his black coffee like it's the only thing tethering him to sanity.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You decide to go all in.

You book a fancy restaurant.

You show up with flowers, dressed like you're about to propose.

Gojo, seeing the setup, vibrates with excitement. "Oh my god, am I finally being courted properly?!"

"You deserve nothing less," you say smoothly, pulling out his chair like a true gentleperson.

"You shouldn't have," he fake-swoons, placing a delicate hand on his chest.

"No, you shouldn't have been going on for this long without experiencing the true depths of my affection."

The waiter arrives. You order the most expensive dish for Gojo before he even gets a chance to speak. "He'll have the filet mignon, medium-rare, with truffle butter. And your finest wine."

Gojo grips your hand across the table. "I am beside myself with emotion right now."

"You are a treasure, Satoru," you whisper. "A rare jewel. A divine gift."

Gojo wipes away a single imaginary tear.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

At this point, you've given Gojo too much power.

He now EXPECTS this level of treatment.

"Where's my daily compliment?" he pouts one morning when you forget to text him.

You stare at him. "Satoru. It's 6 AM."

"And yet I am here. Unloved. Unworshipped. Unadored."

"You are a grown man."

"A king should not have to remind his subjects of their duties," he grumbles.

Nanami groans in the background.

You rub your temples. "Satoru."

"Yes, my love?"

"You are—" You take a deep breath. "The sun that lights up my world. The radiant deity upon whom my mortal existence depends."

He beams. "Thank you, beloved."

Nanami leaves the room.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

You had decided enough was enough. Suguru Geto had been prancing around with his stupidly silky hair, his deep, philosophical musings, and his unfairly attractive smirk for too long. It was time to strike.

And by strike, you meant overwhelm him with unhinged romance until he had no choice but to fall for you.

You found him meditating under a tree, all calm and ethereal, probably contemplating the moral complexities of the Jujutsu world or something equally dramatic. You, however, had more important things to discuss.

Like how down bad you were.

"Geto," you declared, standing before him like a medieval knight about to swear fealty, "I offer you this token of my undying admiration."

Then, with a flourish, you revealed—

Chocolates.

Not just any chocolates. You had gone full simp mode and gotten a heart-shaped box.

Geto looked at it. Then at you. "...Should I be concerned?"

"Only about how much I love you," you replied dramatically, shoving the chocolates into his hands.

There was a pause. A long, heavily judgmental pause.

"Are you trying to court me like some kind of high school rom-com protagonist?"

"YES."

Another pause.

"Is it working?" you asked.

Geto opened the box, picked up a chocolate, and took a bite. He chewed slowly, considering. Then—

"...Maybe."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Now, Geto was a cool, composed, and deadly sorcerer.

Which meant it was your job to ruin his life with affection.

So, naturally, you initiated the next phase by hugging him out of nowhere.

This man had fought dangerous curses, but nothing—nothing—could prepare him for the sheer force of your affection.

You launched yourself at him like an affectionate gremlin, wrapping your arms around his waist with the force of a hungry raccoon finding a trash can full of McDonald’s fries.

Geto froze.

"...Are you okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Never," you mumbled into his robe. "But that’s not the point."

"...And the point is?"

"I just think you deserve love and appreciation. And I wanna be the one to give it to you."

Silence.

Then, after a long moment, he sighed, resting a hand on your head.

"...You are ridiculous," he muttered.

"You love it."

"...Perhaps."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

By the end of the week, Geto had officially accepted your nonsense.

You’d catch him hoarding the chocolates like some kind of dragon. You saw him smiling to himself after one of your many, many dramatic compliments.

And when you finally mustered the courage to ask, "So, does this mean we’re dating now?"

Geto, ever the enigma, smirked and patted your head.

"...I suppose I should accept my fate."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

Nanami is a serious man. A man who, if given the choice, would rather be doing his taxes than engaging in anything even remotely resembling romance. Not because he doesn’t want romance, but because romance requires effort, and effort is, unfortunately, time-consuming.

Which is why you have taken it upon yourself to court this man like a medieval suitor with a crush so strong it could level a small village.

