#char: gojo satoru

[hinamie]

make it vicious, take a stab

[rene-darling]

TAKING- advantage of the strongest

He's been having a hard time lately, he's lost Suguru, his one and only, of course- you on the other hand are overjoyed at that fact.

It's annoying, after all, you've done for him, he calls out his name instead of yours, it's time you taught him a permanent lesson on manners.

P.s I TOLD YOU ITS NEVER GOJOVERRR RAHHH- [credits- __3aem on insta]

Also, follow my insta r3xni3 n text me, let's talk, im bored!!

...gojo Satoru...

Seeing Gojo with his head in his hands sitting at the edge of the school stairs wasn't a new sight for you, in fact for the past week you've been seeing him sitting there.

Crying, sobbing, or simply sitting in misery. He's always thinking of that damned suguru. Honestly, it was hard to get him to show you any affection with suguru around, and now that he's gone it's gotten even harder!

It's not that you hate suguru, you just love gojo, and seeing your gojo in pain annoys you, but. It also makes for the perfect opportunity to shove yourself in his life, when he's most vulnerable and make him rely on you

"what up 'toru?" Sitting down next to him gently touching his shoulder, you can't be too forward now. "..mhm, it's nothing." Hmm, well you knew it wouldn't be that easy, of course he wouldn't open up to you just yet! So you'll just keep trying- "come on satoru, this isn't like you, you're the strongest-"

"Can you leave? I'm not in the mood y/n." Running his hands through his hair he groaned as he hid his face. You got up without a word, it's fine, if he pushes you away you have many more ways to push back harder.

The continuing weeks during classes you would always make small talk, distracting his mind from geto. Then you'd buy him sweets saying that there was some buy one get one free offer, which is why you had brought one over for him there wasn't

You occupied him on the missions he'd usually go to alone, keeping him from feeling lonely. No matter how hard they were and no matter how much strain they put your body through you'd reassure him, you're fine!

He'd notice how you'd push yourself for him, it made him- feel. Feel something other than the constant sorrow due to Geto's absence.

He started reciprocating your 'kindness'. he would let you rest your head on his lap after a stressful mission and sometimes..he'd rests his own head on yours.

Shoving yourself in his life to replace the sorrows he felt didn't only include platonic relations. Every once in a while, whenever the feelings of loss came back too harshly, all he wanted was to forget. Get lost in pleasure, in anything, just- just please make him forget.

His tears which usually stained his face due to sorrow, now stained his face due to mind-numbing pleasure, his body was yours for the destroying, just please, please make him forget. Even if just for tonight!

" 'toru, use your words now, tell me what you want, hm?" You moved your hand ever so slowly, it hurt. "Just- just please, touch me, ruin me, do whatever you want. I'm yours, yours all yours- Suguru please.

Hah- fuck. He's so lucky he's Gojo Satoru. your gojo Satoru. You can feel yourself growing numb as you let out an unhinged chuckle "Sure Satoru." You try pronouncing his name with that same softness, to replicate that tone of pure love and kindness geto had, but alas, you never truly get it right.

Still, it's close enough for him. as he whines, bucking into your hand. You have half the mind to leave him like this, writhing on the bed, but you never do. This isn't the first time, and certainly isn't the last. You're sure every single fucking time you've seen satoru he's called out his name,

But, as you gaze down at him and as he stares up at you with his pretty blue eyes which spill with tears by the second, you can't help it. Perhaps you pity him, or perhaps you simply don't care if he's using you as a means to an end, since in return, you get to be the one fucking him dumb. And not Suguru, 'cause he's dead. But that's beside the point.

Rocking his world as his vision blanks, eyes rolling back as sweat covers him. You don't mind the pain of when he bites into your shoulder, you don't mind the fact that Suguru's name slips out of him more than your (can be fake) cock

But, for some reason you just can't take it today. Something takes over you, you swear, as you grab harshly onto his neck, gasps leave his throat as he huffs for air. "Wh- Ah pl- EAse- hah."

"say my name." "Wha- AHh-" pressing your hand down harder you're sure it'll leave marks. "Y/n. Fucking say it you dumb bitch." Tears fall down from his cheeks and onto your hand but it only seems to egg you on "Ah- mhm y-y/n please?" As you let go gits of his coughs fill the air as his pink chest rises up and down for air

Suddenly he gasps once more as you push against his prostate, you're far too pleased with him saying your name to let him rest, even to catch his breath.

