#(っˆ ³(ˊ ᵕ ˋก ) ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ࿐ྂ

[peaktora]

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

��𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”

[peaktora]

𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄: 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍˚◞♡ ⃗ dad!satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ instead of sleeping, satoru and your daughter argue over what to name her stuffed dragon.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊1.9k words. established relationship (#married). the toddler dialogue is purposefully not structured correctly since it’s words from a toddler. fem!reader. intended lowercase. warning: you will wish you had a kid with gojo after reading this.

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊this was gonna be a basic thought post, but i got more and more interested in the concept and was like “y’know what? fuck it, ima just make this into a full fic.” so here we are with a more full look at dad!gojo <3.

satoru mumbles, "but i think he likes being called spike,” and it's obvious that he's sulking. you don't even have to look up from your book to confirm it.

“well, you don't know him like i do!” your daughter replies, tucking herself into your side.

you flip through the picture book's pages fast, just getting brief glances of its colorful illustrations. unicorns, dragons, knights, and princesses decorated the pages. after turning the last page, you sigh and put the book down on the nightstand. despite the fact that the book was designed for toddlers, it actually looked interesting. you just know you would love to read it to your toddler. you can imagine yourself reading it to her, seeing the excitement on her face as she explores the world of fantasy—her absolute favorite genre.

but unfortunately, that image in your head will have to wait for another day, because her attention? is completely taken by the debate between her and her father.

how the argument started is beyond you. just ten minutes ago, you and satoru were snuggled up on your daughter’s bed, trying to read her to sleep. and now? satoru and her are in a heated debate over what to name her stuffed dragon. it's tough not to be amazed at how something so easy can become so complicated with him.

"i bought him, drove him around in my car, and wrapped him up in a cute little box for you. i think we know each other pretty well.” satoru smiles and reaches across the bed for the dragon.

“nuh-uh! he not even like you!” your toddler, with her tiny hands and puffed cheeks, clutches her stuffed dragon tightly against her chest. the plushie, its vibrant green scales and friendly eyes, seemed to come alive in her hold.

he retreats back to his seat on the edge of your daughter's bed, his lips curled into a frown as he asks, "how come?"

her mouth opens, then closes again. you look away for a moment to give satoru a look of disapproval, and by the time you return your attention to her, her brows are already starting to furrow. she mumbles under her breath, "because," running her small fingers around the plush dragon’s ear. she looks to be at a loss for words, as if she hasn't come up with an answer to satoru's question.

but that's okay, since you—happily, do.

"because you’re taking his time away from storytime. and satoru, in case you didn't know? when it's time to go to bed, we have storytime.”

your daughter looks up, her face beaming as she screams, "yup! and mommy picks the super-duper bestest stories ever!"

satoru gasps, his eyes never leaving yours as he rises from his bed and holds his chest. "baby, who's side are you on?"

you roll your eyes, "i'm just sa—"

"oh, sweetheart," he mumbles as he rushes around the corner of the bed, his movements quick to reach your side. without wasting a second, he rests a palm on your forehead, checking your temperature with a clear look of false concern. concerned people don’t have to hold back the urge to smile. actually, they don't have a smile at all—but for some reason, satoru does, and he's terrible at hiding it. "are you sick? having some hallucinations? is that why you've decided to side with enemy?”

your daughter giggles, and it only feeds satoru's act.

he turns his head towards the source of the giggles. a playful pout forms on his lips as he teasingly asks, "or did this little munchkin of ours use her princess magic to change your mind? she has a way of doing that to me sometimes, y’know."

his free hand reaches towards your toddler, fingers wiggling in anticipation. as his fingers make contact with your little one's soft, ticklish skin, even more giggles slip past her lips.

she tries to squirm away from his touch, but that's when he adds another hand to the tickle fest, and all chance of escape is gone. at that point, she visibly gives up, curling into herself to try to halt her dad’s tickling.

“i-i don’t have powers, daddy!” you daughter manages to stifle out through her laughs. you smile at the sound—it’s one you'll never get tired of hearing.

"you can't be a princess without powers! every princess has powers!"

“i-i'm n-not a princess though!“

satoru's fingers pause in their spot, his eyes widening in disbelief. "not a princess? how on earth can that even be?"

you’re sure if she needed him to, he could easily write an entire book about how she’s a princess.

he scoops her up from her place next to you, careful not to let her dangling legs hit you in the process. she lands on his hip, her eyes fixated on him as he lovingly whispers, "you're daddy's little princess!" he pauses, then adds, "and mommy is the queen, so that makes me—"

“the king?”

“you’re just so smart, huh? see, a perfect quality of a princess.”

“but princesses have dragons! big ones with so many pretty colors and names! they go—“ she cuts herself off and raises her tiny arms high. with a wide smile on her face, she takes a deep breath and lets out a loud roar.

satoru nods and smiles warmly at her, "oh, i see...well, y’know what? not all princesses have dragons.”

she tilts her head, and you awe at the sight. “they don’t?”

"nope," he says, taking her tiny hand in his, wrapping it securely around his finger. he lightly massages the back of her hand, and it’s soothing—scratch that, reassuring. you can tell from the way your daughter leans her head on his shoulder, tucking herself in the crook of his neck. "you don't need a dragon to be a princess. you're my princess ‘cause you're kind, smart, and full of love. i'd say that's all you need to be one."

"really?" she asks, waiting for his nod before continuing. "okay…but i still want a dragon."

"i get it, munchkin," he hums as he takes the dragon plushie from the bed. "we still haven't figured out a name for this guy, hm?"

“nuh-uh!”

“he looks like his power is being super cuddly. he's so cuddly that he puts you right to sleep…how ‘bout…fluffy?"

“ew.”

“fluffy sounds cute, no?”

"but dragons aren't cute. daddy, they breathe fire."

"wel—" satoru begins, but your daughter interrupts.

“his name should be fireball!”

“satoru, she does have a point,” you assert.

she really did. it was a dragon, not something adorable, but something that’s usually thought of as a villain—or a protector. athough deep down, a part of you just wanted this little debate to finally wrap up so you could finally catch some much-needed sleep.

“i thought i took away all of her princess magic?” satoru frowns, "stop siding with the enemy!"

you can't help but snort at his comment. mostly because, for whatever reason, he’s taking this dispute very seriously. so seriously that he doesn't seem to notice you're trying to do anything to finally get to bedtime. "baby i was just sa—"

"who says this dragon had to breathe fire anyways?" he interrupts.

when your toddler goes to respond, it hits you. "what about fluffy fireball?" you mention. it's a perfect combination of the two. well, okay, maybe not a “perfect” combination, but it's good enough to finish this debate.

if you weren't so tired, you’d stop and ogle the way they ask "huh?" in sync.

you shrug, "well, why not? he is pretty fluffy and spits out fire. there can’t be a better name than that."

your daughter holds out the dragon, looks at it for a while, then brings it up to her ear.

she gives the impression that he’s nodding his head before hushedly saying, "got it." she then turns back to face you and yells confidently, "fluffy fireball agrees!”

"well, i don't agree," satoru huffs. "the name is way too long an—"

“satoru.”

“but—“

"satoru," you say more firmly, and his shoulders sink as he mumbles "okay" beneath his breath.

your daughter lets out a yawn, and your eyes are immediately drawn to her. you signal for satoru to come over to the bed, and he does, bending down to your level.

“is my girl sleepy?”

"um," she pauses and looks at her dragon. "just a little bit."

"i can tell," you say, gently rubbing her back. you sneak a quick glance at your husband, and he looks the other way because he knows it's way past her bedtime. you sit up next to her ear and murmur, "i think fluffy fireball is ready to go to sleepy-time."

she gives the dinosaur a look before asking him, "y’wanna sleep with me?” then, she shakes the dinosaur's head up and down before exclaiming, "okay!"

you watch as she leaps out of satoru’s arms, and plops down on the bed. the room fills with giggles and the creaking of the bed as she scampers towards the middle. once she's next to you, she settles in and gets comfortable.

you can't help but smile as you see her tiny hands reaching out, playfully fluffing the pillows around her. then finally, with a satisfied sigh, she snuggles under the covers, cocooning herself in warmth.

she sets her dragon on her left side, making sure her loyal companion is there to do his job and look after her (the princess). it’s cute really. however, if that dragon becomes even a little bit too comfortable with the job, you know satoru will undoubtedly compete for the position. he'd say, "it can't just show up one day and take my job," or something along those lines. knowing him, he might even contemplate throwing it away—who knows.

you’re jolted out of your trance when your daughter asserts to her dinosaur, "you can sleep on daddies side, he snores."

satoru gasps, “i do not—“

“yes you do!”