You decide today is the day. The day you finally ask Nanami out. The plan is simple:

1. Find Nanami.

2. Say, "Hey, I like you, wanna go out?"

3. Win.

It’s foolproof. You are a genius.

Nanami, as per usual, is dressed like the world's most exhausted salaryman, sipping a coffee that he is holding like it’s the only thing tethering him to existence.

"Nanami," you say, feeling the confidence of a thousand mediocre fuckboys online.

He looks at you. His gaze is neutral. Calculating. As if he can already sense that whatever is about to come out of your mouth will disrupt the fragile equilibrium of his sanity.

You inhale deeply. Go for it.

"Would you like to engage in a mutually agreed-upon romantic outing with me where I attempt to woo you with my sheer charisma and a potentially expensive dinner?"

Silence.

Nanami blinks. Once. Twice.

Then he takes an excruciatingly slow sip of his coffee, as if using the liquid as a buffer to process the sheer absurdity of your phrasing.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"That depends," you say, doubling down. "Did it work?"

Nanami stares at you. Then sighs.

"Sure."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Since you have decided to be the biggest simp for Nanami, you have prepared a gift to give him at the beginning of your date. Something that says I am a responsible adult capable of mature affection while also saying I would die for you, sir.

Which is how you find yourself handing Nanami a loaf of bread from his favorite bakery.

Nanami, a man who has spent years perfecting the art of keeping a neutral expression, visibly falters.

Nanami stares at the bread. Then at you. Then at the bread again, as if he is trying to determine whether or not you are a figment of his own overworked imagination.

Finally, he says, "Thank you."

Which, in Nanami Language, translates roughly to: I have never been more emotionally moved in my life.

You, being the proactive, aggressive simp that you are, have decided to push boundaries. Specifically, physical affection boundaries.

So later on the date, you do the unthinkable. You hold his hand.

Nanami, a grown man who has fought literal curses and experienced horrors beyond human comprehension, immediately short-circuits.

His posture stiffens like he’s just been accused of tax fraud. His grip tightens slightly, as if he’s afraid you might just evaporate if he doesn’t hold on properly.

"This is fine," he says, in the tone of someone who is very much not fine.

You squeeze his hand. "I could kiss you, you know."

Nanami exhales so hard it could power a wind turbine.

"Please do not say such things in public."

"You want me to save it for when we're alone?"

Nanami looks at you like he is considering whether it would be socially acceptable to walk into the ocean and never return.

You grin. You have won.

And Nanami, though he will never admit it, likes losing to you.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

You had a plan.

A stupid, possibly catastrophic plan.

But you were going to ask Choso out.

The issue? Choso was built different.

Not in the "cool, gym-rat, grinds at 4 AM" way. Not even in the "mysterious loner with a dark past" way. No. Choso was built different in the "has absolutely no understanding of normal social cues" way. He had the emotional intelligence of a Roomba. He walked like an NPC. He stared at inanimate objects like they had personally wronged him.

And, worst of all, he had no idea you were trying to make moves.

You had flirted. You had winked at him. You had complimented his little pigtails. You had even touched his arm, which, in romance language, was basically a marriage proposal.

Nothing.

Choso was simply not getting it.

So now, you were taking a more direct approach. You were going to spoil him until he physically had to acknowledge your affection.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You waited until Choso was comfortably seated at your usual hangout spot—a little café that had tolerated your nonsense for far too long.

You slammed a neatly wrapped box onto the table with the intensity of someone presenting a sacred artifact to the gods.

Choso blinked. Slowly. Then looked at you.

“...Am I being arrested?”

“What? No!”

He looked down at the box again. Then back at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Choso. Open it.”

Choso stared at the box like it might explode. Then, with all the hesitance of a man defusing a bomb, he started unwrapping it.

Inside was a custom hoodie—black with deep purple accents, soft as hell, and embroidered on the sleeve with “Best Big Bro” in delicate script.

Because if there was one thing Choso loved more than you (debatable), it was being a big brother.

Choso stared at it. Completely frozen.

You waited. And waited. And—

“…Do you not like it?” you asked, anxiety creeping in.

Choso lifted his head, and you almost gasped.

He looked emotionally compromised.

