✎ wife
- gojo satoru x reader
in which the new batch of first years are unaware that their eccentric teacher's wife is the pretty woman roaming the school grounds
genre:
fluff, crack, gojo being a silly little menace as always, yuji and nobara are confused, an attempt at humor, lovesick gojo, mention of breastfeeding
note:
it’s so silly but i had fun writing this! based on a request by anon (thank you!) but i tweaked it a bit and partly inspired by this fanart. reader is also a teacher at jujutsu high and has a baby with gojo—loosely a continuation of protect
a part of gojo's love entries
general masterlist
"Take that off immediately!"
"Kyaaah~! Yuji is here, you pervert!"
Yuji was a laughing mess. Megumi and Nobara collectively sighed. Nanami attempted to retrieve his once-immaculate suit, now a crumpled mess, from the one and only Gojo Satoru, who found humor in stealing his signature attire and impersonating the stern-faced Nanami in front of his fresh batch of first years.
"He is incorrigible," Nobara grumbled, her eyes slitting. They said that he was a strong sorcerer, possibly the strongest there was, but she found it really hard to believe.
Megumi threw her a deadpan stare. With many years of putting up with this kind of antics under his belt, he pitied her for not knowing that this was far from the worst. "Yeah, he is."
"How does anyone ever put up with him?"
That was actually a good question. "We don't..." Megumi paused, recalling each and every occasion where he tried to do so. "His wife is probably the only one who can."
Nobara sputtered, spinning towards him. "What the—wife? That annoying man has an actual, living, breathing wife?"
"Who? Gojo-sensei?" Yuji chimed in, jumping into the conversation, leaving the supposedly two adults in their catfight. Nanami was still clawing to get his suit back, and Gojo continued to giggle and evade him, playfully running away.
Nobara scoffed. "I bet the woman just married him for the money. He comes from prestigious clan, yes? That must be it."
Yuji felt his eyes would pop out of its sockets. "What are you talking about, Kugisaki!? What woman—"
"Shut up, Itadori! Don't be too loud!"
Nobara and Yuji's unharmonious ruckus irritated Megumi to the bone, and he decided that the best course of action now was to leave them all in the dust. With a glare and a shake of his head, he stalked away.
And thus the two new first years were left with half-truths that would lead them into a major misadventure later that day—
—which happened when they spotted Nanami with you, whom they were still unfamiliar with.
They were convinced that Gojo’s wife must be some sort of boring tramp eyeing his wealth and not this positively radiant, mature woman, and so ruling that possibility out, they positively swooned at the sight before them.
"He's irresponsible, egotistical—" snippets of Nanami's frustrated words conveyed enough to paint a picture of Gojo's character. He was definitely ranting about Gojo to you.
"Is that Nanamin's wife?" Yuji mused, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "She is so pretty..."
"They... look cute together," Nobara hummed with dreamy eyes, and then looked at Yuji sharply. "And yes, she's indeed pretty, but know your place, Itadori!"
"I know!"
Based on how the two of you interacted, they concluded that you must have been close, with the way Nanami visibly relaxed around you, and not as formal as he was with anyone else. They highly suspected that the two of you were married, as you wore a ring, which was the ultimate sign.
"And how's the baby?" Nanami asked then, directing the question to you with a smile on his face, prompting surprised gasps from both Yuji and Nobara.
You were glowing, to say the least, and when you let out a small giggle at his question, even both students couldn't miss the way your expression exuded pure happiness. "He is well. Ah, I really wanted to bring him along too, but he was a little messy after eating so I left him at home. You can see him later…"
Yuji gaped. "So it's true..."
"Oh my gosh... and they have a baby." Nobara almost squealed.
And that sealed it. The headline of the day: Nanami is married to this stunning woman wandering the school grounds.
So imagine their utter shock when the second time they found you, you were with Gojo, and he was shamelessly snogging you in the hallway.
“Why are you here?” Gojo was breathless after the soul-sucking kiss he smothered you. His tone remained playful yet carried a clear undertone of concern. "You're still on maternity leave. I'll make sure Yaga knows that."