“when have i eve—“

"guys," you sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your voice. you cast a glance at both of them, making sure you have their undivided attention before pressing on. "c'mon, let's all take a breather and save the debate about your dad's snoring for tomorrow, okay?"

"but mommy, tell him he snores!" she whines. "he goes—" she cuts herself off to mimic satoru's snoring, and his face is priceless.

"now that’s just rude. how can you speak to me so coldly?” satoru scurries underneath the covers on the side of the dragon. and just like that, your daughter and her dragon are nestled between the two of you.

“this’ll be settled in a family meeting tomorrow. you two have already had one debate today. so right now? lets all go to bed.” you declare, then nestle deeper beneath the covers, closing your eyes.

as the voices of saddened "okays" and "alrights" blend together, a collective sigh fills the room. the sound of a click follows, and even with your eyes closed, the absence of light is unmistakable. it makes you feel even more exhausted than before.

you feel satoru’s arm slide around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. meanwhile, your daughter stirs slightly, searching for a more comfortable position in the cozy space between the two of you. you can feel her movements, her small body nestled snugly against yours.

you snuggle impossibly closer to your pillow, and take a deep breath.

silence, that’s what follows—and it’s nothing but peaceful. that is, until satoru bursts out laughing. "i don't snore," he blurts out into the darkness, his voice filled with mischief. "i just provide a little background music for the night."

it's at this point that you decide to be extremely biased at the family meeting tomorrow. he’s not winning a damn thing.

[peaktora]

𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ˚◞♡ ⃗ dad!satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ when gojo comes home, he’s delighted to see his daughter applying makeup to his wife's face.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. you & gojo have a daughter (obviously). established relationship (married). the reader is referred as “mommy” by the kid but other than that there’s no use of fem terms.

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊i completelyy overdid it, this was supposed to be under six hundred words but oh well

late at night, with the moon casting a soft glow, gojo wearily steps into his home. all he wanted now was to unwind. his body was sore and he craved food, a hot shower, and then sleep. as fast as possible. which he was sure would be put on hold because of you and his daughter. two people he trusted were still awake — who always stayed up just to see him.

he laughs to himself, remembering the countless times he scolded you and your daughter for sacrificing your sleep. but in truth, he loved the surprises he came home to. whether it was you two baking together, with him joining in, or watching a movie where he'd have to catch up on the first 30 minutes, he cherished those moments spent with you and your daughter. it was a family thing.

he quietly slips off his shoes and places them on the wooden rack, the only sound in the house. "they must be sleep," he reasons. he couldn't help but frown. carefully tiptoeing to the kitchen, he heads straight to the fridge, first thing on the list of unwinding being food.

just as he's about to open the fridge, a symphony of giggles dances down from upstairs.

his brows furrowed, hand hesitating on the fridge handle, and glancing towards the stairway. after about thirty seconds of silence, he's convinced that he must've misheard it. but to his surprise, he hears it again.

a smile spreads across his face, knowing his girls were indeed awake and waiting for him.

his mind races as he weighs the options: dinner or investigate the source of the giggles? though deep down, he knows it's a pointless battle. especially when without a second thought, he finds himself practically skipping upstairs. anticipation intertwines with exhaustion, knowing that his loved ones awaits, ready to embrace him in their hold.

thankfully, the sound was so loud that it led him straight to the room where the laughter was coming from. as he approached his bedroom door, voices began to replace the laughter, growing louder and more distinct.

“hmm…what should we do now?”

“well, you’ve got a lot of options.”

his curiosity piqued, he tiptoed closer, skillfully avoiding the creaky floorboards he knew so well. with a gentle touch, he pushed the door open just enough to create a small crack, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the scene inside.

there, in the softly lit room, his daughter sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by an array of colorful makeup. the girl’s tiny fingers carefully picked up an eyeliner pencil, her brows furrowing in concentration.

"okay, eyeliner is next mommy!" she declared.

you chuckled softly, leaning closer to her. "alright, my little artist, show me what you've got.”

sitting face to face, eyes locked in a shared moment of love and trust, she delicately traced the pencil along your eyelids. her movements were a mix of focus and excitement, her small hands guided by an invisible artistic instinct. as the lines took shape, her face brightened more and more.

"you're doing great, my little artist," you whispered, voice filled with pride.

she just poked her tongue out from the corner of her lips.

even by only looking through the door, gojo’s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and tenderness watching the scene unfold. it was a simple moment, yet it held so much love. and he loved that.

just as he started to close the door, a sudden creak reverberated through the room. damn it. he stands frozen, desperately hoping that neither of you had noticed. but his hopes were dashed when his daughter's voice rang out, "daddy, is that you?"

his nerves tingled, and he hesitated for a moment, gathering his courage before finally responding, "yes, sweetheart, it's me."

he slowly pushes the door open, finally revealing his presence. your eyes lock, and a silent conversation unfolds, filled with unspoken words and understanding. it was as if he wanted to say he should've let you know he was here, but before he could speak, the girl infront of you interrupted.

"daddy, come join us!" she exclaimed.

he quickly took a seat beside you, watching as his daughter moved from you to him with the eyeliner in hand.

gojo playfully shook his head, teasing his kid, "no way, kiddo. eyeliner isn’t my style." though once she pouted, he couldn't resist her charm, and with a smile, he relented, "alright, just this once."

"maybe twice," she added, dragging the pencil gently along his eyelid.

“maybe twice.” in his head, he was more than happy to let her do it as many times as she wanted.

groaning, you stood up. “well, you two have fun."

gojo shut his eyes, "hey, how ‘bout a little photoshoot after this?" he suggests.

you place a kiss on his head, "yeah, no, tough pass." and with that, you retreated into the bathroom.

soon as gojo heard the bathroom light flicker on, he peaked open an eye, a playful grin on his face. "looks like it's just me and you now, kiddo.”

“close your eyes!” she huffed.

he obediently replied, "yes ma'am," as she closed his eyes for him.

it didn't matter to him if his eyeliner was smudged or if he hadn't done his nightly routine as planned. what mattered was him getting to add another midnight memory to his collection of family moments.

for the most part, he didn't really care if you three stayed up late if it meant he could add more. actually, scratch that — and put an emphasis on "the most part" because he is fucking exhausted.

[peaktora]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒: 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ˚◞♡ ⃗ dad!satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊you and your daughter make breakfast for gojo’s birthday. unlucky for you, gojo’s a little impatient.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊1.3k words. established relationship. the reader is referred as “mommy” by the kid & “wife” from gojo, but other than that there’s no use of fem terms.

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊ for the sake of this scenario everyone pretend it’s december 7th & it’s gojo’s birthday

you hold the bowl of pancake batter, its creamy consistency clinging to the sides. with a gentle tilt, you pour the batter onto the pan, creating round pools of golden goodness. the batter spreads, forming wonky circles that sizzle and bubble as they cook. the aroma of the pancakes fills the air, a tantalizing scent that promises a delicious breakfast. you can’t help but turn up the heat so that they cook faster.

“mommy, i think i’m turning into a minion,” your daughter calls out from behind.

you turn around, only to find her sitting at her mini table. her eyes are fixed on her tiny fingers, that are spread out in front of her.

“what do you mean?" your words hang in the air momentarily before you turn your gaze back to the stove. with a flick of your wrist, you flip the pancakes, their golden surfaces glistening in the warm light.

“’m turning purple! look!”

you take another glance back. her hands in the air being the first thing you see. but, then you notice the bag of blueberries sitting on the table.

your lips quiver as you fight to stifle your smile. “baby, it’s the the blueberries you’re munching on that are making you purple.”

her eyes widen, she lowers her hands, and this time she looks at them with a slight pout.

you return to making pancakes, plating the few that seemed to be done. one was on the verge of being burned, and you intended to give it to gojo. he's been calling you nonstop ever since you came downstairs this morning, asking for updates on his birthday breakfast. you're sure if it hadn't been for your baby girl (who insisted on giving her father breakfast in bed), you'd have forced him get up and do it himself by now.

"mommy, can we put blueberries in the pancakes? pretty please?”

“of course.”

you don’t need to turn around to know what your child is up to. you hear the unmistakable sound of her stuffing blueberries into her mouth. a soft giggle escapes your lips as you imagine the adorable scene unfolding behind you.

