#HES HUMAN MY BABY IS HUMAN HE CAN SEE THE SUN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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IF YOU ASK ME TO LEAVE, I’LL STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind.

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis.

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick.

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality.

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness.

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby.

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him.

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all.

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could.

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face.

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little.

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it.

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.)

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts.

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.”

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens.

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.”

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck.

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?”

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response.

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever.

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second.

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure.

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue.

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much.

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry.

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips.

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around.

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state.

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words?

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face, and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore.

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time.

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. the memory of a certain boy, of better times.

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, some way, you manage to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in.

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

a chuckle of your own drips into the air, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly.

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his.

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms.

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days.

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep.

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand.

it’s significantly less scalding, now.

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation.

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!”

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.”

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious.

a tilt of your head.

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?”

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days.

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy.

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!”

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe.

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.”

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?”

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. you won’t give him the satisfaction.

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.”

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.”

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk.

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something.

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick.

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest.

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be.

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today.

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually.

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me……..#he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :((#i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !!#i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

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gaywineauntsstuff · 5 months ago

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Dick Grayson is my favorite lil guy

And my favorite way of consuming content of my favorite lil guy is the core 5 titans

There is also about 5 billion pieces of media where these 5 interact and some of it sucks so here I am scrapbooking canon together with glue and scissors so I can talk about how I view Dicks relationship with the other OG titans and how different these relationships are from one another while all still being boiled down to found family love

Dick & Donna: Listen. To. Me. These two aren't besties, or fav teammates or siblings. These two are the sun and earth revolving around each other except they each think the other one is the Sun. Dick Grayson and Donna Troy are the blueprint for platonic soulmates. Dick and Donna make everyone around them believe in ancient story by plato "humans once had 4 arms and legs and 2 faces and the God Zeus split them in half for their hubris and now they are destined to roam the earth forever looking for their other half". If y'all think Dick wasn't doing well after Jason died?? Donna Troys death fundamentally changed who Dick Grayson was and how he was written in teams for years. Donna Troy and Dick Grayson absolutely have debated getting platonically married (not canon but it is in my heart) and the only reason they haven't is BC if they do, Donna will kidnap Dick and never let him within 1000 feet of Bruce Wayne and Gotham.

Dick & Roy: remember how I said Dick was fucked up post Troias death in the comics? yeah? Roy Harper is the only reason he made it out of that period of his life alive. These two are like fire and Gasoline, they're quick and angry and always inexplicably near each other. They are VICIOUS with one another in a way they almost never are with anyone else. They try so hard to ruin their relationship bc implicitly they know (unless its the new 52 which I ignore for my own mental wellbeing-hey I did say this was a scrap book of canons) they'll always be there for each other. Roy Harper never misses, Dick Grayson cannot fall and yet Dick is there to hold Roy when his hand trembles and Roy is there to catch Dick when he loses his Grip.

Dick Grayson is the first person Roy calls to get Lian

Roy Harper is the designated keep Dick Grayson alive even if he has to tie the bastard up-

Dick (and wally depending on the run) help Roy with his addiction)

these two are each others roman empires

Dick & Wally: to cut back on the pretentious seriousness of this post. Every time these two are drawn together be it 80s road trips or being the most likeable part of tom Taylors run. Wally west always reads like he's about to invite Dick to swing with him and his wife. If you see them as platonic, romantic (right person wrong time is my favourite Fanon flavour but canonically I like em besties) or somewhere in between Wally West is always Dick Graysons best friend. There is something so wholesome about the fact that Wally canonically stalks checks up on Dick Grayson as much as he does his wife and twins and Dick who is a bat, notorious for expressing their love via breaking into your house and doing your casework for you. Is getting stalked checked up on by someone who loves him without it triggering his "see obviously you're not good enough they're literally babysitting you" paranoia. its like meeting your partners love language needs but its for deeply messed up individuals. They canonically call themselves best friends, and while Dick will always love Roy he always Likes being around Wally (as well as love him but that's a given)

(sidetone are you even besties if people don't think you're dating when they meet you?)

Dick & Garth: The amount of trust, love and respect that tempest holds for Nightwing melts my damn heart (but then again everything garth does melts my damn heart, baby Garth you will always be famous) they are such an underrated pairing and I love the fact that no matter the media, whether they're rivals like in the cartoons or Garth deferring to Dick as leader to the point where he disobeys aquaman (rebirth) Bc yeah THATS how much my purple eyed perfect boy trusts wing. There is always this really sweet understanding that Garth can go to Dick for advice (he asks for Donna advice in titans and advice on his relationship with Dolphin in the comics). And him and Dicks reunion post RIC? I love them sm. Its just... There was also a period of time where Garth was the only titan with sense and tbh sometimes its refreshing to see that when the rest of them (except donna she was dead at the time we never say a bad word about donna in this household) are being fucking insane

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batsovergotham · 24 days ago

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also!!! sometimes looking for mark grayson x reader fics you find like two types of fics, theres little to no in between. 1) main mark grayson being a sub or a whiny switch (more sub than switch) 2) EVERY OTHER MARK VERSION being like a super dom, violent, angry, want to have sex and its not like ashamed of it and he is degrading the reader ALWAYS, like his dominance is based on mistreating the other person. now theres nothing wrong with like dark romance or those sex dynamics, but how can they be perceived so differently from each other? like they are THE SAME PERSON, yes they went through different things but HOW (sorry if its messy, english its not my first language!!) - 🫧

another mark characterization rant below LMAOOO

no you’re so right. i think about this a lot too. like somehow mark’s characterization splits into two extremes online and people act like there’s no middle ground. it’s either “he’s a pathetic crying baby who gets bossed around” or “he’s an angry violent dom who only knows how to degrade and humiliate reader” and that’s it. no nuance. no complexity. even though, like you said, they’re literally the same person underneath.

like yes, omni mark, mohawk mark, viltrumite mark went through different shit. they’re darker. more ruthless. but the core of him doesn’t just evaporate. he’s still a person who cares deeply, who wants love even if he’s scared of it, who feels guilt, who wants connection. he doesn’t suddenly become a sadistic asshole who only knows how to fuck mean just because he got traumatized. and same on the other end regular canon mark isn’t some fragile little kitten who gets overwhelmed by air. he’s stubborn as hell. aggressive when he needs to be. when he loves, he loves hard. when he wants you, he wants you.

and honestly it’s part of why i write him the way i do yeah, he can be soft, desperate, even submissive sometimes, but because of context. because he’s scared to lose the reader. because he loves her enough to let go of control as long as she stays. not because he’s naturally this permanently helpless thing. and when he’s dominant? it’s not cruel. it’s not about degrading or dehumanizing her. it’s about protectiveness, affection, wanting to drown her in how much he needs her.

SPOILERS BELOW

the fandom acts like mohawk mark just stopped feeling when eve died. like he turned cold and stopped giving a shit and just became evil. he didn’t. he loved her so much it broke him. he never moved on, he just tried to fill the hole with women who looked like her. made them dress like her and look like her. it wasn’t about power, it wasn’t even about wanting them. it was about missing his girlfriend so bad he couldn’t go on without her. people think when mark gets dark he stops being human. no. he still feels everything, he just feels it wrong.

people love calling mark a crybaby but they don’t even fucking get it. he doesn’t cry over nothing. he doesn’t fall apart every time something goes wrong. when he cries, it’s because the world gutted him. eve leaving him wasn’t just “sad” it destroyed him. one of the only times we see him actually cry really cry (in non serious events) is when he loses her. and it’s not loud or performative, he was legitimately BEGGING for her back. but fandom looks at that and acts like he’s weak. like he’s this pathetic soft boy who can’t handle life. no. he handles everything until it fucking breaks him. and even then, he still gets back up. that’s not weakness. that’s his strength.

mark’s a good guy, but that doesn’t make him soft. it doesn’t make him a crybaby. when it matters, he’ll fight, he’ll hurt people, he’ll kill if he has to. protecting his family comes first no matter how bloody it gets.

he was devastated when his dad got hurt/killed by thragg. crushed. but he still had the strength to grab thragg and fly them both into the fucking sun just to try and avenge his dad to make things right. even when it broke him, even when he knew it might not be enough, he never stopped fighting for the people he loved.

not to be that gatekeepy person AGAIN, but sometimes it really feels like people didn’t read the comics or watch the show when they write mark. crazy how the fandom can watch mark go through literal hell, love people so much it breaks him, fight until he’s half dead for his family, and still come out thinking he’s just some whiny little crybaby or a heartless asshole. like did we even read/watch the same story? or did you just skim the sad parts where he has a legitimate reason to cry and call it a day. but yeah go off and turn him into a weird fanon caricature if that’s easier i guess.

also your english is perfect don’t even worry about it at all, you explained yourself so clearly. i’m so glad you sent this because i think about it every time i scroll through the tag LMAOOO.

#invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #harley's asks <3

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jar0fhoney · 8 months ago

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PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 (NSFW) / PART 4 /

PART FIVE (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

Warning: Mentions of Pregnancy and virginity. piv.

You started Sunday the same way you always did. Wake up before dawn, start breakfast for you and Ma, stare out the window and think about the list of chores you could never keep up with.

“It’s a beautiful morning!” Your mother shuffled past your open door towards the kitchen, “Are you sure I can’t just handle all the work in the field today? Won’t you want to relax before your friend arrives?”

“Mother, please do not blow this out of proportion.” You scolded her light-heartedly, “I’m just going to do my work as usual, and when he stops by I’ll take a break-”

“My baby is getting courted by a big strong orc~” She sang out to you. You followed her to the kitchen. “How did you know he’s courting me?”

“So he is courting you.” She swayed back and forth in front of the hearth, throwing bits of kindling onto the fire.

“Well- I-”

“Y/n, don’t you remember. When I told you about the family that lived in the neighboring plot. The wife told me so much about how strange orc courting was, especially with her being human, and-”

“You didn’t tell me it was a half-orc family…”

She turned to you with a devious smirk, “Wouldn’t you like to know about a half-orc family.” “MA!” You grabbed an apple from the table (a bright red one that matched the color of your face) and ran out the door. You weren’t really mad at her, but this entire situation was so out of your comfort zone. The only experience you ever really had with being pursued was desperately avoiding Milo for the past two years.

You glanced at the sundial in the garden. Three hours. You had three hours to try and get some work done in the field and shake off the nerves.

The tomatoes were a mess. No wonder, this was a corner of the field that had been sorely neglected this season. The sun was climbing higher, and the heat of its rays were beginning to lick the back of your neck. What time was it anyways?

“SO NICE TO MEET YOU- OH YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE!”

Your mothers voice was loud enough to carry all the way to your little corner in the tomato patch. You shot to your feet, craning your neck to see her enthusiastically fawning over a slightly nervous Khargaad. You could hear him nervously chuckling as the two exchanged words.

Well, might as well go save him. You looked down at your work clothes covered in grass stains and mud. Hair was sticking to the back of your sweaty neck. Gross. Probably didn’t smell pretty either.

Your mother caught you out of the corner of her eye and pointed excitedly, “THERE SHE IS!”

You cringed. Gods she was making all this fuss and you looked like you just crawled out of a ditch.

“Hello! I see you met Ma.” You were trying to casually wipe the mix of dirt and sweat from your face, wading over to them through the field. He felt his heart skip a bit when you got closer. You smelled so earthy. And the musk of your sweat was… it could drive him feral.

He started imagining all the ways he could steal you away and worship you. Fill you. Taste you.

“Um… Khargaad?”

He jolted out of his sinful haze, “I couldn’t show up empty handed.” He thrust a basket into your arms. It was laden with fancy imported fruits. “This- This is too much. This must have cost-”

“Hush now,” his voice was like warm honey, “I hunt big game, I can afford it.” He had a cocky little smirk on his face. You thanked him, motioning to follow you into the cottage.

He looked back at your mom one more time, “It was so nice to meet you, Ma’am.”

Your first lessons together went just as well as predicted. By the end he was properly frustrated, arms crossed and everything.

“The letters. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s all… mixed up.”

“Let’s just end it here for today.”

He was so cute like this. All flustered.

He stood up from his seat, being careful to crouch as he easily exceeded the height of the ceiling. “Alrighty, let’s get to work.” He crossed the room in one long stride, pulling his shirt over his head. He looked strong, but not in the way statues are with their lean bodies and taught chiseled muscles. He looked like a man who ate well and worked hard. Your eyes wandered to the slight love handles that peaked over the waistband of his trousers. Gods you were no better than a man, thinking about how bad you wanted to feel him in your hands.

He glanced behind his shoulder, “Where first?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Khargaad.”

“Do you think I’m going to just leave with all this work to be done?”

He followed you like an excited puppy to the tomato patch you had been working on. You had tried to tell him that he didn’t need to waste the rest of his day helping with this. But he knew he didn’t need to. He wanted to. And who was going to stop him? Certainly not you.