Like, full processing error. His eyes had slightly widened, and his mouth opened just a little, like he was trying to form words but had temporarily forgotten how human speech worked.

He lifted the hoodie like it was the most valuable thing he had ever received.

“You got this… for me?”

Your heart lurched. “Yeah, dude. It’s literally yours.”

Choso gently set the hoodie down, stood up, and left the café.

…

HE LEFT THE CAFÉ.

You sat there, dumbfounded, watching the door swing shut behind him. You did not know how to feel.

What the hell just happened?

Did he hate it? Was he rejecting your affection?

But just as you were about to spiral into a crisis, the door slammed open again.

Choso returned, looking like he had gone outside to scream into the sky.

He stopped in front of you, took a deep breath, and said, “I did not know how to process that.”

“…The hoodie?”

Choso nodded, completely serious.

“It was too much.” He exhaled deeply, as if he had just lived through a traumatic event. “I had to step outside. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”

Before you could even respond, Choso dropped into the chair across from you, locked eyes, and grabbed your hands.

“You are important to me,” he said, voice dead serious. “I don’t know how to handle being… doted on. But I will try.”

“…So you like it?” you managed to choke out.

Choso nodded. Solemn. Deeply sincere.

“I will cherish it forever.”

He paused.

“Do I have to pay you back?”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Despite the initial trauma, Choso wore that hoodie everywhere.

And you mean everywhere.

Grocery shopping? Hoodie. Training? Hoodie. A formal event? He debated wearing the hoodie.

Every time you saw him in it, your heart grew three sizes.

And the best part? Choso finally got the hint.

Or rather, he returned the favor in his own extremely weird way.

One day, he solemnly presents you with a tiny, perfectly round rock.

“This is for you.”

You stare at it. “…Choso. Is this just... A rock?”

Choso nods, his expression grave and intense. “It reminded me of you.”

You don’t know what that means, but you’re keeping the rock forever.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

So, you’ve decided to ask Toji Fushiguro out. Bold of you. Statistically speaking, your chances of success are equivalent to trying to microwave a Hot Pocket evenly—low but not impossible.

You approach him, full of misplaced confidence, and hit him with:

"Hey, I think you’re hot. Want to go out?"

Toji stares at you. For the first time in his life, he is the one being objectified, and he does not know how to cope.

“...You serious?” he asks, popping a toothpick into his mouth like he’s the protagonist of a Western movie.

You nod, mostly because you’ve already committed and retreating would be embarrassing.

Toji, a man who survives off hitman money and food bribery, strokes his chin as if he’s considering a very important life decision. "Eh. You payin’?"

Ah, yes. Romance.

You, a modern working-class citizen barely scraping by, sigh deeply. “Sure.”

He grins. "Alright, babe. As long as I get fed, I’m yours."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Most people might play it cool. You, however, are about to hit Toji with full-throttle, maximum-effort simping.

You start hyping him up like a Twitch chat during a speedrun:

"Oh, wow, you lifted that entire sofa by yourself? That’s crazy, I didn’t know Greek gods were still around."

"Bro, your arms? Jail. Straight to jail."

"You look like you commit tax fraud in a really attractive way."

Toji, completely unused to someone simping this hard for him, just stares at you. "The hell is wrong with you?"

But he doesn’t tell you to stop.

No, instead, he starts getting visibly cocky. His smirks get more frequent. He starts cracking his neck more, flexing just because. At one point, he lifts an entire vending machine with one hand just to “see if you’d react.”

(You do. You react violently. Your soul momentarily leaves your body. He finds this hilarious.)

"Man, this is fun," he mutters, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s now just performing feats of strength for your entertainment like a circus strongman.

Eventually you decide it’s time to go full simp mode. You present him with The Ultimate Romantic Gift™—a custom, high-quality, weighted blanket.

Yes. A weighted blanket.

Toji blinks at it. "The hell is this?"

"It’s a weighted blanket. It helps with sleeping. It’s supposed to feel like a hug."

Toji, a man who absolutely does not get enough proper sleep, picks it up and frowns at the heft of it. "Why would I want my blanket to hug me?"

"Because you have unresolved trauma, and I love you."