"yay!! speci...purpl...pancakes!" the excitement in her voice is evident, even with her mouth full.

"hey! if you're gonna be putting blueberries in the pancakes, you can't be eatin-" just then, your phone rings.

you catch a glimpse of the screen, noticing the familiar contact photo under 'my love'. oh, he's definitely getting a burnt pancake. you might even make another on purpose.

knowing he'll just ask about breakfast, you decide to watch it ring. he calls at least twice before his voice echoes through the house, urgently calling for his daughter to answer the phone. with blueberry-stained hands, she skips to the counter, reaching for your phone and answering it.

“hi daddy!” she waves in the camera.

“hi my sweet girl, what’s your momma doing?”

she turns the phone around, and through the camera, gojo can see you plating the remaining pancakes from the pan.

“those are the boring pancakes, mama’s making purple ones next!”

“can i have some of the boring ones first? i’m starving,” your husband whines.

“no, no, no! mama said you have to wait.”

“can i see that?” you fumble, trying to find a clean spot on your apron to wipe your hands off.

your daughters huffs at gojo, eager to hand over the phone and retreats to her table.

on the screen, you’re greeted by the sight of gojo’s smile and his relaxed, sprawled-out posture.

despite his sweet face, you hover your finger over the end call button anyway. “bye satoru.”

his smile drops. “that’s not even fair. it’s been—what—an hour?”

“with lots of breaks thanks to you.”

“you can talk to me and cook…bonus points for me being able to watch you.”

at that, you roll your eyes.

he frowns. "what?”

“a few more minutes of waiting won’t hurt.” you press the "end call" button, cutting off gojo’s pleads mid-sentence.

he’ll be fine.

you gently place your phone on the counter, shifting your focus to your little one. with a warm smile, you ask, "you wanna add the blueberries now, baby?"

"huh?" she mumbles, raising her head from where she was plucking at her fingers. "what did y’say?”

you playfully shake the bowl of leftover pancake batter in front of your face, capturing your daughter's attention. it's your way of letting your daughter in on the secret, a non-verbal cue to convey what exciting plan you have in store next. “you ready?”

"yes!" she runs towards you, giggling uncontrollably. in her hands, she's got the bag of half-eaten blueberries. the ones you specifically told her not to keep munching on, but she couldn't really resist. as she draws near, she extends her hands high into the air, a silent request for you to lift her onto the counter. without hesitation, your arms embrace your little one, effortlessly hoisting her up. in a matter of seconds, she’s perched on the counter.

you both scoop a handful of blueberries, and sprinkle the berries into the bowl of leftover pancake batter, watching as the vibrant blue jewels disappear into the mixture.

just as you two start to get lost in your pancake-making, a faint sound of footsteps echoes from upstairs. your girl’s eyes widen as gojo sluggishly descends the stairs, rubbing his eyes and tousling his hair.

for a split second, you manage to catch his attention. you raise your brow, wondering if he ever learned the basics of patience (or if he learned patience at all). but, true to his slow demeanor, he remains unfazed, maintaining his relaxed pace.

with a sleepy smile, he joins you at the kitchen counter, wrapping his hands around your middle. the feeling is pure warmth, like a human blanket. it's amazing how, even after so much physical contact, his touch manages to make you feel cozier with each touch.

you lean in closer to him, trying to catch what he whispered in your ear. "hm? what was that?"

“food?”

you sigh, “I wanted us to all eat it together. when it’s done?”

he groans and retreats, making a beeline for the ready-made pancakes. you catch his eye and shout, "uhn uh!"

as your daughter continues to drop blueberries in the bowl, you quickly place your hand over her lap to keep her steady. with your other hand, you tug on gojo's sleeve. you give him a gesture to come back, and he follows your lead.

“I’ll do it,” you say.

you head over to the counter where the finished pancakes are, and plate a single piece. as you bring it to him, you glance at the black crispy top and think, "I definitely should've made more of these."

you slide the plate in front of him, and your daughter cringes at the sight. “ta-da! happy birthday baby! since it’s a special day I tried a new recipe and…” you shrug.

gojo licks his lips, bites them, and lets out a breathy laugh. he keeps glancing at you and then the pancakes, repeating the sequence.

you nod your head and motion towards the food with an open hand. “I thought you wanted to eat?”

glancing cautiously at his daughter, he replies, “wow, babe. you really outdid yourself this time. burnt pancakes?” he turns to you. “and you said you were a ‘better cook’ than me.”

you ignore his comment. “maybe I should make these more often? I kn— “

“oh, absolutely. I mean, who needs fluffy, huge pancakes when you can have charcoal—“ he picks up the pancake, “discs?”

with your daughter's laughter in the background, it creates a unique blend. it adds charm to your conversation, despite the contrasting moods.

you cross your arms, “you should be proud I made them without shape cutters. pretty creative,” you pause. “now eat up.”

“there’s no way in hell y—“

“daddy has to put money in the swear jar!”

[peaktora]

—ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 * ˚ ✦ : dad!satoru gojo, who isn't afraid to do imitations in public just to make his toddler laugh (especially when she's cranky).

like he fearlessly transforms into a dinosaur at the grocery store, disregarding the questioning looks from strangers. his sole mission being to elevate his daughter's happiness. with each step, he stomps playfully, his arms flailing in a “perfect” imitation. the imitation is actually extremely off, but that's what makes it so funny. his baby can't help but giggle at his goofy moves and slowly start to imitate him.

other kids in the store, who notice the performance, join in on the laughter. maybe they appreciate it, or maybe they think he’s stupid, but he doesn't put a lot of thought into it. he only puts thought into how their giggles blend with his baby’s, creating a echo through the aisles.

amidst the onlookers, gojo becomes the hero of the moment, gaining smiles and laughs from both young and old. but most importantly? his baby. he embraces his role wholeheartedly until the end, knowing that the happiness he brings to his daughter is worth every odd look and whispered comment.

when the two leave the store, he’s asking her, "you have fun?" knowing that he's created a memory that’ll be cherished by his daughter and fondly remembered by those who witnessed the dad who dared to be a dinosaur.

[peaktora]

𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 ˚◞♡ ⃗ suguru getou

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ for the past month, geto has been noticing a stranger (you) struggling with skating, and it's been getting on his nerves. how can someone be so bad at it? to solve his irritation, he decides to teach you how to skate…or atleast, he tries to.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊2.0k words. lordddd there’s a lot of dialogue (i swear more than half of this is talking). tbh it’s basically one sided irritation for reader + skater!suguru. no pronouns used or specified gender. there’s no specified au or mention of jujutsu high, so it can be the universe of anything you want it to be. intended lowercase.

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊did something new and wrote for getou !! i did a little research before writing this so i don’t think he’s ooc … but, in any case, this is more of a practice piece than anything else, and i just wanted to get something out there before i got caught up with studying for exams

"there’s no way," getou thinks to himself.

you had this determined look on your face, but your balance was all over the place. you kept wobbling and stumbling, trying to find your footing. each time you pushed off, you would lose control and end up falling. but you know what? you never gave up. even though you kept failing, you kept getting back up and trying again.

that right there? was the fucking problem.

it's really getting to him. gnawing on his bones from within and burrowing beneath his skin.

how many times will he have to see you here? hell, you’ve been practicing for a whole month now, with no progress from the first time you hopped on your board.

and it's not like he has a problem with beginners doing this, it's just you. you're so stubborn when it comes to asking for help, he can tell just by watching you. watching how you closely observe the more advanced skaters, and when they try to give you tips, you just give a tight-lipped smile and don't apply them. it frustrates him. at this point? just quit.

another fall on your butt is observed from getou’s seat on the bench, and that's when he chooses to get up and go home.

once he gets to the sidewalk, he drops his board and hops on. just as he was about to start skating, he caught a faint mutter from you. it was a curse, something like "damnit," followed by a kick of a rock. he probably wasn't supposed to notice—or even think about it, normally, he wouldn't give you a second glance. but maybe, he figures, you won't be such a bother if he gives you a hand. he can be pretty persistent when he wants to. and you know what? that could be useful with you.

he stands in the middle of the sidewalk, torn between going home and going to your aid. but it's pointless, really. he's on his way back to the park before he realizes it. as he comes to a stop in front of you, the sound of his wheels softens and you scoot back.

he’s got all those insults and jokes about you swirling in his mind, but what actually comes out of his mouth is, “you need some assistance here?”

you raise your hand and create a makeshift visor, blocking the glare of the sun. "what?" you ask, squinting at him.