He started on one end, and you the other, working slowly until you met in the middle. By the end, your hands were red and scratched up from pulling the thistle weeds. Of course, Kharghaad’s were so calloused that it was like he had a pair of gloves on. He gave a little gasp when he saw your sore fingers. “Why didn’t you say anything…” He scooped your small hands into his, as delicate as you would pick up a fresh baby bird.

Every time he touched you it was like this great release. Your mother, as loving as she was, never quite developed a touchy-feely nature. You were so used to it fleeting as soon as it was there. Quick handshakes, brushing against someone in the market. You craved physical touch.

So when Khargaad didn’t let go of your hands. When he held them so carefully and tenderly. So deliberately. You found yourself trying to memorize every little second of the moment.

“I’ll have to buy you gloves.” He muttered, picking out the little needles with surprising dexterity. He took his canteen and went to rinse off the skin. “I can wash my own hands, Khargaad.” You chuckled.

“But I want to,” He blurted out with immediate embarrassment, “Sorry, I guess you could say it’s an orc thing? It’s sorta like… we’re very communal. There’s no reason to do much of anything alone, if you think about it…” He sort of trailed off like he was getting ahead of himself. He paused.

“I hope I'm not smothering you. Maybe humans aren’t like that-” He went to let go of your hands, and a part of you cried out inside. You were tired of trying to play this stoic lone wolf character. It wasn’t who you were. It’s not who any of us are. We all need each other.

“Please, don’t stop…” You whispered to him, thrusting your hands back into his. You uttered the magic words. The words he had been waiting for. He pulled you into his chest. It didn’t matter how gross, hot, and sweaty the two of you were. Or that your mother was most definitely watching joyfully from the kitchen window. Nothing mattered. “Can we go somewhere?” His voice was muffled as he whispered into the top of your head. He was taking long deep sighs, taking in your scent.

“Please…” The need in your voice was palpable. He didn’t waste another moment, leading you to the forest behind your property. “Khargaad… the road is that way.” You motioned behind yourself. “I know a quicker way.” He glanced back at you with that sweet little smirk on his face.

Once past the treeline, the soft light of dusk struggled to breach the overhead foliage. You walked together for some time, before the sound of running water bubbled ahead. He had led you to a little clearing, where in the middle stood a circular style tent. A creek babbled away off to the side. The moon was full and provided plenty of light for you to take it all in. “Do you live here?”

He nodded, looking down at you expectantly for approval. You grinned, “It’s lovely.”

He snaked a strong arm around your waste, pulling you in. His other hand cupped the back of your head, tilting your face up to his. For a moment he hovered over you, as if waiting for your permission. You reached up to cup his face, thumbing over one of the tusks jutting out of his mouth.

His lips met yours. It started slow, like sipping on a glass of fine wine. Then it was hungry. Like you had both been starved. You were getting drunk off of the needy little grunts he was making, pulling you in flush with his body. You could feel him through his trousers, and it startled you out of your stupor a bit. You hadn’t been with anyone before, and it was bound to happen sooner or later, but this was a bit more than you ever imagined.

It was almost like he sensed your tension, pulling away to look into your eyes, “Let’s get clean.” He had brought his thumb up to caress over your cheek, planting a small peck before jogging to his tent. Watching him disappear under the flap, your mind raced. What if you weren’t ready? What if he’s not patient?

He bounded out towards the stream, beckoning you over. He started to frown as you got closer, like he could smell the apprehension coming off of you, “Do you need to go slower? Do you want to go home? Nothing has to happen. Nothing at all. You are in charge.”

He started unlacing the ties of his trousers. You instinctually looked away, giving him privacy he clearly didn’t need. With the sound of water sloshing you looked back at him submerged up to his sternum. You approached the water’s edge, looking down into the little bubbles churning in the current. “Hey… what’s wrong?” He waded over to the edge, leaning onto the grassy bank. There wasn’t any aire of seduction in his voice, just one of genuine tenderness.

You sucked it up and opened your mouth, “I’ve never done this before…”

“With an orc?”

“No like… I’ve never done this before… ever.” You winced as the words came out. You were a grown adult, this conversation shouldn’t feel embarrassing. But it did nonetheless.

“And so you don’t want to do this?” He didn’t seem fazed at all by the information. “No!” You yelped out a little too enthusiastically, “No- I mean, yes. Yes I do want to. I want you.”

You started to pull at the ties of your shirt, face so flushed it was probably glowing red. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You ripped the shirt off your head like pulling off a bandaid, exposing your chest to the warm summer air. You went to fiddle with the strings of your work pants. He still didn’t look away, and you didn’t ask him to.

And there you were, clothed only in moonlight. Khargaad thought, maybe the moon had come out just for you tonight, to see your beauty for itself.

You stepped down into the water. “Are you sure you’re human? Not a beautiful fairy playing tricks on me?” Khargaad was completely entranced by you, eyes roaming over the curve of your shoulders to the curves of your breasts.

You felt some of the tension ease, snorting at him “I don’t think a fairy would smell this bad.” He gasped a bit as if he had just remembered, grabbing a bar of soap he had retrieved from the tent. “May I?” He asked, lathering up the bar in his hands.

You nodded, letting him wade closer to you. You felt the palms of his massive hands begin to work themselves into your hair, massaging his fingers into your scalp. “Oh-” You exclaimed a rather embarrassing moan, but it felt so good. He finished and went to clean his own hair. “Hey, it’s my turn now!” You scolded him. He was more than happy to let you clean him. As he said previously, it’s a part of orc culture to do things with other people. That includes bathing.

And oh how he loved to see you doing orc things. Like wearing that yellow dress dyed with orc spices, and making those pickled eggs for him. It made him think about how great it would be to bring you home with him, to meet all of his family. For you to find a place in his tribe. He missed home a lot, and now you were a part of that picture. You finished running your fingers through the curls of his clean hair.

He heard the sloshing of water, turning around to see you drying yourself off. He joined you. You cast a quick glimpse below his waist, blushing furiously at his partially hard cock.

You walked together to the flap of the tent. The inside surprised you. It was so… cozy. “Ah-” He had leaned down to nuzzle into your neck, you loved the feeling of his tusks against your skin. He pulled you to what could best be described as a nest. A nest of pillows and blankets. He very carefully leaned you onto your back, “Is this okay?”

You giggled at him, “Yes Khargaad. I will tell you if I need to stop, okay?”

“Promise?” He leaned back on his knees, his olive green skin looking lovely in the warm glow of the lantern lighting the tent. His member was on full display, completely unashamed. The way it twitched in anticipation made your stomach flutter. “Yes.”

He lied down next to you, peppering little kisses in the crook of your neck. His hands began to roam your body, starting with your shoulders and slowly moving down to your tits. His calloused palm grazed over the sensitive peaks, causing you to let out a breathy sigh. He took your left breast into his hand, thumbing over your hardened nipple. He palmed your chest for a few moments more, like he was savoring each and every new part of you he explored. You felt his cock hard against your leg. You shifted your thigh, giving him just the lightest sensation of friction. The groan he mumbled into your skin made you feel hot between your legs. You clenched your thighs together, trying to get some relief.

His hand traveled down to your stomach, caressing the curves and grabbing a soft handful of skin. “Good…” He whispered. You shivered as his hand glided over your hips, so close to your entrance. He reached for the inside of your thigh, pulling it over into his cock. He let out another breathy sigh that left you completely slick with desire. His hand hovered over the mess of hair covering your mound. You opened your legs, giving him permission.

He started by slowly palming you, just beginning to give you the attention your pussy was desperate for. You felt a finger slip past your folds, getting drenched in the slickness. Khargaad shifted you up a bit so he could have better access to your chest. He dipped down, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucked playfully. “Oh f-fuck-” You were stuttering at the pleasure of it all. He grinned into your chest, “Keep making those noises sweetheart.” The pet name made your heart flutter.

He kept gently probing a finger up and down your slit, until he dipped one down just at the beginning of your entrance. His fingers were bigger than your own, but this wasn't so much of a stretch. He slowly sheathed the finger in you, “Tight.” He grunted. He made a come hither motion into that sensitive spot of your inner walls. You yelped out a completely sinful moan as he prodded you a few more times. His finger exited your hole, pulling the wetness of your cunt onto your swollen and sensitive clit.

“Khargaad-” Your hips bucked up into him as he swirled long languid circles around that little bundle of nerves. He pulled off, and sat back on his knees, “Can I taste you?”

It was the way he asked more than anything. Like he was close to begging for it. You nodded, spreading your legs for him. He settled down in front of you, using both of his thumbs to spread your lips apart. You felt the tip of his fat tongue probe your needy pussy. He reached up to play with your nipples, while he moved up to your throbbing clit. He started with light kitten-licks, making you whine and buck up into his mouth. That wonderful tongue of his made swirls and then quick flickering motions over the sensitive spot. At this point you were almost completely lost in pleasure, and reached down to thread your fingers through his soft brown curls.

You were already sensitive when he started, so you were very close to finishing. You actually yelled when he inserted a finger into you. Prodding that sensitive spot while attacking your sensitive clit; it was making the most obscene wet noises. “Close.” That was all you could manage as he devoured you. There it was, feeling crushed over you like a ton of bricks. You coated this hand, legs spasming. He dipped down to lap up the remnants of your release. Your taste, your smell, the feeling of his hair clenched in your fist. He was addicted.

He leaned back, taking in his work. You had a hand on your forehead and a hand on your chest, calming down from what you just experienced. You glanced down at him, both hands on his thighs. His cock was completely erect, tip glistening with pre-cum. It was so heavy it bowed down under its own weight. “Y/n…” He was trying to figure out what to say next. His cock needed to be buried in your pretty little cunt. He needed to bottom out into you. He wanted to hear the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your skin with every thrust. But he couldn’t say that, though. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready.

So when you propped yourself up on your elbows, legs spread for him, he almost felt like crying. His human mate was so strong. So ready for him.

He crawled over you, pinning your legs over his shoulders. He took the base of his cock into his fist, guiding it slowly over your folds. You were so warm for him. He pushed his pulsating tip past your lips, wincing from the sensitivity. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, but you were completely entranced watching his cock slide into you. His tip found your hole, sliding in but not going any further. He was absolutely strangeling the pillow he was resting his hand on, trying to maintain control. Khargaad was watching you, every little subtle expression. He kept sinking himself into you, stopping when you made the first wince of pain. He was big, and you were so tight.

“Y/n?” You looked up at him through those pretty lashes. He nearly lost it all right there, just from the eye-contact. You got off of your elbows, leaning down completely. You gave a little nod, still making direct eye contact. Slowly and gently, he worked his way in until his hips were flush with yours. He leaned back, still buried in you, letting you adjust to the stretch.

He wouldn’t last long at all, seeing you like this. Your little face with knotted brows, arms thrown overhead. Khargaad brought his hand to your stomach, rubbing little circles into the soft skin with his thumb. You were perfect. Perfect to take his seed. Perfect for growing a little half-orc.

He wouldn’t yet, of course. Not until you were ready. For you, he would wait as long as needed. But his strange orc hormones and instincts craved it beyond explanation.

He began rocking out and back into you, keeping a slow languid pace. You reached out for him, and in an instant his head was nuzzled in your neck again. His pace started to ramp up a bit, earning little mewls from your lips. Oh he definitely wouldn't last much longer. “W-where…” His breath hitched in your ear. “Huh?” You were too flustered to try to understand what he was asking.

“Going to-” He was hissing and groaning, barely able to work out a sentence, “On your body- ah- or o-on the bed?” His motions were getting jerky. “Fuck- sorry- oh fuck.”

He pulled out just barely in time to empty himself onto your stomach. He fucked his rough fist through the climax, sighing at the sight of his seed coating your tummy. It felt a lot warmer than you expected, and much more… volume. He finally let go of his cock, reaching for a linen cloth and dunking it in a bowl of water he had set nearby. “I made a mess…”

He sounded so guilty, and you giggled at him teasingly. One of his hands cupped your face, while the other softly wiped the length of your cunt, messy from your own slickness. He wiped the cum that was coated across your stomach, being careful not to spill any on the bed.

“You did so good.” He started cooing sweet nothings to you while running his thumbs across your cheekbone, “Wore me out…” He chuckled, throwing the rag across the room. He yawned and stretched his arms above him.

“Do you want me to go home now?” You were all too familiar with the stories women told about men finishing and ordering them to leave. You didn’t quite have the confidence yet, to advocate for yourself. To tell him you wanted to spend the night wrapped up in his arms.

For Khargaad, this question felt like an arrow to the heart. Had he not done enough? To make it clear how badly he needed you with him? He laid down next to you, pulling you close, “I would kill the person who would try to take you from me right now.”

Here is Part 5 for you lovelies <3 <3 <3 btw Khargaad is living in a yurt, that's what I was trying to describe lol.