“Satoru,” you whined, and the use of his given name made Yuji and Nobara gasp in disbelief. “I’m perfectly okay and I don’t need to breastfeed anymore. I should start getting back to work.”
Nobara seemed to finally understand the implication. But Yuji didn’t. His mind flitting from one scandalous idea to another—
Gojo-sensei seducing Nanamin’s wife? Nanamin’s wife cheating on him with Gojo-sensei?
In the brief period he spent with Gojo, Yuji realized that he didn't exactly have a reputation for decency. So despite himself, he could only muster up this one word: “Homewrecker. Homewrecker!”
Yuji’s shriek took all three of you by surprise, and now both you and Gojo were aware of his presence.
“You absolute idiot,” Nobara hissed, face-palming.
“Oh, Yuji? Nobara?” Gojo genially asked, his concern towards you quickly dissolved into a meaningful smirk on his face. “And what do you mean by—?”
Yuji yelped. “You! You are! You’re trying to seduce Nanamin’s wife!”
Silence. Gojo’s eyes twitched beyond his blindfold. You blinked. Nobara wanted to save herself from the second-hand embarrassment. And his loud voice caught the attention of Megumi too, who was close by.
“You seem to be mistaken. First of all, Nanami isn’t married,” Gojo said with a strained voice, maintaining his smile. He then gestured at you, showing you off with pride. “And this here, is my wife.”
“Y-your wife?!” Yuji exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger. “H-how?! I saw her with Nanamin! Talking about a baby—”
“That would be my baby.”
“But how?!”
“Yuji, do you want me to give you a crash course in baby-making—”
“Satoru!”
You sent him a glare and turned to the young first years with a smile. "You must be the new first years? I’m Y/N, and I’m in charge of the second years.” You gestured towards your husband. “And please, ignore most things he says. He’s a bit crass, and if you ever feel he's harassed you, don't hesitate to report it to me."
“Wifey! How could you!”
“Shut up, Satoru! You’re embarrassing yourself!”
“What are you doing here?” Megumi inquired with a deep frown, getting between Yuji and Nobara as they stared at Gojo in total bewilderment.
Yuji exclaimed in disbelief, pointing at you. “Fushiguro! Gojo-sensei’s wife is a beauty!”
“…I know that already.”
Nobara whipped her head towards him. "You knew?! Since when?!"
“They… took me in.”
“THEY WHAT?!”
Gojo grinned at their chorus of surprise. “And what a fine boy he turns out to be, eh?”
Megumi scowled, but Gojo wasn’t bothered at all. If anything, what offended him was—
"What makes you think my dear wife here belongs to Nanami instead of me?" he joked with a mock scoff, earning an eye roll from you.
Nobara and Yuji blurted out their thoughts simultaneously.
“They look good together?”
“Nanamin is dependable?”
Gojo gasped dramatically, one hand flying to his mouth. "So, not only do I not look good with her, but I also don't seem dependable enough?" He turned to you with the most aghast expression. “Tell me that isn’t true—”
You shot him a withering look, deadpanning, “Actually, you might be.”
And Gojo clutched his chest, letting out an anguished cry.
Epilogue
“Satoru… come on, you know I was joking.”
Your dramatic ass of a husband had his head on your lap, hugging your torso tight. The pout on his face hadn’t faded a bit ever since he was done with his class, and now on your marital bed, he was clinging to you with all of his might.
He shook his head petulantly, clicking his tongue. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of my students. You’re so mean!”
You sighed. “I’m sure you have made a fool out of yourself far often. This is insignificant.”
“Hmph! How could you say that?! I don't care if it's me, but I can't believe that it's coming from you! I shower you with my undivided love each and every day!”
“Yeah, yeah…”
Somehow seeing him like this made your heart lurch. He reminded you so much of your baby boy who was sleeping right in the next room that you couldn't resist smiling and pinching his cheeks.
“Okay, okay. My husband is handsome, looks good with me and definitely someone I can rely on,” you relented, and like a lightbulb going off, Satoru suddenly beamed so wide that you were certain his cheeks hurt.