“you want lessons? i can help—“ he points at your board. “free of charge.”

the following seconds are silent. you give him one more good look before replying, "i see you around here a lot."

this was not, by any means, meant to steer into small talk. getou fights the urge to sigh and instead, he smiles, slipping his hand into his pocket. "what can i say? this place brings me peace."

"you’re really good.”

“hm?”

“you’re really good at what you do. y’know…skating.”

huh, and he had the nerve to think he knew more about you. "it's all about how you practice,” he says.

you bring your knees up to your chest, letting your hands hang from them. "how do i practice if i always feel like i'm gonna slide off the board?"

“use tips.”

“from you?”

getou doesn't say anything, simply shrugging in response. you snort and shake your head, "now you're starting to sound like one of those salesmen.”

you interrupt him before he can speak. “for the���uh—" you stand up and grab your board. "lessons you mentioned? i think i'm doing okay by myself, but thanks for the offer." you pat his shoulder and walk away.

getou raises his hands in the air and walks over to the bench. "apologies," he mumbles. he slides his skateboard under the bench and sits down. sighing, he drapes his arm around the back of the bench, and taps his fingers against the metal. “wanna show me what you got?”

you stop walking, raising a brow at him. "you’re saying that as if i owe you something.”

"i never said you owed me anything,” he pauses, looking for the right words to say. “think of it as showing your skills."

“why am i showing my skills’ to a stranger?”

he scratches the back of his head. “really, you’re always skating infront of people you don’t know. i mean, this is a public space.”

"you said to show you what i got. which means skating specifically for you. not anyone else."

"you’re right, i did say that.”

"exactly," you state, as getou hums. it's quiet for a while, and he’s just starting to get up to go home when you interrupt the silence.

“i thought when you owe someone something it had to be mutually—uh—what’s that word?”

he sighs and blinks slowly in your direction, "agreed?"

"bingo!" you exclaim, snapping your fingers and pointing at him. "so i can't be in debt of anything because we haven't even agreed on the terms of the deal—i mean, we just met."

why didn’t he just go home? "this conversation is going in circles," getou groans, throwing his head back. he knew he had patience, but if this conversation went on, he'd need a lot more.

you stuff your open hand into your jeans pocket. “you’re the one who’s being weird.”

"you’re exaggerating the entire situation. i just wanted to help you out.”

"does it look like i need your help that bad?"

"honestly?" he asks, and you answer with a nod. "well…i can’t tell unless you show me somethin’.”

you roll your eyes, and he takes that as a good sign. you'll come around, he thinks, returning his gaze to the area around him.

he looks at nature's colors, from the lush green trees to the endless blue sky. his gaze darts from one sight to the next, and he can’t help but think that all of it is beautiful.

after a moment, he looks over in your direction and sees you walking towards a capsule. he knew you’d come around. you take a deep breath before positioning your skateboard at the edge. it’s not a big drop, in fact, it’s the smallest drop someone would be able to do here. but why you choose to show off your skills like this? when you’re a beginner? getou has no clue, yet he leans forward in his seat. your foot lightly presses against the nose of the board, making it rise and fall repeatedly.

just when he thinks you're about to drop in, you turn towards him and blurt out, "haven’t you seen me skate here before?”

getou wants to say "i can’t help but notice you," but he doesn't. patience, he says to himself.

but really, he’s ran out of that.

he leans slumps in his seat. “look, are you gonna do it or not? i can always leave. i'd be more than happy to. i have many things that need to get done today. so, what's it gonna be, rookie?"

“rookie?” you scoff. “please, i’m a little more advanced than that.”

“yeah? well i wouldn’t know, because ’m not seeing you skate.”

"you’re very excited about this.”

“on a time limit,” he says, tilting his head. “so hurry it up.”

“it’ll be worth the wait. watch, you’ll be speechless."

“i’m assuming for all the wrong reasons?”

you frown, “you know, you seem to be great at everything except knowing when to shut up.”

funny, most people would think of him to be an introvert. a person who’s more of a listener than anything else.

getou smirks, and taps his imaginary watch, "time is ticking.”

you glance at him once more over your shoulder, before murmuring a dismissive "whatever." getou watches intently as you reposition your board on the edge of the capsule. once again, you place your foot on the nose.

just as you drop in, he spots the mistake. he sees it in an instant, how your front foot gets way too close to the bolts. and that's when it happens—you start to back out halfway through the drop, losing your balance. instead of that graceful, picture-perfect dive you had in mind, it all goes awry. you go the remaining distance on your back, and geto can't imagine how much it hurt when the concrete hit the back of your head.

"are you okay?" getou yells, sitting up in his seat.

you stay silent, and if geto hadn't pushed you to feel the need to prove a point, he would’ve taken the idea of leaving you here more seriously than he is right now. he runs to the edge of where you dropped in, and looks down at you. you’re sprawled out on the ground, hands covering your face.

the first thought that came to mind was to slide down the drop, and so, he does.

immediately, he rushes over to you, crouching down at your side. "hey," he says, but it comes out much more breathless than he had hoped. he tries to pry your arms apart, but you firmly keep them closed.

"c’mon," he asks once more, and there's a noticeable softness in his voice this time. "just give me a chance to help you get back up and look if you need some bandages or somethin’.”

you stay put, and geto debates whether or not to touch you again. it’s only when you mumble, "were you speechless?" that he finally places his hand on your arm, gently rubbing up and down. his touch brings a comforting sensation, soothing and reassuring. he can tell by the way your body responds to his touch, your arms dropping limp.

the corner of your face appears, revealing a scrape above your brow. getou takes note, patting your arm before standing up and reaching out a hand. you raise your head, sigh, and grab it, allowing him to pull you up.

“it’s partially your fault you know,” you say, watching as getou grabs your board.

“how so?”

“peer pressure.”

"i think it was because of your footing." he replies, lowering your board. he places his feet on it, his front one near the bolts. "this is how your foot was when you dived in."

he repositions himself, lowering his front foot. "but this is how you're supposed to do it."

he looks at you, who’s looking at his feet before meeting his gaze.

"more tips come when you agree you need me to give you lessons," he says as he flips your board into his hand, eyes never leaving yours.

he smiles as you roll your eyes. "what? you couldn't possibly expect me to help you for free."

"thirty minutes ago, you said the lessons were, and i quote, 'free of charge'."

"that was before i realized how badly you need help. it could take me ages t—“

"well," you start, and geto raises a brow at your tone. "i think that they should be for free. i mean, you are in debt to me."

"is that so?" he replies, his response more of a challenge than a question.

"uh-huh, and there's a scrape on my head to prove it," you say as you point to it.

getou snorts, “you’ll be just fine.”

"once again, there's actual skin, missing from my forehead."

“and i did that…how?”

“like i said, peer pressure.”

"whatever you say," getou says as he heads back to the sidewalk. “c’mon rookie, let’s go get you a bandaid.”

"alright, but the lessons are just the start of your deb—"

"woahh," he interrupts, looking back at you. "there's a list?"

"of course. another thing on the list is that you buy me lunch."

he looks you over before replying, “whatever you want?”

“whatever i want.”

getou nods and licks his lips, "you’re gonna have to text me your list."

you smile, “you’re gonna have to give me your number.”

he points at you, "it'll only be used for scheduling lessons and discussing my debt."

you salute him, "yes sir," and he shakes his head.

"i'll have to substitute your ‘rookie’ name for solider," getou mentions as he continues his way towards the sidewalk.

you shrug, "i’d give you a nickname but i don't even know your actual name."

he fights the urge to smile, the corners of his mouth twitching. "getou."

"is that your first or last name?"

"well we aren't on a first name basis, now are we?" he says, finally letting his lips fall and twist there way into a grin.

[peaktora]

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐖/ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐃 ˚◞♡ ⃗ bonten! haruchiyo sanzu and ran haitani

a/n. — take this as my early christmas post bc my original idea isn’t quite going as planned

HARUCHIYO SANZU, who wants to tell his daughter that santa claus isn't real, but you don't let him.

you count down, 3, 2, 1, before the flash on your phone goes off. in the picture, haela is squished between santa and the chair he's sitting on, making peace signs with puckered lips. they're both wide-eyed, with a snowflake-filled christmas backdrop in the background.

after it's finished, you look to sanzu, "aww look baby," practically shoving the phone in his face. he takes a step back, squinting his eyes, before taking another look at the screen.