I attached a playlist I put together. These are the songs I've been listening to while writing this, if anyone wants to hear the vibes :3

Tagged List <3

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal @honeybaegle @sammehshark @dij-ology @forgemotherkestrel @wafflefries786

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athenaluciscaelum · 30 days ago

Note

Hello! Can I have requested for Dante (DMC5) with a fem reader who's into breeding kink?

Reader noticed her husband is acting weird aka baby fever and she's willing to give him what he wants.

Note: I think I always detail, but I hope you like it.

Oh Baby

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Pairing: DMC5 Dante x Fem! Reader

Rated: Mature

Words: 2513 words

Warning: Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink(duh!)

Disclaimer:

Feel free to leave comments, but remember to be nice and civil.

LETS ROCK!!

You scared Dante. Yes, you scared him. You dare him to have dreams, dreams that he never let escape his mind, dreams he never dared to accept, dreams he never dared to speak of even to himself. Let alone another soul. Of course, Dante's soul had a dichotomy, or so he thought or perceived. The dichotomy of his demon half and human half, which took him so many years of his life to harmonise together, from hatred and denial to acceptance and synchronising.

You were perfect in his eyes, standing near the window basking in the morning sun. He loves how calm and peaceful you were. Even though the life you had with him was ever far from peaceful. It was a constant struggle and violence. Violence he enjoyed, violence which was necessary.

This violence was so many times an extension of his demon half, but its dispensation was guided by his human heart. Dante's demon half was satisfied; he was at the top of his strength. What more could he ask for?

But then you waltz into his life, and everything changes. He was so adamant. 'No! She won't be part of my life! She is too good for me. And everything I love only dies.' To be honest, this was the way Dante learnt to love. Rather bring people he loves in his life. He stayed away to see them grow safe and sound from afar. Like he did with Patty, Nero, and you.

Or he thought. But you were strong, resilient and stubborn. The way humans were strong. And it made his heart flutter. He tried; he really tried to drive you away. Intentionally being rude to you, flirting with you in a crass manner, or ignoring you. But you see through his acts. Always giving him 'I understand'.

You understand. Hell, when do you have to understand anything? You were not supposed to understand anything. There is one thing he never wanted or never got from another human being – acceptance in all its entirety.

Dante's demonic side didn't help his case here. It was ready to pounce on you. It was ready to smother 'mate' with love and build a nest for her. Nest? Whatever for? What Nest!? He could barely stay sane in your presence, and you were so willing to be his.

Dante sighed as you were cuddling him at night after your first night together, your face nuzzling his chest. He thought to himself, 'Maybe, just maybe, I can give it a slack.' The 'slack' kept on going – just one night, just a casual thing, just one date, just staying once over at her house, just asking her to move in because... cut it. Within a year, Dante was obsessed; his mate stayed close to him and 'the nest'. He made changes in the room, bringing in a comfy bed and dresser, painting the room to your liking, and helping you decorate it whatever way you like.

It was not long before you two were dancing on your wedding night. You thought yourself to be the luckiest, and you were. Dante was a gem. Though he was unable to see it.

You always wanted to have a husband and children. You were strong and independent, but you craved the domesticity with the right person. When you decided it to be Dante. You told yourself kids might not be an option and that it was something you were ready for. You loved Dante, kids or no kids. You were not letting someone you love go for something you might or might not have in the future.

Dante was here. He is real, and he loves you deeply. Even if you craved kids, you gave it a long thought before pursuing Dante. He never brought up this topic, but given his line of fear to even have you. It was implied. So you were ready for it. You can always dote on other kids. The world has so many of them.

Dante kept looking at you as his mind swirled. When he was young he never thought about fatherhood, but you were standing at the front door helping a little kid who tripped outside the office. To be honest, the kid was a little dumb. But it came so naturally to you. Kids always find you trustworthy. Even when you two are out, some lost or scared kid will approach you for help. Even animals, it's like you had a sort of aura which made them feel safe. Your soul was….soothing.

Dante agreed. You even made him feel safe. He will cuddle you every night; it helps him sleep better. Every time he saw you interact with kids, a voice inside him filled his mind with thoughts. The thoughts of you in a dress, your belly swollen with his kid, your breast heavy to nourish them, and you looked so beautiful smiling with excitement.

Dante shook his head, 'No! No!' He has already endangered you by bringing you into his life, but to make you birth a child with Sparda blood. The possibility that it could lead to your potential death. The image of his mother lying on the floor bleeding to death danced in front of his eyes as everything else burnt to the ground. It made him tremble with fear. He was unwilling to lose you. But his demon side would not stop bothering him.

You two were in bed in the afternoon. It was common for Dante to be away from you for many nights and weekends were when you two got the opportunity to cuddle throughout the day. You were asleep curled up on your side of the bed. The room was dark; Dante's hand came to rest on your stomach. It irritated you a bit. You had your own internal conflict. There was one thing: you let your dream go. But it was another when his hand placed there reminded you that you will always feel this 'empty'.

You both were fighting your own internal battle, but communication sometimes was so difficult when it involved potentially losing a loved one.

You sighed and removed Dante's large hand away from your stomach, sleepy. Your voice a little irritated, "Dante, I told you not to touch my stomach." Dante was little taken back and sad but nodded and spoke softly, "Right...I'm sorry…"

Dante stood up, putting back on his pants, Henley and coat. You sat up on the bed, covering yourself with a sheet as he was putting on his belt. You spoke regretfully, "Hey...where are you going? I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude." Dante shook his head, "No...no...it's just... I just wanted a little space and to go out alone..." You felt unsure but nodded, "Okay, take care; I will miss you." Dante gave you a lil nod as he headed out. He mentally berates himself. Now you were alone in bed, thinking you did something wrong when it was him.

It was too early to go to a bar, but he needed space and ordered his Jack Daniel with coke. He leaned on the counter, running his hand through his white hair. He knew what he wanted...a child. But he wasn't sure. He never wanted to be a father, or more like never wanted to repeat his own childhood. He had no qualm with his father now. Sparda was a good father.

Dante thought the only time he entertained the idea was before meeting Nero. He was in a better place mentally and sometimes thought. If he should have a wife and child of his own. But then he met Nero and thought it was enough. The blood of Sparda continues. You were never supposed to be in his life. But you are, and it changes everything. He thought about what the fate of Nero's mother was. Did she abandon Nero? Did she die? Killed by Demons? Or the Order of the Swords? Demons never specifically came for Nero or called him 'Sparda Kin'; only very few upper demons did.

He asked himself again and again. Was it safe? Could it be different this time? Even Sparda was the strongest, the way he was now. And if he can still decide to have a child. Will you agree to have a child with someone like him?

Dante was lost in his thoughts; you could see something was bothering him for more than a week. When you asked, he shrugged, "Nothing, babe, it's just bills, no job, you can see." You nodded, "I think it's okay; I can cover them for now. Isn't there anything else? You can tell me, okay?" Dante smiled, making his dilemma, "Nope. All good; our nest should be in good shape." He smacked himself internally, but you caught on before he could say anything. You spoke in confusion, "Nest?" Dante tried to act casual, "Yeah...nest as in birds. I was reading about birds in magazines. Nest is home, home is nest, quite interchangeable." You raised an eyebrow and asked unsure, "Birds?" Dante nodded, fumbling with his hands, "Yes, birds, you like them, right?"

Now you know Dante was hiding something from you, and it was eating you on the inside. He started to take up long night missions and ignore you. He kept saying it was to get bills paid and treat you to something nice. But he was the nice you wanted.

So tonight you dressed up, putting on makeup and a soft doll lingerie dress. You were waiting for him in bed when he walked in. You were so tantalising and smiled at him; you purred, "Mind joining me?"

Dante was drooling and sighed; he knew this was coming from a place of guilt. A guilt you should never have; it was his issue, not yours. But here you were, trying to make amends for something which was not your burden. He spoke feeling resigned, "Y/N, can we talk?" You expected many reactions but not this. Dante's eyes were on your chest; he was barely containing himself. He was on his heat cycle, and his demonic side was tethering to breed you.

You took his face in your hands and spoke understandingly, "Heat?" He nodded. You sighed and ran your knuckles on his scruffy cheek, "Why hide it from me!?" He just sighed and leaned into your touch, purring. You melted and spoke softly, "Dante...talk...please…" That, please, made his cock jolt. He nuzzled your neck, and his large hands held on to your waist tightly. He purred in your ears, "Need you. Need you to breed you. But I'm so scared, so scared of losing you. Please...help me." Your eyes were wide; you froze. This is what you ever wanted.

You pulled Dante's face away, holding it to face him. You spoke breaking, you were about to cry, and you could not believe it was real. But also could not ascertain if it was spoken with full certainty and soundness? You spoke as your voice breaks, "Da-Dante! Look at me, talk to me... You mean it." He nodded; he looked so vulnerable. "I mean it...babe." Tears streamed down your cheek, "You mean it!? You won't regret it...promise me." Dante wiped away your tears with his thumb. He was so tender and full of love; he spoke with softness. Softness – he wasn't aware he could have that, and that made him feel better about being ready for a child, "I will never regret you or the life you bring into this world."

You held his face, kissing his lips deeply. Your lips fighting for dominance with his, you two were ready. Dante pulled you beneath him. He spoke gruffly and needy, "Be a good girl for me, hmm?" You nodded, all flustered; your soft palm touched his bulge. Dante squeezed his eyes shut and cursed, "Fuck, Y/N, now is not the time to play…" You nodded in understanding. You started to unbuckle and unzip his hands... He pulled back to take them off with his underwear, also discarding his shirt. Your dress was quite short; he pulled down your panties.

He was ripping into seams, controlling himself as he was morphing in and out of his devil trigger. You found it so hot. Your hands on his face, looking at him and smiling...kissing his demonic lips... while his thick fingers stroked your slit, you moaned in the kiss as he pushed in one finger and started to screw you. He was minding his fingernail; demon fingers aren't exactly safe. He pulled away...he was now fully in his Devil Trigger. His cock was thicker and longer; that scared you always, but you trusted him.

You were quiet, and your nails rakes over his shoulder blades and legs pressed to your chest in a mating press as he was thrusting into you, again and again. He hit your sweet spot every time he was biting your neck, collarbone, and chest – an attempt to mark and claim his mate.

Your skin turning red, purple, and blue. He kept going on taking his sweet time, torturing you – making you come again and again. Until you were overstimulated.

He flipped you on your stomach; you were drooling, crying, and begging him to fill you. Your body was spent. He raised your ass up, his demonic hand fondling your tits. He rammed it in until you both were utterly satisfied, filling you to the brim and setting you free. He stayed in inside you. You were pressed against his chest, barely awake. He held your small face, tilted your chin up and kissed you deeply, giving you a few up thrusts to make sure you took all of his seeds.

He gently pulls out of sure, his thumb pushing back in any come that is dripping from your slit. God, he loved you so much.

He looked at you spent and curled on their 'nest'. He would let you rest for now. When you're awake, he will feed you and massage your sore muscles. So you could be ready for another round, one more, and more again. As many as it took for your shared love to result in a life.

It was a lazy morning. You were out with Trish shopping. Dante was waiting for you. You were not off the hook. You both still have a mission to complete, and he takes this mission very seriously. You came back and smiled. You gave him a box. He raised an eyebrow. You insisted he open it now. He opened it to find the tiniest pair of boots, one like his. You were smiling from ear to ear, flustered. His heart pounded in his chest so loud, he was trembling with joy. He scooped you in his arms, twirling you around. You squeaked, "Dante, I'm feeling dizzy; I do not want to throw up again." Dante apologised and put you down. He knelt in front of you. His head on your belly. You ran your fingers through his hair lovingly.

Everything will be fine. Dante promised he would make sure of it.

#dante devil may cry #dante sparda #devil may cry #dmc dante #dante #dante x reader #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry 3 manga #athena speaks #fantiction #dmc 5 #dmc 5 dante

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mintmatcha · 26 days ago

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MALACHITE AND OBI!! How are my beautiful dragon boys doing, Minty? 🎤

When you awake, the room is cold. It's winter here, in the northern country, and snow has piled up by the windows. Without Obi next to you, the piles of blankets doesn't seem to be enough.

By the time you urge yourself up, your feet frigid against the floor, the sun is still down. There's no shine of fire coming from the hall, no candles to illuminate your way, just the shine of the moon against the ice covered land.

Obsidian is in his own room. Things are different here: generations of a family stay under one roof. Obsidian, his brothers, his mother, and soon his brother's children. You've been sectioned off in the guest room, smothered in blankets and furs.

You creek open your door. Down the hallway, doorway cracked, is Obi's room. The house is silent as you tiptoe in, shutting the door behind you with a click.