“That’s more like it! Now, now, there’s only one way that can prove how responsible I am! Let me just fill you up with another baby—”
You smacked him on the head.
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You get drunk and don't remember giving them a hickey. So you get mad at them.
Oh, anon! I love love love this prompt. Even though the prompt itself is fairly straightforward, there is some wiggle room about how this could play out. I stuck to the prompt but did my best to keep them on the shorter side.
Some of these get spicy but don't fall into graphic detail.
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, arguing, sexual tension, kissing, alcohol
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
“These reports are shit, Price. What am I supposed to do with them?”
You’re trying your best not to sound irritated, but your head is pounding. You agreed to go out for drinks but told yourself you wouldn’t have more than one or two. That went completely out the door when multiple people began paying for rounds. After the fourth, the night started to come blurry. Not all the pieces are there.
Of what you can recall from last night, you remember that you sat in a man’s lap. Well—sat isn’t the correct word. More like straddled. You remember strong arms, an accent, and an excitement in what you were doing. But the face is still foggy.
“What you always do,” replies Price. There’s a tease in his tone you don’t particularly like. It’s too friendly, and it stirs something fierce inside your belly.
Price shifts in his chair behind his desk, the collar of his jacket flops open slightly. You catch a hint of something dark on the side of Price’s neck. You frown, your rebuttal gone.
“What is that?” You nod toward his throat.
Price leans back. “What?” he asks. “This?” He reaches up, pulling back on the collar.
It’s a…oh fuck.
“You were happy to give it to me.” Price shrugs.
Fuck.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, tossing the manila file folder on Price’s desk.
The man you straddled last night was Price? The man who is always fucking up reports and ignoring all your suggestions for corrections? That one?
“You looked good doing it, too,” he continues, that teasing smile falling into a comfortability of a lover.
No. No no no.
You place your hands on your hips. “And you let me do that?”
Price shrugs. “We’re consenting adults.”
“I was drunk.”
Price crosses his arms over his chest. “We were both drunk. And you’re the one who pounced on me.”
Embarrassment rises hot and wild in your cheeks. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You did,” he confirms, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he smirks. “Ambushed me actually.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Your voice cracks, going a bit high.
“I tried.”
That’s almost worse. You jumped him and then sucked on his neck until it left a mark. What an absolute fucking mess.
You roll your eyes. “You tried? A big strong man like you couldn’t stop me?”
This time Price is the one rolling his eyes. He makes an irritated groan. Price pushes up from his chair, one hand waving out in front of him as he speaks. “You said you’d been thinking about me.”
It’s not entirely untrue. While you attend the clerical side of things, you do make excuses to come see Price. He’s older. Handsome. Assertive. His reports aren’t always shit but it’s the only reason you have to bother him.
“I didn’t mean it,” you reply but even you don’t believe it.
Price comes around the desk and steps into your space. “Really?”
You square your shoulders, staring into Price’s face. “Really.”
He shakes his head, clearly not believing you at all. “As I recall, you were in my lap. Practically begging.”
“And you allowed that? In front of everyone?” Even Price couldn’t be that careless.
This time, Price smiles like he knows something you don’t. “You don’t remember.”
“What?” you ask, flustered.
Price starts laughing, but it’s not mocking, more like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“John,” you snap.
Price sinks down into his chair, legs spread wide. “I think I liked it better when you said my name while seated in my lap.”
Your fingers dig into the top of Price’s desk. Pieces begin to return. Fragments of you squirming in his lap. Lips pressed against his.
“How did you say it?” he ponders, almost aloud rather than to you. Then, he smiles, not even answering his own question.
Price rests his palm on his thigh and your gaze drops to its subtle movement before returning to his face.
“Think I’d like a matching one,” he says. He runs his hand down his thigh and then back up. “Or I could give you one just like it.”
“John,” you murmur, not knowing what it is you want to say.
“Doesn’t have to be on your neck,” and his voice is nearly a growl. Price lightly squeezes his thigh and you know exactly where he’s referring to. “Be easier if you sit on the desk.”
You snatch up the folder on Price’s desk, clutching it like a shield against your chest. Price doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t appear fazed at all. Stomping over you shove it against his chest, intending to walk right out the door.