"I still don't get why we're telling her lies while another man takes our damn credit," he sighs, returning the phone to you.

"it's a harmless way for her to enjoy the holiday," you smirk, returning your gaze to the photograph.

it started long before your daughter was born. when you mentioned teaching your daughter about santa, he didn't see the point - at all. wasn’t even considered, but you swayed him. he took on the role when necessary and complained to you when you two were alone.

hey. you had to take whatever you could get.

"it's not harmless for me to play two roles," he says as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

you opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off by a familiar small voice, "lemme see! lemme see!"

haela ran into your arms, as excited as she always was this time of year. she persisted, dragging her words out longer than needed as she begged to see the photo.

"all right! all right!" you laughed, showing to her what she wanted.

her eyes widen for a fraction of a second as her orbs adjust to the sudden light before she summons her father.

sanzu looks at the photo for the second time today. and, as much as he hates the idea of a mythical person who takes credit for the gifts parents buy, he allows himself to smile at the prospect of his daughter believing in something other than the world she actually lives in. the world in which he lights up people like christmas trees and interrogates them in the dark.

"yeahhh," he huffs, "I see it, kid." he ruffles her hair, and she squirms out of your arms, trying to protect everything she can from his grasp.

yet, she secretly loved it.

(the way it was just her and dad thing, something she wouldn't let anyone else do - and they wouldn't try.)

like father like daughter.

RAN HAITANI, who doesn’t let santa buy the best gift.

you're slumped between ran's legs, holding the list your daughter had made. there’s two sections: one with items for him and one with items for santa. ran leans his chin against your shoulder, his brow furrowed in disbelief.

"so...what do ya think about my list?" a small voice speaks up.

you lift your head from the paper, “it’s nice baby.”

a triumphant smile spreads across her face, and you mentally capture it.

you look over your shoulder to see a purple head of hair, only to be pushed back a inch at the connection. the strands tickling every facial feature within their grasp. with a pout on his face, ran looks up at your daughter.

"how come he has so much…fancy stuff?"

it was her turn to be confused. she nears him, leaning on the couch armrest, “what do you mean?”

he rants about how santa has pandora and charm bracelets while he has oversized plushies and glow-in-the-dark projectors. she listens.

(or, to put it another way, how a mythical figure has better things to give his daughter than he does.)

you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, earning your husband's glare.

"I'm putting gifts that are harder to buy so you don't have to work harder to get it!" she says confidently, rapidly tapping the couch. her own giggle erupting from her chest.

with her eyes twinkling with excitement and her actions mirroring it, ran couldn't help but fall victim. as long as those eyes were staring at him, he began losing his jealousy.

but, it wasn’t all gone.

he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the slap you gave his thigh. he sighs before moving on to another topic.

"well, if there's one thing I love more than you two—" he kisses you both, "it's a challenge," he assures her, handing back the list and watching her dash to the kitchen to put it on the fridge.

"…you’re still gonna say his list of gifts were from you, aren’t you?" smiling, you lean your head against his shoulder.

oh, for sure.

nobody beats dad.

[peaktora]

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 ˚◞♡ ⃗ takashi mitsuya

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊where your first romantic date with your best friend (mitsuya) has been scheduled for today since last month. but , where do his sisters go when his mother unexpectedly has to work overtime? with you.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊1.7k words. swearing (surprisingly just a bit). established relationship. first kiss. no pronouns used or specified gender.

a/n. — you know, not a big fan of writing first dates, but it fit @creativepromptfills dialogue prompt (aching bones) that i wanted to write sooo bad, therefore we're working with it

if mitsuya knew anything, it was that waiting for someone to arrive while keeping an eye on the time wouldn't make them arrive any sooner. even though he repeatedly did the same thing, he can't help it. where were you?

“suya’, it's wrong to have us wait outside in the cold. for all I know, we might die,” sighed luna, hiding her hands in the pockets of her coat.

mana agreed, snuggling into her brothers' side.

“i know, i know. once we start moving around, we won’t even notice how strong the wind is. let’s just wait for-“

you sprinted from around the corner and rushed up to the group as if you heard his cries. it wasn't difficult to identify the hair color of a certain someone. as soon as you approached him, you began blathering about why it took you so long to get there in the first place.

however, mitsuya didn't notice; he was more focused in admiring your beauty. observing what you were wearing and the handmade scarf that he had made just for you.

“gosh, it’s freezing out here.”

it was then that he realized you weren’t wearing a coat, but a very light jacket. he took off his beige coat to expose his star-patterned beige sweater and black cargos, asking, "how do you have a scarf but not a jacket?"

you shake your head and say, "you need it more than me. and i didn’t think it’d be this cold."

he draped the coat over your shoulders without regard for how you felt, and you immediately felt at ease in the warmth it provided. he gave you a quick kiss on the top of your head before ruffling up the fabric by pulling the two sides of it closer together. not doing much since the jacket was still unzipped.

“now, what’s first?”

“whatever the girls want, i’ll do.”

“THE TILT-A-WHEEL!” mana interrupted.

taking the girl's hand, you reply, "well, to the tilt-a-ride we go."

you staggered as you descended the ride's stairs, grabbing hold of anything you could for stability, which was basically the girls if not the air. the night's carnival music was playing over and again, booming all around you.

maybe none of you should’ve spun the wheel so quickly.

mitsuya who decided to refrain from spinning about with you and his sisters, was completely fine and unnerved on the grass. complaining that he would get nauseous later.

he steadied you by putting his hands around your waist, “you have fun?”

"not as much as I would've staying on the grou-“

you stop yourself when you see the smaller children preparing to flee with their tickets and look for the next ride. when your instincts kicked in, you slipped out of your boyfriend's hold and yelled "hey!" rather than remaining in his arms and yelling.

believe it or not, he found that attractive. no, it's not that you scold his sisters; it's how you show them care while putting your own needs last. and not only in this situation.

when his mom asked him what he liked best about you, he gave her a long list, even mentioning your tendency to tap your fingers to the beat of music. although, there was one item on his list that he didn't address at the time (but would later mention).

when you’re in your element – the confident beauty you radiate is absolutely hypnotizing, he could stare at you for hours. that alone earns the top spot on his list. it makes it appear to be a light that only shines on you, big enough to kill everyone nearby.

just like the stars, he thought.

he frequently utilizes a telescope, which readily eliminates the empty sky and solely concentrates on the stars. such small things can create a lot of love, huh?

you were the most stunning star of all, it’s no surprise that you had the same impact on him that only the stars could. hell, for all he knows, a supernova in his heart could be produced by you in a matter of seconds.

your eager gasp, which ended your hypnosis tactics, jolted him out of his trance.

you quickly grabbed his arm and yelled, "photo booth!" racing to the rectangle-shaped box covered in strangers' grins.

who was he to crush your hopes? he sprinted faster than you to claim the booth seat as soon as you let the word "booth" fly off your tongue. with these things he knows that someone is always waiting around the corner, ready to claim ownership of other people's dreams.

following behind you two were luna and mana, who both, let’s just say, made a silent agreement.

"oh, my aching bones! I'm getting too old for this,” you said with a hand on your knee as you approached the lilac-haired boy.

"you hardly even qualify as an adult yet," he scoffed. holding the curtain open for you, ready to let you in.

“15-year-olds still have pain, and did you SEE how much I ran before this?” with a light smile on your face, you did just that, and he mimicked your movements.

he'd normally close the curtain, but he needed to keep an eye on his daring sisters. you watch as he whispers words to those two that you could hardly make out: something about sticking together and not leaving the booth.

you click on the screen pressing the 10 second option, and the first photo begins.

mitsuya interlocks your fingers as a feminine voice counts down from ten, holding it right in the middle of you two but also in the middle of the frame. you cover the bottom of your face with your other hand while maintaining a surprised expression.

5, 4, 3…

he looks over to you, smiling ear to ear.

“that was a cute one!” luna says after it's done.

you laugh heartily as you shake your head seeing how the girls approach you slowly but surely. you quipped, "you wanna come up?"

they both jumped onto the booth seat right away, mana in the middle of you and your boyfriend and luna on your lap. they look at the screen with assurance while displaying peace signs, not telling you or mitsuya what to do, but rather encouraging you to follow suit.