"My princess," Obi rises from his bed, clearly already awake. His voice rumbles low, but soft. He's completely undressed; no need to when his core temperature runs so hot. You suspect he polished his scales last night; the air smells of the orange oil he prefers to use and his black scales glint in the moonlight.

"My mother would be appalled to see you in my room like this." Despite what he says, Obsidian presses his "My brother as well."

That's another difference. Dragonborn culture is more conservative than you expected. 'Mating' is expected after marriage; you two aren't even supposed to share a room. If his family had any idea what the two of you did on nights on the road...

(Jasper's recreational activities would kill the family.)

Trimmed claws run up your sides, their smooth edges gliding across your silken nightgown. They go up and up, all the way until they run over the curve of your tit, flicking over your pebbled nipple. "They are already scandalized by these."

"It's cold without you in my bed," you whisper. You curve your chest into his touch and he follows your lead, caressing and squeezing and touching your breasts, exploring them for his pleasure and yours. Experience has made him a perfect lover for you, it's only a moment before his touch has you vocalizing, nothing more than an open mouthed hum-

"Shh," Obi whispers. "Quiet, my fawn. Malachite is up to watch the fire."

And yet he's hitching up your dress, gathering it above your tits so it stays in place. You're grabbing at his cock, helping guide it from it's sheath, admiring it's ridged size in your hands. Looping an arm around each leg, Obi picks you up from the ground and presses you back against the door.

"Imagine if they knew-" Together, you guide his cock inside you. No matter how many times you take it, the fit is tight. The tapered end of his cock makes taking it easy at first, but each bump and ridge slides into you and rubs against sensitive areas. "How often you are underneath me."

His strokes are slow. When he moves too quickly, the floor squeaks under foot, so it's all you can do to take every careful thrust. You hang from his horns and nudge your nose into his muzzle, over and over again. It's the way dragonborns kiss, an ode to his kind.

"How often I fill you with my seed." Obi's grasp gets tighter. His scales catch against your sensitive skin as he pulls his hips away from you.. "How terribly I love you."

This time, you kiss him the way humans do. Right on his mouth, licking into his teeth. His lips can't pucker the same way yours do, but he licks up into your mouth anyway, letting you suck on his tongue for a moment.

You continue like this for a while, secretly enjoying each other. By the time you come undone, he's right behind you, spilling deep inside your guts. You hold each other longer, enjoying the warmth trapped between your bodies.

"If they knew," he says wistfully, after a long period of silence. "We would have to get married."

"We would have to," you agree. "Then we've have to settle down, find a home. Have a couple babies with your pretty black scales."

"That's funny." Obi's nose scrunches as he smiles. "Whenever I picture our children, they look just like you."

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bunny-1111 · 9 months ago

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Blow out your candles - Theo Nott x reader

Description: you hate your birthday, your boyfriend Theodore tries to make it the best day for you, but only makes it worse, until...

Word Count: 1.1k

Fluff/Angst

Likes, comments + reblogs appreciated my loves xx

...

"One more sleep" Theo jestered, throwing an arm around you in the busy hallways of the Hogwarts morning traffic.

"Don't remind me" you muttered, wanting to hide in his chest

"Wait till you see what I got you" he teased, a smirk growing as he watched you

"Hey! I told you nothing, not fair!" you whined

"I can't wait, you're gonna love it, and you're gonna love your birthday baby" a cheshire grin painting his face

"I can wait" you say rolling your eyes, before the conversation could continue he pecked a kiss on your lips, before running off to class.

Now stuck walking by yourself, alone with your thoughts, you were becoming overwhelmed, since you were a child you despised your birthday.

With your parents always away, you spent most of your milestones alone, from as young as four years old, it was your Grandmother that would keep you celebrated, taking the morning to gather and make flower crowns, then spend the rest of the day wearing them. When she died, so did your birthday as far as you were concerned.

As time passed, you grew in age and in contentment. You now preferred your birthday to just pass as any other would, that's how it was supposed to be this year as well, until Pansy opened her stupid mouth a month ago, reminding everyone you would be eighteen soon.

Theodore reminded you everyday since then, he was basically a human countdown for your least favourite day of the year.

Now less than twenty-four hours away, you couldn't bare the thought.

Now, the night before the dreaded day, you hoped, by some miracle, Theodore would fall, hit his head, and forget.

That did not happen, the sun blared into your eyes as your boyfriend ripped open your blinds early birthday morning

"Wake up birthday girl!" he practically yelled

"No" you groaned sinking into your pillows, you hands throwing your blanket over you head, make this go away you thought

Theodore tore your blankets off you, and jumped onto you and began blabbering about the plans of the day, he was so happy your birthday fell on a Saturday, you hated it, if you had class you could avoid all of this.

He moved you to sit upright, and continued talking about a day full of surprises

"I hate surprises" you complain

"Well you love me, so you'll like these ones" he returned, gently caressing your face with his warm hands

"Why can't we just sleep the day away in my bed, that's what I want" you said

"Tough luck, sweetheart, let's go" he smiled prompting you up

In the great hall, your friends waited for you, smiles one their faces, waiting to welcome you. Theodore insisted they go around and give you their presents one by one, followed by stating all the things they love about you.

It was embarrassing to say the least, you felt so out of body.

As the hours passed, Theodore did not talk about anything else, reminded everyone, it was getting progressively unbearable. It never ended, he had something or someone waiting for you everywhere you turned.

You knew how much he cared, how hard he was trying, you loved him, and hated yourself for being so displeased at his actions.

By nighttime, you were counting down the hours till the days end, you entered the common room, a chalkboard centring the space, a big 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' written for everyone to see.

You and your friends sat on the couch, when Theo entered, cake in hand, candles lit, your friends began to sing and clap. One final protest.

No, no, no.

You told him so clearly, no cake, and absolutely no singing. Spare me some fucking dignity you wanted to scream

He just didn't listen, placing the cake close to you, waiting for you to blow out your candles.

You threw your head back, tears stinging your eyes, breath, you reminded yourself. When breathing wasn't working you choose to get up and storm to your dorm, hot, frustrated tears flooding your face.

You ran into bed, and continued crying, perfect, you thought, this is what you wanted, right? To push Theo away, to be alone, to feel like shit, to act like shit, congratulations, you're officially a year older and officially a shitty person.

When time passed, there was only 15 minutes left, a knock on your door.

"Please don't come in" you begged

He of course didn't listen, twisting the doorknob, opening and closing the door behind himself.

Theo carefully approached you

"I'm sorry" he almost whispered rubbing your back, meeting each others sad eyes.

"No, I'm sorry" you sigh

"Can I give you your present?" he asked so politely

you nodded, inhaling a sniffle.

"Close your eyes" he requested, you did

You could hear him reached into his pocket, and place something on your head, reaching up to feel what it was, your heart dropped, immediately opening your eyes, head clocking to your mirror, to be met with a flower crown decorating your hair.

You gasped, turned to him and threw yourself into a hug, he held you tight as you cried "How did you know" you enquired

"I wrote your mother" he shrugged, attempting a smile

"One more thing" he continued, handing you a letter

"What's this?" you questioned

"Trust me, darling, just read it" He said, kissing your forehead.

Birthday Girl. Read the front, opening the parchment you almost choked when you recognised the handwriting, it was from your grandmother.

Hi sweet girl,

I will be long gone by the time you read this, but did you really think I wouldn't be there in some way on your 18th birthday.

I love you endlessly, I am picking flowers for you above, stay gentle, regardless of what this world throws at you, and remember the times in the fields, crafting our crowns, baking your cake, laughing, smiling, don't lose any petals without me!

The things I would do to spend just one more birthday with you, child.

Think of me always, as I do, you.

Love you, my flower girl.

-Grammy

You almost dropped it in shock, eyes rescanning, rereading a hundred times

"i- How" you stuttered out

"You mother saved it, she wasn't going to send it, so I went and got it for you myself" he admitted

"You did this for me" You cried

"I love you" he hushed

"I love you so much" you returned, pulling him into your bed.

Before you both drifted to sleep, you faced him, "Best birthday ever" you whispered, kissing you, he grinned

"I'm so sorry teddy" you repeat

"Enough of that, alright, I know it's hard" he sympathised

"You've changed everything for me, I think I love my birthday again, thank you my darling boy" you cry happy tears

He held you tighter.

As you sleep your birthday off, the smile on your face doesn't leave you.

requests are open <3

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revelboo · 6 months ago

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Idk if you have seen this starscream or not but do you think can do transformers armada starscream x reader? I have a real soft spot for him. He deserves some love ❤️

I can try- my knowledge of Armada is a bit thin. 18+ 🌶️

Even If It Kills Me

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Helm tipping back as the sun drips through the leaves and dapples him in spots of warmth, he can almost relax out here, far from home. Nearby, he can hear Jetstorm, Runway, and Sonar splashing in the lake as they dart along the rocky shore. Knows the Autobots would probably not like it if they knew he was out alone with the Mini-Cons, but also that the three of them deserve some peace from the fighting. It’s Sonar tapping his ped that makes him look down and it doesn’t take the mini-con’s frantic hand gestures to realize that there’s only two of them. Runway is gone. Primus, it’s like having sparklings sometimes. “Show me,” he growls tiredly as Sonar and Jetstorm both point into the woods framing the clearing and the lake.

• Leaning across the engine to get at the intake manifold while trying to not drop anything inside the engine, the little beeping chirp from behind you almost makes you brain yourself on the hood. Like you need any more injuries, your face is still swollen and your split lip burns as you turn to look and do drop a tool into the engine, hearing it clanging. Because there’s a little robot just taller than you standing behind you, red visor glowing as it startles at the noise of the dropped tool. A kid in a costume? It looks real as you push yourself back and your feet hit the gravel. “Where’d you come from, buddy?” Because your house is well off the road. It’s not moving closer, but not retreating either, so you approach it. It’s not a costume, it can’t be. It’s too cannily made for that. You’d known robots were getting advanced, but why is it out here wandering around? It shies away when you try to touch it and you hold up your hands, palms out. “Okay. We’re good.”

• Not expecting it to cautiously reach out and press its palm to yours, head tipping as it chirps at you. “Hope you’re not a first gen terminator, buddy.” And then it’s carefully gripping your hand to play with your fingers and thumb, seeing how they move and you inhale, but its touch is shockingly gentle as it makes little beeping sounds to itself. It’s inquisitive as it plucks at your flannel shirt and then touches your hair. “Not a fan of personal space, huh?” Its head tips, visor flickering like it’s uncertain.

• Branches clawing at him as he moves through the woods, forcefully making a path, when he breaks free of the tree line, he freezes because he hasn’t realized he was so close to a human dwelling. And there’s a human in the yard right there standing in front of Runway as the mini-con chirps. And you and Runway both freeze as he crashes out of the tree line, Sonar and Jetstorm running toward their brother before stopping short when they notice the human. You’re just staring up at him and he knows he’s supposed to be hidden on this world and not be seen.

• There’s two more you sized robots, but you can’t tear your eyes from the giant red one scowling down at you. The little guys are cute, but this one? Are these his babies? Is he about to stomp you for messing with one of them? “Human,” he growls, taking a thunderous step forward and that’s it for your ability to deal with this nonsense. You throw up a hand at him and start speed walking for the house. Cause nope. No, thank you. You have enough problems without this too.

• You’re ignoring him? Venting raggedly, he strides after you and insinuates his ped between you and the door to your house. And you stare up at him, one eye squinting, the skin around it discolored. “If you let me go, I’ll pretend none of this ever happened, okay?” You say, little arms crossing. “You go do your giant robot, kaiju thing and I’ll go get drunk until I forget this. Everyone wins.” And you grin at him, wincing and darting your tongue out to touch your split lip. Those little injuries shouldn’t mean a thing to him. Except, they strike a chord and he hates it. Because he knows what it’s like to be someone else’s punching bag. You’re just a human, you mean nothing to him, but as Runway chirps up at him almost pleadingly, he bends to curl his servos around you. Or tries to, because reaching for you shatters your odd calm and there’s the fear he expected. And you bolt.

Added a bitty Soundwave plush to my Soundwave Jeep. There’s a lot to do to get ready for Jeep Jam in May

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #armada starscream

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creampie-capital · 2 months ago

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║ᴋᴇɪ ᴛꜱᴜᴋɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ║

↳「ʙᴀʙʏ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ」║ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʙᴀʙʏᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ ➠ 18+ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ɴᴀᴍᴇ║Kei Tsukishima

ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ/ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ║Haikyuu

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ║11,893

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴜᴛ."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

What kind of man would steal your heart?

Would he be a charmer? A man who knew just what to say? A flatterer that would make sure you felt like the most gorgeous person in the world?

Or maybe he'd be a little shy, a sweet man who'd blush at accidentally holding hands. Would he get flustered when you stared at him a little too long? Perhaps he'd even feel like he were on cloud nine if you graced him with a kiss.

He should be sweet and savory, a fine dining meal that you could just eat up.