His cries ring in your ear as his hands scratch onto your skin, leaving deep bloody marks in their wake he stares up at you with his tear stained eyes, mumbling only your name for the rest of the night.

You hope he's learned his lesson, and if not. You wouldn't mind teaching him another one.

[petrichorium]

it’s hardly subtle.

satoru doesn’t ease you into it; he isn’t coy. he all but storms into your chambers, after dark but before you’ve snuffed the candles keeping the room light enough for your reading.

he doesn’t bother to tell you why, but you know—instinctively, because you know him and you know his advisors and you’re well used to his moods when they’ve been particularly nagging about his duties as king—what’s set him off. the indication that it’s worse than typical is that he keeps that odd eye jewelry perched upon his nose, chain gleaming yellow in the light of the flames as he stalks over to your lounging form upon the bed.

his arm finds your legs over the nightclothes you wear, wraps around them firmly to move them just enough for him to perch on the edge of your mattress. they don’t leave, even as you set aside your book—you expect him to lay his head on it, anticipating the typical song and dance of his pouting and whining as you push him away only to relent and let him hold you as you both drift off into slumber.

instead he hovers. even sitting he looms over you, hand tightening on your thigh and thumb rubbing soft, meaningless patterns through the fabric of your dressing gown that soothe the nerves set on edge by your inability to see the look in his eyes.

a beat passes. you wonder if he’s calmed.

but when he speaks it’s terse, low, with the kind of simmering rage he keeps close to his chest for only those pitiable few he despises utterly, and he dips his head to look over the frames of those onyx lenses and regard you with irises dark with something terrible.

“i will not give you a child.”

the statement bowls you over. your breath hitches, if only because of the way he stares—deadly serious, royal blue eyes glowing in the candlelight.

“wh—what?”

“i will not allow you to bear my children. i might be amenable to a ward, if you so desire. but i will not seed you,” his grip tightens on your thigh, “and it should go without saying that once we marry neither will any other.”

you haven’t a clue how to respond to such a thing.

he speaks as if it’s a confession; as if he’s betrayed you somehow. he holds you like you’ll disappear, or flee—and perhaps, had he told you this months ago when you’d been flighty and diffident with his affections, your rigidity might have led you to. but it is now, and you haven’t fled yet, and your beloved is nothing if not unconventional and shameless in his eccentricity.

you ponder on that too long.

“say something,” he demands, sounding almost small.

“why?” spills from your lips without thought; not petulant, or angry, but confused. not just by him—by you. you ought to be devastated, no? you ought to be angry. you assuredly are not.

“my bloodline is a scourge,” he tells you readily. “i will do everything within my power to wipe it out. therefore, i cannot have an heir. not even one.”

not even one. not a single child. the thought washes over you like the temperate water of the lake on your grounds back home, the very one you’d once played in regularly as a child. the very one your mother had once mentioned taking your own children to, someday; children who you never fantasized about, children who never had faces or names, children for whom you never set aside letters or dresses or trinkets.

not even in those teenage years spent with your current betrothed, the only man you’d ever thought of kissing and caressing you, had you once envisioned a life with children. they’d only appeared once you’d been brutally introduced to reality, and had to accept the promise of a life with a rich man who doesn’t love you.

a life which your king has gallantly shattered, and replaced with something far brighter.

“i will bear the burden of prevention,” he tells you soothingly, as if your silence has been about the effort of this request. “you needn’t worry that pretty mind over it. over any of this, my queen—“

“i am not yet your queen,” you interrupt, instinct bidding you to speak where your mind remains miles away.

“my bride,” he amends, ”look at me.”

you do.

“i want you,” he says, as if it’s some known truth of the universe, written in the stars. “i want you fervently, ardently. i won’t have another. but i will not give you my children. if you cannot take that slight, then so be it.”

the emotion that has been welling within you since the first words he'd spoken has become so intense it’s impossible to listen properly. you cannot name it without ruminating; you lay beneath him, eyes widening, not quite seeing—or hearing the words he continues to say—as you let it all sink in.

but when his hands fly to cradle your face, you’re snapped from the daze, attention suddenly brought back to the man before you.

“oh, oh, precious girl, don’t cry.” cry? his thumbs wipe away tears from your cheeks. you hadn’t even realized they’d been falling. “don’t cry”—he almost laughs, yet his voice breaks—“you’ll break my heart.“

“no,” you gasp, “no, my king, i’m hardly sad, i’m… relieved.”

that’s it. you’re relieved. he’s removed a heavy weight from your chest and you hadn’t even known of it. you will not have to bear him children. the assurance floods through your veins like liquid joy. not ten, not five, nor two nor even one; none whatsoever.