3, 2, 1. the flash goes off.

mitsuya was nervously peering at you out of the corner of your eye. you look his way. then, his lovely, purple eyes are staring at you in a way that you could’ve imagined a month ago.

before you could say anything, the sisters shrieked, "kiss, kiss, kiss!"

"you guys are giving me a headache every time you scream," he groaned as soon as he could.

“do you remember what we discussed?” only luna returned to her position from twenty seconds earlier despite his hand motions to send them both away.

“you have 5 seconds left!”

his palm slowly slides along the side of your cheek as you take a deep breath, and you feel the hairs on that surface start to alarmingly stand up.

“can i kiss you?”

“ready?”

you weren't lying when you said you were anxious. but there's no question that you wanted this picture more than he did. so you leaned in and merged your lips together, eyes naturally closing shut.

he made an effort to lean closer, but wasn’t able to give you the precise kiss he wanted, since his sister was in the way.

the brief time the kiss lasted allowed you to absorb a lot of information. the taste was flavorful yet also sweet. it had a coconut flavor, much like the chapstick you gave him last week. did he also use his materials to sew his lips? they were as delicate as silk.

you lean back in late amazement at the connection. missing the warmth. once more, a gentle smile touches your lips, but this time it's his as well. that, however, didn't last long because you quickly leaned back in, which is not how mitsuya probably anticipated this would proceed since he'd probably want to take the lead.

oh well. you thought.

just have to tell people you both kissed first.

his fingers slowly move up your neck from the side of your face. he tightens his hold while making sure that you are both in a comfortable posture.

there's no way you would have believed it if your future self had told you that five years from now, you'd be dating your best friend, kissing him, and taking pictures to prove it.

there’s just no fucking way.

the moment ended only when his sister grumbled about being crushed. at that point, you both realized that you had pretty much made out in front of them, which was something you didn't want to do, and that you had also forgotten to consider whether or not the photo had already been released.

as you stepped outside the booth, luna was waiting for you with a strip of paper in her hand, bouncing and fangirling all over the place. only halting when you were directly in front of her.

“I think mana and I looked the best in this picture, you both looked absolutely adorable!” as she handed you the strip, she said.

filling the area without the photos was a leaf frame. finally, you had mitsuya and you holding hands, his sisters and you making peace signs, and your first kiss with the male pasted onto a thin strip.

and hold on—is that mana in the last picture standing between you and mitsuya with a heart raised?

they really were mischievous.

you jokingly glared at the youngest child before giving the picture to the said boy, “wanna go on the ferris wheel?”

mana shook her head, “i’m tired.”

“not really tired, just tired of walking.” luna agreed.

you looked to the sides of you, ready to ask mitsuya if he was ready to go back home, but he was no where in sight.

without notice, he snuck up behind you with the familiar snapshot in hand and said, "wrote the date babe, here you keep it," before slipping it into your pocket.

the rest of the crew discussed what you’d all do next, but you slipped that photo right back out of your pocket.

on the side that was blank—or should have been—you pulled it out. you smiled about thousand times as you read the inked handwriting that you had learned to read over the years. each smile spreading wider and wider across your face. the snapshot now combined a poem and a picture.

it was then, that you fell in love in october.

and so did he.

[peaktora]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 ˚◞♡ ⃗ eren yeager

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ he gets bruises, and you do too — but atleast you don’t try and hide them.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊ 0.7k words. college!au. mentions of a bloody nose and gory arm but nothing really detailed. no pronouns used or specified gender.

a/n. — i tried not to make eren his stereotyped college self, but i can’t help but headcannon that he gets into fights here and there (so keep that in mind)

“I can’t believe you tried to hide this from me.” you took your first A.I.D kit out of the bottom cabinet, placed it on the countertop, and demanded, "now sit down," while pointing at the toilet.

eren sighed as he dragged his feet across the hardwood floor, not wanting to rile you up any further than you already were. he sat down and waited for your next instructions.

"it's not that bad.” he attempts to explain, just then, you scoff at his words. "I've been through worse, this is nothin’.”

"yeah, well, a couple more nose-breaking fights within the next year or so and it'll be somethin'," you mumbled, taking what you could from your kit.

"it's not a broken nose... just a scraped arm and a bleeding nose.”

you go to eren with a tissue in your hand and mop up any blood that was flowing around his nose. the white cloth quickly turning red.

you take another tissue from the counter, stuff it up his nose, and throw away the used one.

"hold that still," you say firmly, and he grunts at how rough your work was.

"clean my wounds any harder and ima get another one..”

you mentally roll your eyes as you unroll the familiar pack of bandages. feeling the soft but scratchy bandages again, you couldn't help but remember the times you had treated his wounds. ones worse than his bloodied nose and (really) graphic arm scrape. but throughout it all, at all times, you gave him the softest touches and wipes you were able to conjure up. as you never intended to harm him.

and you didn't try to hurt him now, but god, was he annoying you.

"are there any other wounds I should be aware of?” you tell him, "and don't hide ‘em," and he pauses before grinning smugly at you.

without warning his fingertips pierced the belt holes in your pants, and he dragged you in close to his body. his legs sprawled on either side of yours as you stood in the center, providing warmth.

it was now that the phrase "actions speak louder than words" has never been truer. because from the way you complained and told him to cut it out, he would’ve had to consider letting you go. he knew he didn't have to, though, because of the way you hesitated to move away and how your breath caught.

something you wish he hadn’t noticed.

sure, eren wasn't the best at expressing himself to others, but he could read people like a book.

you yelped as he yanked you down, landing you on his lap.

"no injuries except a broken heart," he playfully pouted.

the silence that followed was deafening.

eren tilted his head to the side, his gaze lingering on your face. from your eyes down to your lips, left to right. from this angle, or really any angle, they were irresistibly kissable—even when you were upset with him. but, when are they not when you're angry?

he gently leans in, and you’re aware of his plans, but you still can't let him win just yet. least not right now.

as you lean down to pick up the fallen bandages, his lips change course and meet your cheek.

it lasted a while (maybe it's because he expected it to meet your lips), and you let them linger. you don't so much return the kiss as you let yourself be kissed.

"if you're done making out with my cheek," you raise to face eren, "can I wrap up that arm for you?"

you say it as if you didn't just avoid my kiss, is what you think your boyfriend wanted to say. yet that never comes up.

eren frowned and shook his head for the third time that day, "no, not yet. but you’re welcome to stay with me.”

your brows furrow.

"held in my bloodied arms, on the toilet..." he continued.

you can't help but smile as you roll your eyes.

his fingers never left your belt holes, twisting them around his fingers. he drew you in closer, dangerously closer.

his weight is exactly what you were looking for, and his arms encircling you is even better (even though you feel a sliver of hot blood bleeding through your shirt). you burrow your head into eren's chest and give it a quick kiss.

"hey," he whispered.

"what?"

“give me a proper kiss.”

“you’re so needy…it’s always something with you.”

yet, you raise your head to meet his.

[peaktora]

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓? ˚◞♡ ⃗ shuji hanma

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊where there’s no better way to begin the winter months than by saying goodbye to the warm days with a drive-in movie

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.7k words. no pronouns used or specified gender.

a/n. — big thanks to char AND @creativepromptfills prompt who/which helped me out with this !!

hanma’s gaze briefly rested on the cherry at the end of the cigarette, a glow in the shadows that pulsed crimson in his view. his mouth and throat were filled with acrid smoke as he took a long breath. the tightness in his chest was relieved by a deep exhale of a sigh, there was nearly a tickling of cough.

your faint but distinct voice jolted him out of his daze. he looked across the field, beyond the hundreds of strangers gathered at the drive-in cinema, only to see you yelling over something he couldn't understand.

he was watching your every move, and even when you drew close to him, his attention never left you.

"okay so," you said out of breath to hanma, "I grabbed pizza, candy for you, and water. they didn't have soda, so I couldn't get that."

laying the bag of treats on the hood of your car, you spread out a variety of hanma's colorful sweets. he wasn't a big candy fan, but on special occasions like tonight, he'd go all out.

"baby," he murmurs smugly, leaning towards you on the hood, cigarette in hand. “what if I don't share because there's too much for me and not enough for you?”

you roll your eyes. yet, you smirked as your gaze met his.

"what if I just take all the blankets and lie on the cold, grassy ass ground? will you join me or leave?" you pulled the cigarette from his grip and extinguished it.