But Price is quick.
With one hand he’s clutching the file and with the other he grabs your wrist before you manage to move away.
“Remove your hand,” you say but there is no venom in it.
Price’s gaze lingers on your lips before shifting up to meet your eyes. “Come back when you know what you want.”
Price releases you, and you nearly stumble forward into his lap. Catching yourself on the edge of his desk, you spin on your heel, exiting Price’s office as the final fragments of memory fall into place.
You don’t want to admit it.
Not out loud. Not yet.
But you will be back.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
It’s unbelievable. Unfathomable.
You’re not angry with Kyle. You’re upset with yourself. You’re upset that you were so careless about how many drinks you had, and how you couldn’t control yourself in the moment. Kyle is not a liar, and he doesn’t take advantage, so whatever you did, is on you.
“I’m sorry,” you say, swallowing down some of the rising irritation. “It’s my fault.”
Kyle shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face. “Not like I pushed you away.”
“That doesn’t matter,” you insist, flinging your arms out in exasperation, nearly knocking over bottles of cleaner.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, catching one of them before it hits the floor.
This little storage room isn’t big enough for this. You need space. You need to run far away from here and pretend like last night didn’t happen. Not that you can remember all of it. You don’t recall giving Kyle that mark on his neck.
“It does matter. We both had too much but I still had more of my head than you did.” Kyle places the bottle of cleaner back on the shelf. “I should’ve done better.”
“We’re coworkers, Kyle. And I had no right. We aren’t together.”
Kyle smirks and you want to smack it right off his face. “We could be,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.
“Absolutely not,” you retort but you don’t retreat.
Kyle’s smirk faulters a bit but he doesn’t shrink away. If anything, he looks more determined, like the rejection is a farce.
“You remember anything you said to me last night?”
You lick your lips and cross your arms defensively over your chest. “Even if I did, does it change anything?”
Kyle sighs and runs his hand over the top of his head. “It does for me.”
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you consider your options. Kyle is a sweet man, at least to you. Everyone always comments on it to you when he isn’t around, and you’ve always dismissed their observations.
Maybe he does care, and you doing this tipped him over the edge into a place neither of you might be able to come back from.
“I need some fucking air,” you mutter, wanting to escape this situation, even for a bit.
Kyle shoves forward, blocking the door. Your lips move, forming the shapes of words, but Kyle shakes his head, all seriousness.
“We need to talk about this.”
“We don’t need to talk about anything,” you snap.
Kyle’s eyebrows rise toward his hairline and his head tips slightly to the side, revealing more of the mark. “Everyone knows what happened.”
“What?” you breathe.
“We weren’t alone when you straddled me.” You’re too stunned to speak. All the words you want to say are gone. Lost to the void that is your mind.
Kyle sighs and leans against the door. “Soap got a great view.”
“Stop talking. Just—stop.” Your throw up your hands and Kyle does as you ask. “You are going to move out of my way. I am going to leave. And we won’t talk about this again.”
Kyle only stares, the silence stretching.
When you think he won’t give in, Kyle shifts to his left, leaving the door completely clear. Without taking a second to reconsider, you push open the the door, nearly running over Soap in the process.
He stumbles backward, cheeks bright red. Ghost is next to him, arms crossed, staring at the wall like he isn’t there at all.
Soap’s brief fluster turns into a wide, knowing grin. “Gaz give you a matching one?” he teases.
Ghost makes a noise that sounds like a snort.
“Both of you can fuck off.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“Ghost.”
“What?” he grunts, side-eyeing you before returning his attention back to the tablet in his hand. He absently rubs at his neck for the third time in the last few minutes.
You frown. “Are you injured?”
“Why would you think that?” he asks, tapping at something on the screen.
“You keep rubbing your neck.”
Ghost pauses, his finger hovering just above the screen as he turns slightly in your direction.
You’re not trying to be pushy or nosy. Ghosts hates that. But there’s something wrong, and you care enough to ask him about it.
“You know what’s on my neck,” he replies cooly.
“No. I don’t.” A swirling fracture of unease blooms in your belly. It curls outward to claw up your throat. “What are you talking about?”