“relieved?” he repeats, blinking in surprise.

you’d never even considered the possibility. from the moment you’d known of your place in this world you’d resigned yourself to the role of childbearing. only now do you realize how much you had been dreading such a thing. only now do you understand the fear, and the relief.

“i… don’t believe i want children either.” the statement feels so final it ought to be terrifying, but it settles into your bones with a tangible rightness.

your betrothed regards you in shock. his hands fall from your face—and then they latch to your body, one on your thigh again and the other behind your neck, pulling you up and flush against him as he kisses you harshly.

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes into your mouth, unreactive yet pliant against him. “made for me, just for me, i swear—“

you kiss back, making his rambling cut off in a strangled growl as he only tugs you in closer and deepens the embrace. he’s still speaking, but it’s unintelligible; praise, certainly, muffled compliments and manic devotion. he’s relieved too, you realize. foolish to think him confident in this declaration. foolish, you’re coming to understand, to think him sane in any circumstance which might take you from him.

(if you are made for him then he is made for you, surely. this relief would be impossible for any other to give you.)

he pulls away when he realizes you’re still crying. you catch your breath, blink back the tears, let him fuss over you until your voice is solid enough to speak.

despite the relief, there is lingering hesitance; lingering fear. “you say you will bear the burden of prevention, but what of the burden of blame? they will talk, as the months go by. they will call me barren, unfit to be by your side; they will demand you take on a mistress—“

��i won’t,” your betrothed snarls, grip on your thigh almost painful with how fiercely his fingers tighten, “i would never, and i’ll cut down all those who speak ill of you.”

your laughter is disbelieving, wet with the traces of saltwater. “hardly a sound plan to run a court, my king. unless its intent is for running it to the ground.”

“for you, my heart? anything. i would raze this kingdom if it spoke your name without awe.”

that shouldn’t be comforting. it ought to be terrifying. instead you reach up to hold his cheek, and his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“kiss me again,” you command.

usurper!gojo masterlist

[kdjojo]

A/n: I might do one of these once in a while but only fluff nd angst

Ps: This doesn't have to be seen as fem reader! This can be seen as a platonic relationship or like sibling or somethin!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Fluff!Suguru after he comes back home to you all messed up and tired and wanting your affection

Fluff!Suguru who lets you wash his hair with his expensive hair care products (you can't help but think that he spends alot of money on hair products)

Fluff!Suguru who was thoughtful and brought you some souvenirs some his overseas mission that lasted a week

Fluff!Suguru who let's you pamper him (he's not really fond of pampering)

Fluff!Suguru who talks about his mission and complains about the taste of curses while you braid his hair

Fluff!Suguru who talks about how Satoru continues to piss him off but he can't help but also love him (you don't mind if that Satoru makes him happy)

Fluff!Suguru who somehow still has the energy to bake pastries with you. (You two saved some for Satoru nd Shoko)

Fluff!Suguru who takes out his favorite blanket (it's a my Melody and kuromi one that you got as a joke)

Fluff!Suguru who watches random shows with you since you (totally) didn't threat him (maybe your watching Garfield?)

Fluff!Suguru who listens to mitski as you complain that mitski is too depressing and days that you should listen to laufey.

Fluff!Suguru who carries you to bed when he thinks he should be the one being picked up. (He ft Satoru after)

Fluff!Suguru who tucks you into bed with your random ass artist merch along with other show merchandise you like

Fluff!Suguru who gets tired after face timing Satoru then heads to bed thinking that he had a nice time talking and making pastries with you

[wtowingedtragicobsidian]

JJK cologne/scent HCs(?) b/c that's what my brain wants apparently

~please keep in mind I don't actually know what any of these fragrances are like, so my h/cs are not an accurate reflection~

Megumi: Iron & Oak by Redwood Alchemy

His cologne smells like a forest after rain. He naturally smells like fabric softener and wet animal(not in a bad way).

Gojo: Water of Life Живая Вода by Ladanika

TBH Gojo smells like barely anything, even if he wears cologne it dissipates really quickly.

Geto: Diwan by The Spirit of Dubai

When he was younger he smelled cleaner/simpler; like incense wafting down a temple footpath, mingling with spring florals from the nearby gardens.