"I'd leave, but you could ride with me." when his eyes glisten, you know the discussion has shifted, "it could be like those cliché horror movies when the characters are about to fuck but they di—”

"so you want us to fuck and die?" you went along with it, gently shoving him back.

"even if we did and there was a serial killer, you wouldn't die.” he slid down from his perch on the hood and made his way to the trunk. “wouldn’t let ‘cha.”

you opened your mouth to say something, but he spoke faster.

"now- before the movie starts, you need to make a decision, pretty. would you watch this movie with me, absolutely freezing outside?" he spun around and came to a halt in his tracks. "or would you rather be riding and—"

"we're not hooking up in the car. not where hundreds of people can have another show to see," you interrupt, as he pouts, dragging his hands across his face.

but, after a little more scolding, he gathered the blankets and made you and him comfortable on the top of the blue car hood.

the scent of oil and fresh flowers lingered in the air, the wind gently stroked your skin.

hanma’s arms tightly wrap you as you elevate your head to rest on his shoulder. despite the fact that the movie seemed to be fascinating, your boyfriend actually took home the prize.

his features seemed incredibly striking from this position, and the moonlight and vibrant colors of the movie just serve to highlight how attractive they are. has he always looked this way at night? when you were teens and climbed into each others windows? you lean in and kiss his jaw without giving it another thought, lips lingering longer than necessary down to the end of it.

maybe, just maybe, if you'd accepted his offer, you could've kissed it more.

he gives you a longing look from the corner of his eye, and you return his gaze.

he murmurs, pointing to his lips, "you missed a spot."

“I haven’t gotten any kisses,” you remarked.

"i'm afraid i won't be able to stop if i do so, darling." he moved his body so he was face to face with you, close enough to cup your face without restrictions.

"so don't." you murmured, your breath caressing his.

you close your eyes, and in less than a second, his lips are on yours. the mild taste of cigarettes leaves an imprint on your lips, giving as a reminder of past events. he presses his left hand against your left cheek, keeping your head up and emphasising that he will not and cannot let you go.

some people called him soft, but he didn't care. you'd barged your way into his heart and had no intention of leaving.

and best of all?

he was more than okay with that.

[peaktora]

hi !! i saw that you wrote for csm and was wondering if you could do headcannons for aki and denji and their love language? thank u !!

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 ˚◞♡ ⃗ aki hayakawa & denji

a/n. — I was debating between quality time and acts of service for aki, but I decided on acts of service because I think it’s a better fit for him. thank you for requesting

AKI HAYAKAWA, learned how attachment and affection worked best when he was younger. he looked and observed it frequently; it's just something that happens naturally. however, as he grew older, he never looked for it or kept a record of his observations, preferring to focus on his work. shortly, he devised a solution, and found comfort in acting out his love (acts of service). it demonstrates his concern for not only your safety, but also for your general well-being and making your life easier. this could include him opening the door for you, preparing breakfast (especially when he's off work), or even assisting you with laundry. whether you say you don't need much assistance or not, he'll do it regardless - but you should know better than to try to stop him - he's pretty determined, as evidenced by his career.

DENJI, growing up, he didn't have any real role models for love and affection. relying on what he saw in public, which was limited because many people prefer privacy. regardless, his love language came naturally to him; in fact, he didn't need one. what's the saying? treat others how you would want to be treated? yeah, he took that and ran with it. even so, just because he adapts to his newly discovered ways doesn’t mean he doesn’t require your assistance in teaching him (he'll gladly take consideration). denji's love language is physical touch, primarily because he is a touch-deprived boy who has never experienced a moment of romantic affection until you arrived (sounds harsh but cmon, am I wrong?). he enjoys cuddling, giving cheek kisses, and even simple touches like holding your hand and rubbing his thumb slowly against your skin as you drift off to sleep. he's content as long as you're within his reach.

[peaktora]

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 ˚◞♡ ⃗ kazutora hanemiya

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊it was the season for sweaters, hot chocolate, watching the snow fall from the trees, and planning gifts for that holiday of the year. but the best part was that it was snow fights with your boyfriend time.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.7k words. pretty much everything fluff. no pronouns used or specified gender.

a/n. — i still have tons of ideas for christmas drabbles that’ll probably be continued in january but it’s okay

you took a closer look at your boyfriend as you debated whether or not to ruin his beauty. his two-toned hair was dangling from his bun and carelessly falling across his face. he never cared much about his hair, and you were always in charge of doing anything about it. you can't imagine how it was when you weren't in his life. with how much he hates having his hair combed, how could he possibly do it by himself? let alone resist cutting it?

the image of him leaning against the doorframe was especially striking. his body fit like a puzzle piece into it. instead of looking at the furniture in your living room, he turned to face you, his face filled with love and tiredness.

you expected him to come out with you by now, having been hypnotized for what seemed like an eternity by his beauty. there was enough time for him to put on his coat, beanie, and gloves. but while you were buried in snow, he was spotless in your home.

secretly, he desired you in his arms, covered in a blanket. you two watching cheesy christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate from the same mug because he knows you can't finish one. hell, it was the winter's coldest period. who the hell has a partner and doesn't spend christmas in their arms?

evidently, you, he thought.

things never seem to go his way.

despite the beautiful sight and his potential list of things to do with you, you went ahead with your plan. you snatched a handful of snow from the ground and threw it at him.

headshot.

the darker areas were now hidden by the snow, highlighting the blonde strands more.

he now stood silently in the doorway. snowflakes littered the hardwood floor, soaking up the man’s socks and darkening their color. there was nothing said, and you were about to apologize when you were tackled to the ground.

you laughed as you yelled, "get off!" frantically punching his chest.

getting caught underneath him was definitely not part of the plan.

“nu-uh you wanted to drag me all the way out here, right? right?!” he retaliated by pinning your arms above your head with one hand.

grabbing his own hand pile of snow, he splattered it across your chest with his free hand. sure, he could’ve hit you in the face, but that wouldn't be right. he didn't want to make you sick, just get some fun revenge.

you closed your eyes instinctively in response to the hit. exclaiming over the sensation of having your lashes painted with mini flakes of frozen water. as soon as you opened your eyes, you crossed your right leg over his waist, causing him to turn over so that the positions were now reversed.

"is this how it is?" he asks. 

the audacity.

“there’s no way you thought I was gonna go easy on you,” you mocked.

he didn't respond to your statement, instead raising an eyebrow and asking, "how do you think you flipped me over?"

“you’re being so sexist-“

“nope, i just have better fighting skills.”

was he seriously challenging you right now?

at your lack of words, he released his arm from your grasp and slowly but surely slipped his fingers discreetly around your waist.

as soon as his fingers touched your sides, you began to screech.

“stop!”

nevertheless, he continued to peruse you.

“this isn’t fa-fair!” instinctively, you rolled over to shield anything you could from his touch.

"what's not fair?" he asked cockily, chasing after you.

"you!" you cry.

your waist was circled by his hands as he rolled you back over. as he leans down, perhaps to give you one of those breathtaking (and passionate) kisses you adore so much, you scowl at him and start to turn back over. you weren't going to give him that privilege.

he sighed, but made no attempt to reason with you. instead, he curled up next to you like a koala, just thinking. the sky looked down at him as his bright yellow eyes did the same.

you promptly mimicked his movements and smirked as you joined hands with his. you both lay there for a minute, saying nothing, not moving from your position, just enjoying the time you have with each other.

“love you 'tora," you blurted out. the simplicity of it all made it more meaningful.

“love you-“

SPLAT!

he comes to a halt when he feels the familiar sensation of wetness on his face. when he wipes off the snowflakes with his open hand, he confirms his prediction-

you threw even more snow on his face.

“round two?”