Ghost’s hand holding the tablet drops to his side. With one gloved hand, he reaches up, tugging the neckline of his jacket down enough to reveal a portion of his throat. The mask he always wears is in the way, but you reach out with a tentative hand, brushing the fabric upward to reveal a mouth-shaped bruise.
You drop your hand and take a step back. “Why would I know anything about that?”
“You gave it to me,” he says, matter of fact.
Sure, you had a few drinks last night, but did you really have that many? Enough that you can’t recall giving Ghost a goddamn hickey.
“You’re mistaken.”
“Never wrong, love.” Ghost locks the tablet and places it on the table next to him. “Especially about a woman sitting in my lap.”
“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“It’s not.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, hips adjusting slightly as he pivots to glare down at you. “Try again.”
A deep rush of embarrassment floods your system, curling up your neck to heat your cheeks. “I wouldn’t.”
“You did,” insists Ghost. You glance down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. Perhaps you had one too many. Sometimes you can hold your alcohol but clearly not. At least not last night.
You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” An apology is best. You have no idea how Ghost feels about you, but you are irritated that he didn’t try to stop the whole thing in the first place.
Ghost is silent a long moment. “I’m not.” Your head snaps up, but Ghost isn’t done. “I liked it. And you enjoyed giving it to me.”
You need the pieces to fall back into place. You need to remember. Because right now, you’re just confused, and Ghost’s behavior is entirely different from his usual demeanor.
“You don’t know that.”
Ghost shrugs. “I do.”
His certainty is confusing. Ghost is not a liar. He is always truthful, always to the point, even if his bluntness comes across as rude. And that’s what so frustrating about it all because you know that Ghost is right. You probably did like it, probably begged and writhed in his lap. Ghost wouldn’t lie about something like that, but he would tease you. Might even hold it over your head.
“This conversation is over.” You step around him to grab the tablet, but Ghost is quick like a viper, his large hand encasing your wrist.
“Do you remember?”
No. I don’t.
“It doesn’t matter.” You try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, but Ghost holds firm.
“When you’re ready. Find me.” He leans forward, masked face nearly touching the side of your cheek. “We’ll recreate it.”
Then his hand is gone, and Ghost is pulling away, presenting the tablet to you like he didn’t say anything at all.
John "Soap" MacTavish
“What the fuck is that?”
Soap’s brilliant smile turns in your direction. He sits on the seat of a bench press, elbows resting on knees, sweat dripping from his brow. Soap is shirtless and a white towel is draped over the back of his neck.
Reaching up with the edge of the towel, Soap wipes away some of the sweat on his face. “What are you on about?” He adjusts his stance, his large palm pressing into his knee as he leans on an elbow.
The small gym isn’t crowded but there are people here. Some of them turn and glance in your direction but otherwise keep to their business. Ghost and Gaz are over by the boxing ring observing a few new recruits who slug it out for bragging rights.
Is Soap so aloof? Does he not see the massive mark on the side of his neck? And who gave it to him? A group of you went out for drinks but you don’t recall who might have given it to him or when.
You step closer, lowering your voice. “Your neck, Johnny.”
That gorgeous smile of his widens and he chuckles. “Did you forget?”
Did you forget? Forget what? Are you part of this?
You swallow, the salvia nearly sticking in your throat as you try to calm your thudding heart. “What do you mean?”
Soap leans back a bit, observing you. “You gave this to me.” His voice is too loud, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one’s heard. Everyone appears to be preoccupied with the recruits in the ring.
“I didn’t,” you insist, turning back to him. “I’d remember.”
Soap guffaws and removes the towel from around his neck. “Took a seat right here.” He indicates the spot by tapping his left thigh.
“Did we…” you begin, and then trail off.
“Did we what?” he prompts, clearly enjoying this.
You bend forward, lowering your voice until it’s a hiss. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Soap smirks, and then rises to his full height. “Promise I was a perfect gentleman.” He matches your movement, leaning in so that your faces are close. “But you? You were no lady.”
You inhale sharply, and Soap pushes right past you, heading for the showers.
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