It was fun to imagine and entertaining to dream of it. You couldn't help it that you were a hopeless romantic, in love with the idea of love, consumed by the thought of being with your other half.

What would it feel like to find the one that makes the whole world revolve around them? You've thought about it many times, wouldn't it be wonderful? Wouldn't it be the most earth-shattering moment that made your entire world start to revolve around them?

How nice, how fun it was to think that.

All of that imagining and fantasizing turned out to be a crude joke when you've come to the realization that the man who doesn't want you is, in fact, the one you can't let go.

The man stuck in your thoughts, unable to just go away...is the same man who barely even holds a conversation with you when the sun is up.

It feels sickening, nearly rancid on your tongue, like he's a dirty secret when he only comes over in the dark. Filthy, you feel filthy when you let go of all your dignity and give in to him without any hesitation.

Letting go of your pride and disregarding your dignity, you take the scraps he gives you with love-struck appreciation.

You take it so willingly, accepting the bare minimum because you're just so grateful for what little he throws your way.

This isn't it; this isn't what you spent all that time envisioning what your dream man would be like. He'd love you! He'd sacrifice everything for you! He'd show you off because he's just so proud that you're his.

Yet you're played with by falling in love with a man who is entirely opposite to what you've dreamed.

And he just has to be the father of your baby.

Unable to hold up your weight, you collapsed to your knees in the bathroom. It's so hot; you're sweating, and your skin is so sizzling, that you feel like tearing it off and emerging as just bones.

Oh, god(s)! This is a cruel joke! This is some f*cking divine intervention for playing with fire. They just had to throw something at you as punishment for playing with a man who didn't want you.

"(Y/n)! You've been in there since, like, forever!" Ceinwen, one of your roommates, bellows from outside as she pounds on the bathroom door. "The Delta sorority is having a party, and it's open to everyone on campus! I can't miss this!"

Oh yeah, what simple things to be worried about. It would be nice to stress about what pink bra to wear and not how you're going to provide for a whole nother human being.

"Give me..." You're struck with a wave of nausea, feeling your entire stomach stir and your esophagus tense. Hunching over the toilet, you audible breathe in and out as saliva pools in your mouth. "...Give me a second."

Another bang that spurs your head to throb physically. "Eww! You better not be sick! That's so gross." Meara, another roommate, bellows, and you can practically see her scrunched face in disgust.

Ugh, they can be so irritating sometimes! Somehow, you were able to force yourself to your feet and yank the door open. The woman dressed as how happy little sl*t's should be during their college days, stares back at you curiously. "Unless you two get pregnant, you can't get this sickness!"

They gasp audibly, their entire bodies leaning back from the shock as they stare wide-eyed. "Oh, my god." Ceinwen, the short brunette, muttered under her breath. "That's a real bummer, but we need the bathroom."

You almost laugh, almost, yet the situation is already starting to weigh heavy on you. "Knock yourselves out." Replying, you step back to grab your phone and the pregnancy tests before brushing past them to the stairs.

The two girls' bedrooms were on the second floor, and yours was on the third. You had that all to yourself, which was nice, but now you don't know if you'll be able to stay here much longer.

You just can't. This place isn't somewhere to raise a kid; parties are just downstairs every other day. You have roommates who bring home strangers nearly every night.

Filling your mouth with air and blowing it out with a sigh, you try to collect your thoughts. Oh god(s), this is really happening. You took several tests from different brands, and all stare you right back in the face with a bright 'positive!'.

But why do you have to suffer!? Why is it your fault that you have horrible reactions to birth control and have to stay reliant either on condoms or Plan B!?

Another sigh.

You thought you were so careful. Weren't you so adamant about him wrapping it up?

When was it?

Why are you even trying to figure it out? What's done is done; your body is no longer just yours anymore; you house a growing fetus.

And it's his baby of all people, Kei Tsukishima's.

Falling back on your bed, you hold closed fist against your eyes as you feel them swell with tears. You hate yourself for being scared to tell him if that means he's going to disappear from your life. That shouldn't be your fear; you have to care for his baby, and you have to put them above a man.

But you cannot help but mourn the delusions of finding the love of your life. The responsibility of caring for another will be the dominant obligation. Your own dreams and goals will have to be put on the back burner just so you can care and provide a healthy childhood for your child.

Pregnancy is such a tremendous responsibility, a burden even. And although you've taken the possibility of pregnancy seriously, you've still skirted on that fine line. You f*cked around and are now finding out.

With another sigh and a sniffle, you manage to sit up again and grab your phone to see your notifications. A few emails from your classes, some IG messages from your friends, and a single text from the man himself.

◤ Bane of My Existence I'm gonna come over after drinks with the team. ◢

"Oh, yeah?" You whisper to yourself with a sneer. Every time he comes over after drinking with the team, he's not pissed drunk, but he is tipsy, which meant he was more adamant about sleeping together.

Why was it that whenever he came to you inebriated by alcohol, did you see the glimmer of he could be? It's like his defensive walls were down, and he allowed himself to be slightly vulnerable.

You hated it just as much as you loved it.

For that night, you could experience what it would feel like to be something other than a warm body. His touches were tender, his kisses so intimate. He said that made your face burn and made you feel like the only woman in the world.

And then, after everything was said and done, he'd clean you all up and lay right back by your side. Sometimes, he was silent, just listening to you. Others, he would talk to you about literally anything.

Maybe he'd talk about his day, ranting about his courses or the astronomical amount of assignments he had. He might speak about his team or volleyball, recanting his days when he brought his high school team to nationals.

Sometimes, he'd play a song and ask your opinion on it. Those were the moments where you made notes, sneaking reminders to check up on that artist just to have something to talk about with him.

When he had his way with you, it's like the two of you were more than...whatever the two of you were. I mean, it had to mean more when he'd lay there, a hand on your hip as he held your gaze until you fell asleep.

You loved it, you loved feeling...loved. But that's why you hated it just as much: because the man he is during the night is not the same as the man you meet when the sun is up.

That man is callous, snarky, even dry in his responses. He finds no importance in talking to you; he replies barely, probably just enough to keep you on the line. Communicating with that man feels as if you're grasping at strings, attempting everything and anything just to get him to look your way.

Yet your relationship with each other is weird because not every time he comes over at night does he want to have s*x. Sometimes, he just sits at your desk and works on his classwork. He doesn't even talk to you, keeping his SOMY headphones on as he focuses on his laptop.

He could do that anywhere, yet he invades your space while not even paying attention to you. And every time he does that, you just let him be and refrain from bothering him because you don't want him to feel disturbed.

It's pathetic and embarrassing, and you know it, yet you still can't let him go. You're putting in all the work, taking the time to learn about his interests, and trying to make some form of relationship happen.

And that gets tiring...and that gets draining...yet you can't let this man go. How can you love him so much? How can you put up with all this stress when the easiest solution would be to move on? How are you tolerating this fwb relationship when you want a boyfriend, a lover, something serious... official.

Guess your title has changed from 'the person I occasionally sleep with' now to just 'baby Mama.' It feels...derogatory. You mean more than that; you're worth more than that. Being pregnant wasn't something you planned at all until the future when you'd already be married to the love of your life.

You'd already be living with the man you'd spend the rest of your life with when you've attained your degrees and have a steady career. Everything's a f*cking mess, and nothing is like you've dreamed of.

Nothing you can do will change the fact you're pregnant, and the father isn't even someone that you think you can depend on. Well...maybe you're thinking too low of him. After everything he's done to you, the way he's treated you, the way he never wanted to go past the sleeping together, it was evident that you just weren't the one.

Yet he feels just right to you.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You spent the next few hours cleaning before showering and changing into a fresh set of loungewear. Because you were still nauseous and felt sickly, a trash bin was kept by your bed, just in case.

During the rest of your free time, you tried to edit your schedule and figure out everything you would have to do to care for this child. You'd need to work more and save up for the money pit children tend to be. Emailing the museum where you worked, you explained the situation and how you needed more hours.

There might not be much that they could do, so you'll probably have to get a second job, too. The courses you took in person will have to change to online, making the whole point of physically attending college useless.

It could either be a fricken nightmare or tolerable considering it was your last year before graduating, and that all just depends on if you can handle...everything that's changing.

Your phone lit up, the screen presenting your notification and Tsukishima's message.

◤ Bane of My Existence Are ur roommates here? ◢

Is being seen with you really that bad?

◤ 75 XXX XXXX No, they went out to party. Bane of My Existence K I'm outside the building. I'll just walk in when I get up. ◢

What would it feel like to proudly welcome home your partner? Would it be comforting? Gratifying? Soothing? You wonder what it would feel like not to be just some dirty little secret.

You can hear the front door squeak open before it's slammed shut. Your heart skips a beat, your fingers twitch, and you find it difficult to sit comfortably in your own bed.

His steps approach up the stairs, slow and languid, with no urgency at all. He has no idea about the bomb that's about to be dropped on him.

The handle jiggles to your bedroom door as it's opened, and the man himself steps through. His golden brown eyes find yours almost immediately, and the amount of dread that fills your stomach is enough to drown you right there.

"It's hot in here." He murmurs in an almost monotonous tone as he pulls the black sweater off his torso to leave him in a large white shirt and thrust it on your desk chair.

"It's actually rather cold." You mumble, leaning back against your headrest while crossing your arms underneath your chest.

Tsukishima blows air out of his nose like some condescending laugh as if he thought a joke to himself that he didn't want to share. "I can already sense your attitude." His words have a slight mocking tone as he tilts his head away.

Oh, he has no idea what's coming his way.

Emptying his things on your desk, he unbuckled his belt to step out of his pants and thrust it haphazardly on your chair. "What a long f*cking day." He groans as he strides closer to collapse on your bed.

With his abnormally long limbs, he looks almost comically on your bed. His head is by your hip, his arms splayed out, and his legs hanging loosely off the ends. Now, with him being much closer, you can smell the bitter alcohol wafting off his breath and cigarette smoke, too.

"How much did you drink?" You question while fiddling with your fingers in your lap atop the comforter.

"Enough." He mutters and holds down a burp as he reaches up to remove his glasses and rub at his eyes. "It's too bright in here."

It seems that tonight, he had drank just a little more than usual. What a coincidence. Leaning over, you shut off the lamp on the nightstand, which yielded a light sigh from the blond. For a moment, you think to yourself that maybe right now isn't the best time.

But you know he needs to know because tonight, a decision must be made about what the two of you will do.

Tsukishima rolls over onto his stomach as he rests one arm on your lap, his head facing away from you. "Dumb*ss can't even hit the ball." His utterance is slightly mumbled, and you know he was complaining about someone from his volleyball team.

You're trying to work up the nerve with your throat dry and tight. The words are right there on your tongue, yet you feel as if they're stuck to your teeth with glue.

The news you need to tell him will change everything.

"You're quiet," Tsukishima mumbled as the hand on your lap moved to poke at your hip. "What I do now?"

That almost brings out a laugh as you raise your knees to your chest and rub a hand over your temples. Now that you are aware of your pregnancy, your belly is a little bigger and plumper, which takes up more space.

It really isn't something that you can just forget for a little bit and worry about later.

"I...I need to talk to you about something." You don't even know how you managed to get the words out, but there really is no turning back.

The blond sighs with an aggravated respire of breath. "Is it serious?" He grumbled, and you can see the vexation lacing his tone. He probably thinks you're going to ask that silly question of 'What are we?' or 'Can we be official.'

He always avoids it, skirting around the topic or finding some way to distract you.

"Yes."

He shifts his head to face your direction and sighs once again. "What is it now?" His angled eyes gleam from his lens, and his sweet lips are pursed together.

"I'm-" You feel nauseous, nearly about the retch, though you manage to swallow it down with a shaky breath. "Oh f*ck. I'm pregnant...I'm pregnant, Kei."

His expression remains impassive, not a note or tick or any micro-expressions. However, you feel that he has stopped breathing from how the bed is no longer heaving with his breaths. Blood is rushing in your ears from how quiet your bedroom has become.

The abrupt movement of him sitting up had you jump in your spot and squeeze your hands on your biceps.

"Are you f*cking with me? This isn't some joke-"

You interject his words by kicking your feet under your blanket. "You think I would joke about this!? This is gonna change my life forever!" It wasn't your intention to yell; you're just so overwhelmed by this whole ordeal.

Reaching over to your nightstand, you remove the multiple pregnancy tests and thrust them on your bed. His eyes are staring at them as if dazed, with his pupils dilating.

Suddenly, Tsukishima twists his body so he holds up his weight with his elbows on his knees and stares at the ground. One of his hands obscures his mouth, and no sound comes from him.

Is your heart even beating? You're scared, you're terrified, you're dreading what he's going to do. And what does it say about you when there is a small part of you hoping that he wants to try and be something more?

You'll be connected to each other forever in a way that you can't just leave.

"Is it mine?" He finally speaks after what felt like hours of silence.