[peaktora]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐗 ˚◞♡ ⃗ aki hayakawa

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ a day off is all you two needed. a day away from denji and power, a day away from the troubles of the world and it’s future. and today, was that day.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.8k words. cursing. an unbelievable amount of fluff. implied suggestive themes. no pronouns used or specified gender.

a/n. — i think i put a lil too much filler for the beginning but i was told it's fine, first time writing for my fav 🫶🏽🫶🏽 !!

used a prompt from the best : @creativepromptfills

through the open window, the night is filled with city lights, gorgeous smiles, and laughter that reaches aki's light, icy ears. it's one of those evenings when he's content inside his four walls, and the wind feels soft, almost ticklish, on his skin. the rest of the world, all of his worries, were gone. as his brain started to lose consciousness, his eyes got heavy.

and though, while preferring to stay up to savor the moment, he allowed himself permission to sleep.

because being a devil hunter required a lot of effort. it takes a toll on your body, both mentally and physically. prioritizing the lives of citizens before your own wasn’t an easy task either. hell, he had just as much of a purpose and need to return home as they did.

occasionally, he wished that everyone was a devil hunter so they could all survive on their own. yet, he’s aware that only insane people would take the initiative to approach such monsters. and they have great reason to.

death was a constant threat in that line of work, and you never knew when it would be your last. the missions became more difficult, and he sometimes had to lie to you about how dangerous they would be (though he would never admit it).

but, that’s a rare occasion.

he told you anything without any hesitation, fulfilling your requests for trust. moreover, he fulfilled your request for him to spend time with you and be there for you when he could.

you valued quality time as much as he did, and after two months of nonstop work, he finally got a day off.

a blinding light pierced the door's thin crack, luring him out of his trance. he forced himself to open one eye and look back at the light and its source with a soft grumble.

"are you really this grumpy 24/7?" your voice comes from the doorframe.

there you were, carrying two cups of hot chocolate.

he shifted to sit up against the bedframe, "i'm not grumpy, just sleepy.”

"but for you," you spoke as you approached your boyfriend, "that’ll turn into a deep deep sleep." after placing the two glasses on your nightstand, you sat down next to aki.

“marshmallows, your favorite.”

he replied with actions, ignoring your implication. he stretched his body and grabbed your waist. you laughed as he slid you back into him, spooning you. "my personal favorite."

"I wanna drink my hot chocolate, 'ki." you whine, while aki presses his face deeper into your neck. you try to push him away from your body, but he's set on keeping you there, and he’s doing a hell of a job at it.

you let go and let your body relax, leaving a mark on the black sheet. your fingertips land on his, tracing all skin-layered areas.

over the years, he had softened. even the little laugh wrinkles he had developed could be seen, and the rigid lines in his face were more relaxed. each time you cast a glance at him, you found him to be even more attractive. you couldn't understand why he would choose a job that would tarnish that beauty.

the following few minutes of silence were reassuring. it wasn't awkward; rather, it provided the quality time you two needed after a difficult few months of work.

but, it was time to break it.

no matter how many times aki complains about how much he absolutely hates your pointless games, you continue to play them.

“you like what you see?” you inquired. thinking of whether or not to continue your mission.

his fingers slightly stiffened up.

"always do," he mumbled, pushing his body dangerously close to yours.

was he wearing the clothes you washed yesterday? he had the aroma of newly washed clothes, and the scent of dryer sheets lingered in the air.

"good because I put a lot of effort into placing those marshmallows in a perfect heart," you broke free from his cage, "and I think they sunk in at this point."

you didn't look back when you sat up, but when you did, his "glare" fluttered your heart instead of piercing it. his eyelids were visibly heavy, and small bags were beginning to form.

“you know, the faster you drink this, the faster you get cuddles again.”

he then slowly sat up, offering out his hand. the cup was warmed by you when you slid it into his icy hands.

when he took a sip, you couldn't help but notice how aki's eyes brightened as the liquid moved down his throat and how they lingered on the cup after he put it down. “this is good for using a chocolate box. you chose well."

"well, I also chose you, so I'm really great at this." you replied, taking a sip of your own.

and you couldn't help but feel the same as the same hot liquid passed down your throat.

fuck, did you love these type of nights.

[thewondrousdreamer]

He’s so silly I can’t help but love him.

𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 ˚◞♡ ⃗ satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ your husband is unbearably clingy.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. no pronouns used or specified gender for the reader. intended lowercase. established relationship (#married).

a/n. — i’m warning u guys right now that this is not proofread 😭 .. i literally just typed this up rq and posted it bc it’s been too long since i’ve last posted something on here

p.s. the prompt was in my notes from a longgg time ago, but i believe it’s from @/creativepromptsforwriting .. if not please lmk !!

"c'mere, hold my hand," satoru pleads for what has to be the third time. he pouts at you, who’s sitting on the countertop.

your brows furrow as you look up from your phone, "but, you're washing the dishes?”

he twists the faucet handle, and a steady stream of water flows down. after a brief glance at you, he places the plate beneath the water and says, "i know how to multitask, baby."

clinginess is defined as “the tendency to stay near someone for emotional support, protection, ect.” but there has to be another term for what satoru is, because you can't give any of those things while holding his hand right now.

you let out a deep breath and turn off your phone, watching as the screen fades to black. "satoru, there's no way i'm sticking my hand in that dirty dishwater," you say, sliding your phone into your pocket.

he practically shoves the plate into the drying rack. "i can't believe this," he huffs. "we literally had vows."

“what are y—“

“we had vows that said you’d love me in sickness and in health.”

"well…are you sick?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

he pauses his task of washing dishes, leaving them untouched. leaning over the sink, he rests his arms against its edge. he steals a furtive glance at you, only to find your gaze locked onto him. with a hint of hesitation, he softly mumbles, "no..." before you can respond, he interrupts, "but i’m in health, and the vows said that you have to love and cherish me in this state too."

you lean back, searching your mind for what the alternative of holding his hand would be. because in no world would you hold his hand in dishwasher. then, it hits you. "for now, would a hug make you feel better?"

he answers your question with a hum, and you can't believe he's debating whether or not to accept your offer after all that drama over holding hands in dishwater. even so, he adds, "i'll have to give it some thought."

two can play that game.

“it’s okay,” you say, gracefully hopping down from the counter. a smirk spreads across your face. “i could just go—sit on the couch?” slowly, you start to walk in his direction and make your way over to the living room.

he doesn’t say anything, letting you do as you please. it’s not until you start to pass by him, that you get the reaction you wanted.

or atleast, somewhat similar to what you wanted.

"on second thought—" he exclaims, and the dishwater swirls around him as he turns around, his hands still wet and dripping.

you cringe as small puddles gather on the tiles. "hey—" but he interrupts you as he reaches out to grab your wrist. “ew—I—what the hell?”

you instinctively try to pull back, but he slips his wet hand in yours; sealing your fate.

“satoru—”

“what happened to nicknames?”

“satoru.”

"’m not sure who that is. i go by a lot of names, but not that one. lets go down the list, yeah?” he clears his throat. “i go by "babe, baby, swe—"

"you should consider adding "gojo" to that list."

"now, when have you ever called me gojo?”

"right now, in exactly ten seconds.” your husband gasps, hanging his mouth open. “satoru go—"

“woah woah woah—what’d i do to deserve this treatment?”

“you put your dirty dishwater hand in mine.” you jerk your hand back, struggling to escape free of his grip.

his grip tightens on your hand, “if you’re feeling like not loving me today then just say that.”

“hey—don’t discredit me. i offered you a hug and you said you had to “think” about it.”

“cause holding your hand ‘s better.”

you sigh, “after you’re done with the dishes, you can hold my hand as long as you want.“

he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum—the same hum that got you both into this situation in the first place. at the same time you shake your head, a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes, and a smile twists onto the edges of his lips. "deal" he says, shaking your hand. “but before-“

you tsk, making him drop his excuse.

“wh—“

"the quicker these dishes get done, the quicker you’ll be able to hold my hand. so get on with it—go," you playfully command, and his grip loosens in response. seizing the opportunity, you slide your hand out of his grasp. you look down at it, seeing bits of food that’ve stuck to your palm. gross.

you walk over to the sink, feeling the cool water flow over your hand, washing away the food and dirt that clung to your skin. as you stand there, you hear satoru's voice grumbling from behind, "i hate doing dishes,” and you can’t help but snort.

before you know it, you feel his presence close behind you, his body pressing against yours. his arms encircle you, creating a cozy pocket of space between the counter and his body. satoru leans over your shoulder, gets a sponge from the soapy water, and starts washing a bowl. you simply lean back and look at his features.

the sight almost makes you want to stay in his arms forever. that is, until you realize the predicament you're in.

“you did not,” you whine. you desperately try to break free from the cage he’s trapped you in, but your attempts prove more and more pointless.

"oh, yes, i did," he declares with a smile. “what did you say earlier?" he clears his throat before proceeding. "the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you'll be able to hold my hand," he says, mockingly imitating your tone. "so, the faster these dishes are done, the sooner you can leave and do anything you want."

you sulk and moan while you reluctantly grab a dish and a spare sponge from the sink. “i hate you.”

“i love you more.”