Toji pauses. Stares at you. Stares at the blanket. Stares back at you. His grip tightens like you just handed him a weapon of mass destruction.

"Holy shit," he mutters under his breath. He looks almost…emotional? No, wait. You think he’s malfunctioning. His brain is short-circuiting from the sheer thought of someone giving him something that doesn’t explode.

Toji does not say thank you (because he’s emotionally repressed), but that night, he's completely KO’d under the blanket, snoring like a bear hibernating for the winter.

He has never slept so well in his life.

The next morning, he casually throws an arm around your shoulder and mutters, "Aight, I’ll keep ya."

[suksatoru]

"if you can hear me, chosen one, give me your strongest kick."

you lift your gaze from the book page pinched between your fingers and offer satoru an unimpressed glare. as scolding as you try to appear, there's a hint of a smile tugging your lips upward at his ridiculously adorable antics.

"i think our princess might be napping," he hums, pressing a flurry of kisses over the swell of your stomach as you squirm under his touch, wiggling your toes.

"you're going to be late, satoru! weren't you supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago?"

"hahh?"

he drops his face back onto your stomach gently, sighing happily as his hand glides over the soft bump. you decide to let him lie with you for a little while longer—the soft smile etched onto his face was far too precious to disturb.

"i'll text nanami and let him know you'll be a bit late to the mission, okay?" you say softly, carding a hand through his platinum locks as he hums softly, lashes fluttering close.

satoru talked to the baby in your belly quite often—even going as far as having full-on conversations with her. there had been countless nights where you stirred awake only to hear his silky sweet voice muffled against your stomach, all while he gazed starry eyed at the gentle curve of your stomach in front of him.

satoru's dearest dream had always been to have a family. it was a quiet truth he wouldn't ever dare to speak into existence because it didn't seem possible in any universe—but somehow, he stumbled upon a way. and now he gets to spend his evenings like this with you.

satoru's boundless affection during your pregnancy will forever be something you would be grateful for. the fondest thing you would look back on would have to be the endless amount of baby clothes he got—satoru had even purchased a matching set of onesies for all three of you to wear. typical satoru. he was adamant about making sure the three of you would have a bunch of pictures together as a family so he'd be able to send everyone he knew those corny holiday cards he always saw on tv—the only reason you remember that moment from so long ago right now is because of the phone call you received.

"hello?" you speak in a hushed tone, rocking the ivory haired baby in the crib next to you gently as you hold your phone between your cheek and shoulder.

"hello! is this mrs. gojo? i'm calling to confirm your family photoshoot scheduled for next week. it's the two hour session. it looks like you scheduled it a little over a year ago?" her voice comes to life through the phone, and your rocking slows to a stop.

"oh," is all you can manage at first.

you hear the sound of her typing come to a slow stop as she waits for your response. you resume rocking your daughter's crib before answering.

"i'm sorry, but it seems like my husband forgot to cancel the appointment."

she goes on a bit of a tangent, gently scolding you because the company was extremely busy with numerous photoshoots and you had canceled so last minute—but she promised to get it fixed and have the money refunded as soon as possible.

the line beeps quietly when you drop the call, and your hand feels perpetually numb as you drop your phone into your lap.

you rub at the sting that blinds your eyes a second later before rising on wobbly legs, not checking if your baby is asleep as you stumble towards your bedroom's balcony door and slide it open. you tuck your knees under you on the ground and rest your head against the railing, allowing the cool metal to be pressed against your cheek as you take a steadying breath.

you were nearing the one year anniversary of satoru's death and, quite stupidly at that, thought you'd be in a better condition by now. but his presence was irreplaceable—and it was moments like this where you were reminded how painful it was to lose your soulmate in the blink of an eye.

the night air kisses your cheek, whipping your hair around gently as it falls over your eyes—and the sensation is uncannily familiar to the way satoru's slender fingers would play with your hair and tickle your cheek whenever he was in a particularly playful mood.

the night traffic flowing beneath you fades to nothing as the wind whirls around you—but, it felt like if you closed your eyes hard enough, strained your ears as much as possible—then maybe you could make yourself believe that the whistling wind whizzing past your ear was satoru's voice lulling the ache in your chest away instead.