What a dumb question; you have to scoff audibly at it. "Of course. You're the only man." Your head turned with your lips puckering. "You won't be with me, but you throw a whole fit if another man shows me interest." Now wasn't the time to be bitter or petty, yet you couldn't help but mumble those words.

His response isn't immediate; he is just sitting there, solid like a statue. What is he thinking? What's going on in his mind?

You would give anything to know.

"Please talk to me. I can't figure you out." Your voice fails you; it's jittery and slightly squeaky at the end, and you feel a sob rising in your throat.

Tsukishima swears under his breath before standing up and stalking towards your chair. His hands are shaky but swift as he grabs his pants and rushes to put them back on.

It felt like your world had come crashing down. All the hope you had, the possibility that it might go the other way, was quite literally hitting you like a ton of bricks.

"W-wait, where are you going!?" Your own voice sounds like a shrill cry in your head.

He's shoving his wallet and keys back in his pockets as he responds. "I need, f*ck. I need time to think."

"You can't-" All air is robbed from your lungs. "It's not fair that you can just leave! What about me!? My entire life is going to change, and I can't just walk away from this-"

"What do you want from me, then?" His shouting voice shocked both of you, and your bodies recoiled backward. His golden brown eyes widened. The man's head dipped down, and he chewed on his bottom lip, his right hand still shaking by his side.

"Just..." You slowly get up from your sitting position and make your way over wearily. "Just talk to me. Just tell me how you're feeling. Is there anything? Are you scared? Are you worried? Do you hate me? I need to know."

Shaking his head, he turns away from you to grab his sweater and throw it over his shirt. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done already." Those words were just enough to crack open your heart.

It feels torn, and you feel dejected. "Why am I not worth enough for you to just talk to me?" Your vision wavers, and tears well up in your eyes, muting your sight.

His head whips your way with his lips parted. Whatever it is he wanted to say is silence as he meets your gaze. Can't he see how much he affects you? Can't he see how important he is to you? Don't you make it obvious? Don't you tell him enough?

"...That's not what you should be worried about right now."

So that's it.

Your wishful thinking made you look like a complete fool. What did you expect from a man who couldn't say what he wanted clearly?

This must be what it means to be in despair.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"(L/n)-san?"

You jump in your seat, startled by her voice when you are lost in your thoughts. A short-haired blonde woman steps in, grinning softly. "My name is Dr. Shiori, and I'll be the OB-GYN doctor who will attend to you."

"Yes, thank you." You're being nice, but you're unsure of what to say when you are so uncomfortable.

Shiori sits down in her chair and boots up her computer. Her room is cutely decorated with stickers and posters on the walls. It's also bright, with light streaming in through the blinds and a blaring one atop the ceiling.

"The nurse already took your vitals, including height and weight, so now we can check in on the fetus." The woman stands up to wash her hands before drying them and putting on gloves. "It's customary that on the first check-up, we inspect the position and heartbeat. Are you ready?"

No, no, you're not. "Of course."

The doctor turns on the ultrasound machine on a trolley by the examination table and informs you that she's going to lift your shirt. Your belly is displayed out, slightly rounded, and pooching differently than it did when you weren't pregnant.

"This is going to be a little cold." She squirts coupling gel on your tummy and swirls it around the skin with the transducer.

Vibrations rattle from the machine on your left, and the soundwaves of your internal organs are picked up. The screen is just a mesh of black-and-white lines as she rolls the wand over your stomach.

You have to turn your head away and manually control your breathing as you find yourself suddenly struck with nerves. Your skin is prickly hot, and a tightness returns to your throat.

Maybe it's all a joke?

Maybe you got it wrong?

Maybe you hear a heartbeat, a soft, rhythmic heartbeat, bellowing from the machine. Thump, thump, thump—it's a little fast but consistent and doesn't stop.

You can't help but turn your head to look. And there they are on screen. So small, curled with a round little belly and tiny hands.

"You should be around fifteen weeks. They're about the size of a plum or apple." Shiori informs as she watches the screen alongside you. "Aren't they amazing?"

"Yeah." It's breathed out while a sob holds strong in your throat. This is real; it's so real that nothing can even deny it anymore. That's your baby right there; that's your child breathing, sleeping, and relying on you to take care of them.

You've put your heart first, your feelings and love for Kei before your own pride. And now, this little thing comes before the love you hold for that man. If he doesn't want to be here for them, then it's his loss.

"Heartbeat is steady. The position looks acceptable. Everything is all good. Would you like a printed image of the fetus?" You nod quickly while wiping your eyes to free them of tears.

With that check-up completed, she cleaned you up, and the two of you sat at her desk to review prenatal educational materials and remedies for any unpleasant pregnancy symptoms. Your doctor is thorough and brings up topics that you hadn't even thought about to ask her.

But then she asks one question that squeezes your heart. "How are you with support? Is your family there for you or the baby's father?"

It feels embarrassing to have to say no; you have nobody. Several weeks have passed since you told Kei about your pregnancy, and he's gone radio silent. No text, not a single phone call; you don't even catch a glimpse of him on campus.

He said he needed time to think, and enough time had passed to come to terms with it. You're under the assumption that he wants nothing to do with you anymore.

"No." You try to smile up at her, but it feels strained. "It's just me."

Shiori's bottom lip quivers before she breathes out audibly and rummages through her desk to grab something. "Well, everyone has their circumstances." She places down a few cards and pamphlets. "These are some resources you can use. This is a group for expectant mothers to gather and support each other. And these are government websites that you can visit to apply for aid."

It's nice to have something that can help ease the financial and emotional burden of doing this alone.

"I suggest you also check this website out as well to schedule childbirth classes. They can be more educational than you might think, and there are knowledgeable women who can answer any questions you have and reassure you about any fears."

You stare at the aids and think to yourself, 'Maybe I can do this without anyone else.'

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

When you arrive back at your dorm after your appointment, it came as a surprise to see the bane of your existence leaning against the wall at your front door. With his headphones on, his attention focuses on his phone so leisurely it almost pisses you off.

You don't say anything as you approach and don't even look his way as you search through your purse for your keys. "Who are you here to see?" It's petty, and you know it, yet you can't help wanting to release some of your bitterness at him.

"Ceinwen."

Your fingers halt any movement as your head whips up at him, only to see his usual condescending smirk on his lips. The red hot coil in your stomach eases as you realize her weren't serious. You're still not...you still haven't worked through your own feelings.

Still, your heart yearns for him, and your chest aches at the idea of him being with someone else. "Real funny joke. I almost laughed."

"Then don't ask stupid questions," he responds as you unlock the door and step in. He follows right behind, shutting and locking the door while removing his shoes.

You're already making your way to the kitchen before placing down your prescriptions and groceries on the counter. The other girls are out of their classes, so you don't have to deal with their curiosity.

"Where did you go?" Tsukishima questioned as he approached the island and took a seat at the counter.

Oh yeah, he's just so comfortable acting like he hadn't been a ghost this entire time. "What have you been doing this whole time?" You retort while beginning to put away your things.

The blond groaned and leaned his arms on the island. "Can you not do this right now?"

Your eyes flicker to his face, seeing your reflection in his glasses before turning back towards the fridge. "Can you not waste my time right now?"

"(Y/n), can you be mature for just five minutes?"

Milk almost falls from your hands as the anger builds up in your body. "It's not fun, is it? Trying to get a response and get only questions back. Get's on your nerves, doesn't it?"

He doesn't reply, and you don't push for more as you finish putting everything away. It was not until you had to turn around to open your prescriptions that you got a look at his face.

His head is down, his vision on his hands as he breathes deeply. You'd like to think he was feeling remorseful, but that might just be wishful thinking. You never really know what's on his mind; you can't figure him out.

"You know..." The words are slightly strained as they leave your mouth. "I really don't have time to deal with you right now. I have to begin packing."

Immediately, his head whipped up, and his arms raised to place clasped hands against his lips. "Where are you going?" He asked softly.

"Nowhere right now." You inform while undoing a bottle of prenatal medicine. "I'm still looking for an apartment on the market. Can't raise a baby in a frat house." It really sucks, though, considering boarding was already paid for by tuition, and you had decent roommates.

Tsukishima held your gaze for a moment before bringing out his phone and scrolling on it. "I'll send my teammate's brother's number. He owns a couple of properties, and I know he'd be willing to help you out. They owe me favors after all."

How much work did you have to do to accept that you were going to do this all on your own? And after all that time staying silent, now he wants to help somewhat?

"Why are you doing this?" He peers up at you through his glasses. "Why try to help after like seven weeks of silence? I don't want anything from you if you're just going to be half in. Either you take full responsibility as this baby's father or take none at all. You're the only one that gets to walk away."

The blond slinked back in his seat as he crossed his arm over his broad chest. "What is with you and labels? I'm trying to help, and you're trying to start sh*t right now."

Blame it on the hormones, but your anger was simply unmanageable. It spurs tears to well up and cascade down your face in thick streams. His lips pursed tightly, and his entire spine had straightened up entirely at your visceral reaction.

"Don't you get it?! I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you so far long, even though you've treated me like sh*t and just some b*tch that you f*ck; I've been putting in all this effort for you to see that I am worth more than that."

You can't hold it down anymore; you can't act like you can just get over it. "I'm the one that knows what classes you have, when, and even what your grades are. I know what profession you want to go into. I know all about your volleyball history and how you got that scar in high school. I even go to every single one of your games, yet I bet you don't know that I'm even there."

It's like a damn was burst open, its walls destroyed as you cannot stop the torrent of water escaping through. "I know every song in your stupid f*cking playlist. I cancel any plans just in case you text and want to come over. I put in all this effort; I put you above everything else. I barely even asked for anything from you, and you barely even gave me the bare minimum."

With hands scrunched into fists, you step toward the island, your face just a few inches from each other. "...I didn't even ask you to take responsibility for this baby. All I wanted was for you just to tell me what you were feeling, what you were thinking."

How cathartic it feels to get that weight off your shoulders. You held that in, held everything in, because you needed to be careful with your wording. Now, it feels like you can breathe just a little easier.

Tsukishima swallowed strenuously as his head turned away, his gaze lingering on anything but you. "If I treat you so horribly, then why don't you just tell me off? Why do you keep torturing yourself?"

"Come on!" You grab the sides of his hair and force him to look at you. He doesn't even fight you while he frowns thickly. "I said it already. I'm in love with you. All I wanted was just to be yours officially."

Slowly, his hands reach up to grab your wrist and pull them away from his face. His skin is hot, his palms are clammy, and he's looking at you in a way that he never has before.

However, it seems that you got your hopes up as he stands back to his feet and turns away without another word. All you can do is watch him leave, hearing him unlock the front door and shut it behind him.

You thought that you were getting somewhere; you thought that, finally, you made it through the thick walls he'd put up. But once again, you're made to look like the fool.

Ring!

Your skeleton nearly jumped through your skin at the jolting call of your phone. Snatching it, you answer it without even looking at the screen as your hands aggressively wipe the tears off your face. "Hello?"

"I can't do it." Tsukishima's voice reverberates in your head.

"W-what...?"

He takes a deep breath on the other line. "I can't look you in the face and tell you that I'm in love with you too when I'm scared that doing so would make it real." Another breath, one shaky and uneven. "It being real means that it can all go to sh*t and destroy me. Not having you would destroy me, (Y/n)."

You're not even breathing, standing there staring at nothing with bated breath.

"Just...Just give me some time. I want to try for you but I'm not good at this. Every time I look you in the eyes, I can't get a single word out. You're too good for me, and I'm scared for when you realize that, too."

All the strength in your knees has dispersed as you slowly keel over, on your hands and knees, with your forehead pressing on the lacquered wooden floor.

Such simple words, a few sentences, yet it's all you've ever wanted to hear. You would have understood him if you knew how he felt.

"...Can you wait for me...?"

You shouldn't even entertain him. You shouldn't even give him any leeway to think that he can f*ck with your emotions anymore. Why are you the one that has to wait for him? He's already had three years to be able to get the words out.

But you're weak, in love, and pregnant. You just want him by your side for a bit of support. You want to believe that if you did, you're finally going to get the man you've always wanted.

"How long?" It feels like a gush of air from your lungs.

"I don't know." He answers after a moment of silence. "I know I have no right to ask anything else from you, but I want to be there for...for you and this baby. It took two to make that child, and I want to do my part."

You shouldn't say yes. You can do it on your own. You can do it by yourself.

But he has your heart in the palm of his hands.

"Okay."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Only briefly did you communicate with him the following four weeks. Just a few times, he texted to check in and make sure you were doing okay. He seemed busy, his responses short, but you already decided he had another chance.

But soon, you're going to confront him; how much longer are you supposed to wait?

Other than that, you've been doing everything you could to prepare for this baby. You're working more, saving up for future expenses. Right now, all your grades are passing, better than before, as you've dedicated yourself to fully graduating with excellent remarks.

You were going to need all the credibility you could gather when people would judge you right off the bat for having a baby so young. The childbirth classes you were taking were going well, and the support group of other expecting mothers helped you make good friends with other people who could actually relate to your situation.

It did feel like you were alone in this pregnancy when you were the only one experiencing the joys of expecting. There was your baby's first kick, the first movement when recognizing your voice; it was a shame your baby's father wasn't there to experience it.

However, he did something most shocking, which was the turning point in your relationship.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

It's early morning; fog is still rolled out across the city, and dew drops still water the grass. The sun is so far off in the distance that its warmth doesn't reach you, leading to a scarf wrapped tightly around your neck and lower face.

You are dressed in a thick coat and several undertops, with your belly just growing big enough to press against the structure of your jacket. It's not huge yet, but by now, your baby should already be the size of a mango in your womb.

Quietly, you walked down the street from the bus stop until you arrived at a residential section with the address on your phone. The building was at least three stories, but it looked new and modern, with strong gates around the perimeter and a gate call box.

You pressed the button and informed the property owner at his office that you were here for your walk-in. The gate had opened, and he called to let you know to meet him downstairs at the specific number.

When you knocked and were let in, you most definitely did not expect the blond man himself to be sitting down on a sofa chair. He raised his head and met your gaze, a sly grin on his lips as he leaned his head against his fist. "Nice of you to join us." He muses at your flabbergasted expression.

Noriaki, the property owner, had only grinned with a closed-eyed smile. "Well, now that everyone is here, let's go look at the available room."

You couldn't say anymore, quite literally dumbfounded at that moment. Silently, you followed behind and entered one of the three apartments on the second floor. Immediately, you smell the scent of lime and are engulfed in light from the glass sliding door in the living room by the balcony.

"I had different counters put in and a new oven. The fridge isn't the latest model, but it's the most reliable one from the company." The brunet speaks as he leads you two around.

Tsukishima is silent, simply observing everything and checking the small details of certain appliances. The place was exquisite, with two rooms and a surprisingly large bathroom. Even the water pressure was intense and gushed forcefully from the showerhead.

It had everything you wanted, including a storage room just down the hall at the end that could be converted into a small room if needed.

You wanted this place badly, and even with the deal Noriaki made just for you, the final price still exceeded the budget you could afford to pay alone.

"So what do you think?" The owner asked once everything was explored and looked about.

"It's gorgeous." You state while a hand moves to press against the small of your back. "It's still just too much for me to pay by myself."

"Who said you're paying by yourself?" Tsukishima asked while flicking your forehead. "Why else do you think I'm here?"

Your head twists to the side with a brow raised almost dramatically. "I-you-" He pinches your cheek but grins a guileless smile that doesn't feel so mean.

"You're not the only one who was preparing. After all, we have a baby to take care of together." His words came out so smoothly that you struggled to comprehend them.

You're the one standing there gaping at him dumbfoundedly. You knew he needed time, but you hadn't expected to be ready for...well, this.

"Shall we go and sign the lease?" Noriaki asked lightly, hands clasped behind his back.

The blond was the one who answered you. "Yeah, let's go." And he was even the one to grab your hand and drag you to the elevator when you stood nearly shortcircuiting.

It feels surreal to get this from him when you have tried so hard before. Are things really changing for the better?

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You had thought things were changing, yet when you asked him to go with you two for your twenty-week check-up, he said that he was busy. It was a little bit of wishful thinking to believe that he'd be there for everything.

Tsukishima was still the same person he was before, but only now has he stepped up to take care of his responsibility.

Really, you should have lowered your expectations to minimize your disappointment. But you put that aside for now as you arrive for your appointment. You were there for a check-up and to finally find out the gender of your little fetus.

"We're going to try something different," Dr. Shiroi communicated as she rolled into a different machine. It looked like a larger ultrasound machine with a bigger body and a more extended trolley. "This is a GE Voluson Ultrasound Machine. It's used to see a 3D/4D real-time visualization of your baby."

You've heard about this being used to render a physical mold of a blind woman's baby's face so she could feel what they looked like.

You cried when you saw your first ultrasound; you think you might bawl if you were to see something so visually accurate before birth.

The OB-GYN did the same thing she did last time, raising your shirt to smear the cool coupling jelly on your bare skin. As the transducer is being rolled around on your belly, you hear the sound waves of your body's natural functions while you lay eager to see the 4D rendering.

An abrupt knock echoes from your door as a nurse peeks in to look your way. "Sorry to interrupt, but there is a man here who goes by Tsukishima Kei. He says that he is here to see the mother of his child," she says quietly.

You're so startled by her words that you don't realize you were just lying there silently until Shiori spoke. "Well, should we let him in?"

Already on the verge of crying from your hormones, you could not trust your voice, so you nodded. The door shut slightly before it was opened again, and Tsukishima walked in while twisting his head away from the bright light in the room.

"Work was being a b*tch, and I couldn't get off-" His words come to a complete halt as a heartbeat fills the room—thump, thump, thump, a little slower, still as rhythmic and soothing as before.

He whipped his head your way, his golden brown eyes consumed by the sight on the screen. His shoulders had slumped, the straps of his bag falling as it hit the ground with a loud thud. You could hear him suck in a gasp with his mouth remaining agape.

"That's..." He didn't need to finish his sentence as you nodded and turned to look at it, too.

The screen has a black background, with the colored model of your fetus a medallion yellow hue. You can see the shape of their face, the roundness in their cheeks, and the imprint of their lips. They have all five fingers, with their right hand pressed against their face and the left circled against their chest. The little legs of the fetus are curled up to their chest, a secure position as they sleep so blissfully unaware of the world outside your belly.

"It's our baby, Kei."

He broke down. You can hear his body collapse in a waiting chair against the wall as he chokes on his breath. "My god."

Shiori hums as she moves the transducer slightly. "It looks like...a healthy baby girl. Congratulations."

You're doing it again; the tears are falling without an order. "Oh, a daughter." You croak with a hand reaching up to touch the screen. "We're having a daughter, Kei."

Gradually, your head turns back to face the blond, yet you couldn't imagine you'd ever see this sight. With his face hidden in the palms of his hand, you can see the slight droplets of tears peaking through between his fingers. His sagging shoulders are jittering while he clenched his jaw, holding in a sob.

You have become aware of many things during this pregnancy. You know you have faults, you know you're not perfect, and you know you've been thinking of Kei as cruel. There were many things you just assumed and took the initiative of believing and granted; it was because he never talked to you about what he truly felt, but still. There is still so much to learn about him.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The ride home in Tsukishima's car was silent; there was no talking, and not even the radio was playing. It was hard to have anything to say after such a touching familial moment at the doctors.

You wonder how he feels right now. Did it become so surreal when he finally heard his daughter's heartbeat, when he finally saw her little face staring right back at him? It was a distinct moment to which very few things could compare.

He pulled into the underground parking spot and turned the car on to park. Although it was shut off, the blond didn't move as he stared ahead through the glass. His hands are frozen on his lap while his expression remains impassive, unreadable.

"What's wrong?" It was a simple question, yet one he seemed to avoid as he usually kept his feelings all bottled up.

Yet you were pleasantly surprised when the young man had blown air out of his mouth and turned to face you. "This is real?" He asked softly.

"Yeah." You reply with a light chuckle. "It's all real, Kei. We're having a little girl, and she'll be here soon."

Tsukishima leaned back in his seat as his adam bobbed from a strenuous swallow. "Hate how thankful I am that you didn't move on from me."

You almost make fun of him, nearly; it was so hard to bite those words down. But you manage only to nod your head and place a hand on his. "Come on, let's go upstairs."

He didn't need to be told twice as he heaved his body out and wrapped his arms around the other side of the car to open the passenger side. "What a gentleman! " you jeered, yet he said nothing slyly back.

When you both had ridden the elevator to your floor and entered your apartment, the sun was just about setting. Its warm rays stream in through the glass sliding door, and you take a moment just to stand there and bask in it.

"Kei?"

He hums as you hear him kick over a box that still needs to be unpacked.

Turning to face him, he stares at you curiously. "We need to have better communication." He rolls his eyes dramatically, but you only laugh. "I'm serious. You don't even know how upset I was when I thought you didn't want to come to my appointment. If you had just told me that you were working and might not be able to get off, I would have been fine with that. You know what I would have told you?"

"Hmm?" He hums while shifting his gaze away and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

"That it was okay, that I understood. If you had just told me that you wanted to be there, but something important like work was not letting you off, the heartache I felt, and the questioning of if you really cared about me would have never happened. It would have been that easy."

"I know that-"

You interject his words with a shake of your head as you step towards him. "Don't lie to me. What are you so scared of that makes it hard to communicate with me or just to tell me about your feelings?"

He sighs exasperatedly while cocking his head in a different direction. "I don't know, (Y/n)." His answering would have enraged you if it were the you before your pregnancy. But you've been through so much, had many realizations and conclusions, and are more open with your thoughts.

Lightly, you grab his hands and hold them firmly. His skin is warm, and his fingers and palms have rough callouses from his hard work playing volleyball. "Then we're just going to have to figure it together. Because there is no way you're getting rid of me. I love you, Kei. Where am I going to go when we're starting our future together right here?"

He breathes deeply, chest expanding before you hear the exhale. His golden brown eyes behind his dark frames finally look down at you with the corner of his lip quirking upwards. "I don't remember you being so sappy. It's gross."

"Ah!" You release his hands to poke him harshly at the waist. "Don't even lie. You know you like it. Someone at least has to be open with their feelings."

Tsukishima clicked his tongue while swatting your hand away. His towering body turned at an angle to walk down the hallway, though he had halted at first before turning back to face you. "You get on my nerves sometimes."

"Oh, I could say the same thing about you." You stress back to him playfully. "Now, instead of being a meaniehead, let's figure out what to do for dinner. I'm starving."

The blonde laughed to himself as he began walking in the direction of the kitchen, but not before flicking your forehead lightly. "Fat a**."

"And you like this fat a**. That's why I'm pregnant." You drawl while twirling a piece of your hair, and you get the exact response you wanted. He knocked over the napkin dispenser on the island counter from your remark and flung back to glare at you 'harshly.'

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

When a man finally steps up, you notice the effort he has put in that you should have deserved long ago. Finally, receiving the same amount you have put in feels rewarding in a way nothing else has.

Although his change seems drastic, perhaps he had always been like that. His insecurities and fear kept him from being the man he could be. You notice it almost immediately; the small things he's been doing have been adding up.

The foods you've been craving or briefly mentioned are in the cupboards the next day. You complained once that the towel you were using was becoming too small to wrap around yourself, and then suddenly, the next time you showered, two new towels were waiting for you on the counter.

When you've struggled to get up late at night to wash yourself, he throws your things down by your side of the bed and dramatically sits next to you. His rough hands would then surprisingly clean it for you tenderly, softly, but then once he was done, he'd complain about needing to baby you.

Yet even when he complains or mutters how annoying something is, he does it again and again. You've dreamed about who would be your one, and although he's a bit different than your imagination, he's exactly what you want.

Even with his silly little quirks.

"This is literally all common sense," Tsukishima complains while pointing down at your lesson binder. "What kind of dumb** doesn't know how to hold a baby."

You can only roll your eyes at his usual complaints. "You whine every time, yet you still come."

Tsukishima has been coming with you to your childbirth classes, to every single one, even though he complains every time. Nevertheless, each time you say you're going to go alone, he's prying you away from the bus stop and grabbing your hand to drag you to his car.

Maybe he should just say he wants to be around you instead of acting all snobby hehe.

"Somebody has to make sure you're not doing something stupid." He muttered, leaning back in his seat while crossing his arms over his chest.

Playfully gasping, you poke him at the waste. "Aw, you actually care about me?" The expression he had on his face when he whipped down to look at you was hilarious. It was as if he was saying, are you seriously serious right now?

A lady from behind your table laughs to herself as her husband snickers softly. "It's nice to see your caring boyfriend here as usual." Sachiko jest while resting her hands on her pregnant belly.

"He's not my boyfriend." Were your immediate words, you're just the mother of his child.

"Princess." Tsukishima suddenly lamented in a whiney voice while he wrapped a long arm over your back to hug your shoulders. "I wish you would stop telling people that when you are upset with me."

You nearly choke on your saliva as the others around you laugh lightly at the scene. "Young love." Someone sighs under their breath almost dreamily.

Most of his jokes either go over your head, or you let it slide, but this one was sticking to you. Although things have been changing, most definitely for the better, the topic of your relationship with each other wasn't brought up.

He's taking responsibility and fully investing in it, but you want him to be more. Maybe that was your issue: always wanting more.

For the rest of the class, you were silent, listening to the lady up front but not joking around with the blond by your side. He noticed it, you could tell, but he refrained from bringing it up in front of the others. It wasn't until the two of you were in the car, driving back to your apartment, that he spoke.

At thirty weeks pregnant, you really cannot help if your emotions control you so strongly.

"Alright, what's bothering you now?" He asked while leaning an elbow on his door side.

"Nothing." Came your mumbled reply as you rested your head on the window, staring out at the darkness of the late night.

Tsukishima sighed exhaustedly before flicking on his turn signal and shifting. "I'm only going to ask you what's wrong once. After that, you can act like a kicked puppy all you want."

You sneered at him while turning your head in his direction. "You're just going to make fun of me."

"Even if you are going to say something stupid, I'm still gonna answer."

Your eyes stare at his side profile for a moment as you debate whether or not to tell. But you give him soon after as you couldn't go any longer feeling wretched. "I'm sad that we're not dating. I know that I'm the mother of your baby, but I also want to be your girlfriend, maybe wife one day."

The car came to an abrupt halt that had you jerk in your seat. The blond turned to face you with his eyes squinted and lips stretched into a frown. "What the hell are you on about? Of course, we're together." He states as if it were so apparent.

Now it was your turn to have a bewildered expression while you held your hands out, pointing at yourself. "Um, how am I supposed to know that? We never officially stated what we were, and you never asked me. What am I supposed to think?"

"God, why are you like this?" He complains as he starts driving again. "I thought it was obvious. You're the mother to my child. We're living together. I took responsibility, and that means being there for not only the baby but you as well."

You hated that he was right, somewhat. Slouching in your seat and pouting, you shifted your gaze back to the window. "I just wanted some clarification. Would have been nice if you asked me." Your mumbling words immediately result in a sigh from the man.

He pulled into the underground parking lot and parked before turning to face you. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

Slowly, you turned your head to meet his gaze. "No."

"(Y/n)." He groaned while yanking his keys out of the ignition. "Stop playing around. I'm being serious."

"So am I. Either put in the effort actually to ask me to be yours or don't ask me at all. I deserve to be treated just a little bit more importantly."

He was silent the rest of the night, and you hadn't brought it up again. You were tired of the bare minimum, and even though he has been proving more and being there, you wanted him just to try a little bit harder.

And it seemed that your words had gotten to him. The following day, you woke up to his side of the bed already done and remade. He probably had classes that early morning, so you weren't in a rush to get ready for your day.

Lazying about for a little longer, you decided to get up after a while once your stomach cried for some food. Yet you quite nearly sh*t yourself at the sound of something moving in your kitchen. Peeking over as carefully as you could with a pregnant belly, you had not expected to see Tsukishima cooking in the kitchen.

He wore your frilly pink apron over his work clothes as he made all your favorite things. You stepped closer, astonished and astounded by things you didn't expect, like the candies and cute little teddy bears on the counter. Or vases of your favorite flowers with cards leaned against them.

Tsukishima heard the pitter-patter of your footsteps and spoke without turning around to face you. "I realized I've never given you flowers."

You're nearly in tears from your hormones. "How did you know those were my favorite flowers?" You asked with a slight squeak to your voice.

The blonde circled around to place another plate down in the middle of the items he bought. "I know a lot about you too, (Y/n). Now eat; I have to be back at work in an hour."

Respring a heavy breath, you held back your tears and took a seat on the island. You couldn't wait to dig in, and dig in, did you? The man himself had stayed in the kitchen, washing the dishes before leaning against the counter and just watching you eat.

By the time you were done, everything was eaten up, and you slouched in your seat, patting your bulging belly over your sleepwear. "That hit the spot."

Tsukishima hummed while stepping forward to lean his elbows on the surface by your plate. "Now that you've eaten my food, you have no right to refuse me asking you to be my girlfriend." You peered at him with squinted eyes while attempting to hold down a smile. "So, will you finally be my girlfriend?"

Yeah, that made you feel good. "I suppose." You sing it impishly." "Yes, I will be your girlfriend."

"Good." After all that, he walked over to your side to kiss your temple before going to the front door to put on his coat and leave for work.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Throughout your pregnancy, Tsukishima has surprised you, and he continued to surprise you constantly. It feels like all that sadness and despair that happened before was decades ago. It feels so silly to think about the issues you had and how all of it could have been avoided if you both just communicated better.

And although he still struggles with expressing himself clearly and not just holding a mask over his true feelings, he's putting in the effort that you've always wanted.

However, he still continues to surprise you when one day, at thirty-six weeks pregnant, he tells you to get dressed because you are going to meet his family.

You were in a daze while preparing to go, and on the long car ride there, you couldn't help but get more anxious. Meeting his family was such a huge step. It felt like it made your relationship even more real. He's not someone who would bring around just anyone, and yes, although you are pregnant with his baby, he didn't have to introduce you at all.

When finally arrived at his home, you felt like you were going to throw up. You're breathing had increased in speed as you gasped for air.

"(Y/n), breathe," Tsukishima murmured and grasped at your clenched hands. Your eyes fling his way only for him to have leaned forward and kissed your lips softly. Oh, how you melted in his embrace. "There is nothing to be nervous about. They love you already."

You stared at him with your lips slightly agape. "You talk about me to them?"

"Of course." He states while raising a hand to pinch your cheek lightly. "I've talked about you long before you were even pregnant."

It was too much for your little 'ol heart; you couldn't stop the tears that prompted the blond to swipe them away quickly. "Stop crying. You're going to make it seem like I abuse you."

"Abuse me with love." You joke with a quivering voice.

Kissing your lips once more, he pats your face dry while avoiding your gaze. "You can be so annoying sometimes."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The birth came unexpectantly, just cramps and leg pain that you thought was normal as you had them before when you brought your thirty weeks.

Yet when a particular piercing cramp in your lower belly woke you from your slumber and a wetness spread between your thighs, you knew what was happening.

You awoke your partner with a startled cry and told him what had happened. He was up to his feet in an instant. Throwing on his clothes, he helped you clean up first, then put on your clothes and threw the to-go bag in the car.

The blond does not show his emotions easily, yet you can tell he is nervous from his thumping leg and jittery fingers. As he made his way to the hospital, he kept looking at you, checking on your condition.

Arriving, the nurses were quick to take you away to get checked and placed in a birthing room. You had to deal with the contractions that came in rolling waves of pain and tight uncomfortableness.

Laying on the hospital bed with the time ticking and your contractions beginning to arrive quicker than before, something hot started to creep up your spine.

Nerves and anxiety spiked, overwhelming you as they gripped your mind tightly. Tsukishima noticed the slight change in your demeanor quickly, rolling his chair closer to your side.

"What's wrong?" He asked genuinely.

You can only look up at him with tears in your eyes. "I'm scared, Kei. What if something goes wrong? What if-" He silences you efficiently with one of his hands moving to hold the side of your face.

"It's okay to be scared," he murmured, looking at you with tender eyes. "I'm scared, too. I'm afraid to finally hold our daughter in my arms and realize that our entire world will revolve around that little thing." His thumb caressed your cheek, the calloused texture scratchy yet comforting against your skin. "We're going to be okay. Our daughter is going to be okay. God, I can't even wait to hear her annoying little baby cries."

You cannot help but laugh and reach to hold tightly onto his other hand. "That's going to get old real fast."

"It will," he replied, smiling genuinely. "But we'll experience it all together."

For the rest of the night, he was by your side, holding your hand and distracting you from the contractions. When Shiori came and said you were dilated enough, the birthing began.

It's happening—it was finally happening! After months of preparation, after months of talking to her through your skin, she'll be out here, able to be held in your arms.

The childbirth classes you took prepared you for this, and they told you about the pain, but the process of pushing her out through your pelvis was a pain you were absolutely unprepared for. You had screamed and grunted, choking on your own breath as you pushed.

Period cramps had nothing on this; you couldn't even fathom it. Tsukishima was actually useful, letting you squeeze his hand until it almost broke and talking you through it. His voice was so soothing as he attempted to keep his pitch calm.

With him by your side as a support pillar, you felt safe and secure. And to think you were going to do it alone before. How strong all those single mothers must be to be able to lay here in this bed and experience this pain by themselves.

And finally, after several hours of pushing and screaming and crying, the shrill cry of a newborn filled the delivery room. Oh, her little cry, it blared over the sounds of the machine and nurses talking.

"You did it." Tsukishima congratulated you with a kiss on your sweaty temple. "So proud of you, Princess."

Smiling weakly, the two of you watched as a midwife took your daughter to a sink and cleaned her carefully before weighing her. Your hand that was gripping him from the pain was now merely holding him tightly to ground yourself back to reality.

She's so tiny, yet she already has a head of thick hair. The midwife wrapped your baby carefully in a pink blanket and small little pink beanie before placing her on your chest.

You and your partner just stare at her in awe, overwhelmed by her ugly cuteness. Her crying had ceased, and finally, her eyes had opened to stare back at you two with her father's golden brown eyes. It's so warm; her gaze is so warm and innocent.

These little sounds vibrate on your skin. It's like her little humming and gurgling are helping your heartbeat. This is your baby, the daughter of you, and the love of your life.

"There's no one I'd rather have been the mother to my child," Tsukishima muttered while raising a finger to rub against her cheek. "Only you could give me such a beautifully ugly thing."

A laugh reverberates against your chest, and your daughter curls her head against your skin as if she recognizes who you are. "Do you think she will be tall?"

"Interesting thing to ask right after birth." The blond replied, looking at you sideways before knocking your head lightly with his. "Whether she'll be tall or not, we'll find out together. But I know she'll be as pretty as her mother."

You grin, overwhelmed by the pure happiness you are feeling at this moment. "I love you." Your first words were directed at your daughter before you looked up to meet your boyfriend's gaze. "And I love you too."

His lips pursed, tight and firm, before he closed his eyes and rested his head atop yours. "I love you too."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Requested by detredoomy on Wattpad.

She wanted some drama and toxicity, so I gave it to her.

This is actually the first character x reader story I've written in two years. Everything has been about my monster OCs, lmao. It felt nice to go back to my roots as an anime oneshot writer and pull the moves out.

Please show some support by liking/commenting so I know if you're enjoying it.

If you'd like to make a request, please do so on the first page under the request arrow so I don't lose your request in the comments.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳If you'd like to support me or read 5+ drafts of BD, or my other stories, please consider buying me Kofi. Thank you :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

See ya later, 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐬!

177 notes · View notes

gatorbites-imagines · 2 months ago

Note

My eight hour shift was spent thinking about the petvincibles and that silly little Kryptonian who's in their universe on timeout in various scenarios, but I mainly thought about there being a potential threat to one of their kids and oh boy. The Marks get to find out why their otherwise really mellow boyfriend husband got sent to retire there, because that motherfucker is crazy too! Bro wouldn't even use any cool powers, just straight fists to the dome of whoever thought threatening his family was a good idea.

In my head its like watching a man do physical labor like damn bro you fr putting up that fence except damn babe you fr beating the potentially literal piss out of that guy!

Imagine if Ceicil got the idea to maybe take some leverage on his local source of stress like brother you need to be hiding in a lead lined box immediately unless you yourself want to get folded into a paper rose.

TLDR Petvincables get to see their man have a level 10 crashout

I like to think retired kryptonian villain reader is Conquest level crazy. Like, when the heroes saw him back in the DC universe theyd start biting their nails and sweating, cuz this guy is fucking crazy. Like, using ANYTHING he can to win or get his way kinda crazy.

Hes so chill in this universe, even after knocking someones teeth out cuz they tried to threaten him.

That is until the GDA tries to threaten his kids, who is also one of the things helping the reader feel more human (not by blood, but like, by personality and stuff), his babies who havent even developed their powers yet.

Seeing Cecil, such a weak... useless... worm, holding one or two of his kids, trying to threaten him? Him? Does he have any idea what reader has done back in the DC universe? That he was so horrible, that the heroes of that universe had to send him away, had to accept that he would destroy some other universe so theirs would survive?

Well, Cecil is gonna learn. The GDA and earth heroes thought they had an understanding of the readers powers, at least somewhat. Like, they knew he was strong enough to control the Marks, but they really had no idea.

Hes gonna make Conquests “stand ready for my arrival, worm” look like a damn joke.

Back in the DC universe, the justice league were able to take him down through a shit ton of kryptonite, and getting him in a situation where there literally was no sun, or other stars he could get power from. Going so far as to somehow disconnect the reader from his own power source, something he developed so he wouldn't need the sun.

And the GDA has none of that. They have no other kryptonian to fight by their side, to tell them the weaknesses and strengths of their species.

Insert the reader, after tearing through it all, holding his babies to his chest and going all “remember, humans. I am no hero, I save you if I have too, but I will destroy you just as quickly.” or something cooler, that's all I could come up with.

#gator rambles #male reader #kryptonian reader #alternate mark grayson #invincible #mark grayson #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x male reader

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seiwas · 2 years ago

Text

₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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