But as he gets older the smell gets stronger/heavier, and little bit worse; the rooms are stuffy with incense smoke and something has curled up and begun to fester in the woodwork. He smells like antique lacquered wood and expensive incense and stickily overripe fruit and something disgustingly, animalistically human. All choking on a faux flora cleanliness.

[megkuna]

everyone has had a "love is worthless" spiral. sukuna's just lasted 600yrs.

[timdrakeslawyer]

geto always looked at gojo so fondly and listened to what he had to say i feel sick

[rose-matcha-latte]

as someone with photosensitivity and has to wear special glasses for it and sometimes an eyepatch then seeing characters with eye disabilities do similar is just so heartwarmin i love them

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

[batmenstrualcycle]

in honor of the new chapter, yuki tsukumo (buff mommy milf queen hello) x reader

YESSSS STAN YUKI🤩

also since tomorrow is literally December i might as well write a Christmas themed fluff <3 also im assuming u want fem reader cuz mommy yuki😍 but if u want me to change it to gn reader i can lol

paring: Yuki Tsukumo x Fem!Reader

genre: fluff lol

warnings: none i dont think lol

yes u and yuki are kissing under the mistletoe and i cant write kissing scenes for shit😀

Mistletoe Hung Where You Can(t) See

You stood right next to the door frame that you didn't know had the mistletoe right above your head. All your other friends, Nobara, Yuji, Megumi, Yuta, Maki, and several others along with your old teacher were on the furniture in Gojo's living room, telling jokes and stories as each hour passed by. (The party started at 4:30 for that exact purpose.)

Soon enough midnight was about to roll around, and nobody seemed to be ready to leave yet. But, he is who he is, and Gojo demanded that everybody find a partner (if you didn't have one, then just kiss your hand) and kiss next to every mistletoe in his mansion. You, on the other hand, had no idea he'd placed that mistletoe on the door frame you were standing at since he knew that's where you liked to stand during hangouts since being in too close proximity of a bunch of people was not at all your thing.

As you were about to take a sip of your hot chocolate, you felt another presence standing right next to you. Yuki Tsukumo, one of the few people besides you, Nanami, Shoko and Maki that wasn't wearing a god-awful Christmas sweater. You glanced over to the side and noticed that she was in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. You didn't know how she wasn't freezing since it was basically Sub Zero outside, and even with the fire and the hot chocolate, the wet cold air still clung to your body.

"Good evening, Yuki." You said quietly before taking a sip from the red mug in your hand. You did like the color red, but not during Christmas time. And Gojo hid every single mug in his house and replaced the normal ones with Christmas themed mugs to drive everyone who went over here crazy.

The blonde haired woman looked over at you with a smile. "Evening, Y/n. I see you aren't with the others." You rolled your eyes at her statement, "Good observation." You grunted, earning a chuckle from her. While everybody was scrambling to find a partner to kiss around the mistletoe, you enjoyed your peace and quiet here by yourself, even with Yuki standing right next to you. Though you wouldn't really call it peace and quiet, the Christmas music blasting through the house was almost giving you a headache.

You took another sip after blowing on the beverage. "I didn't really think you're the type of person to go to Christmas parties?" Yuki asked, now with her back leaning against the door frame. You shifted your gaze over to her. "I always go, it's just this is probably your first year that you're here for Christmas in Tokyo." You said while setting the mug in your two hands. She chuckled, folding her arms. "Shush. I like taking breaks, too." She said, smiling. Rolling your eyes, "That break just so happens to be every year on Christmas." You took another sip. She lifted a brow and smiled before tilting her head lower. "And why does it matter to you?" She asked in almost a teasing tone. You frowned before turning to her with your back against the door frame as well.

"It doesn't matter much to me. Just like seeing a friend here for Christmas." You mumbled before partially hiding your face behind the mug. Yuki took the time to glance upwards and notice the mistletoe with a smile. You didn't notice as you were busy staring at the floating marshmallows in your drink.

"Your cheeks are red," She pointed out, staring at your tinted cheeks. You frowned as you felt your cheeks heat up even more. "It's because of this damn hot chocolate." You grunted in response. She chuckled again before slightly leaning closer to you. "Yeah right. I'll bet you anything it's not." She teased. You lifted a brow, "What other reason would it be, then?" You shot back, slightly raising your voice. She perked up her eyebrows playfully and shuffled her hands in her pockets. You huffed before looking back at the happy crowd in the living room. Everybody smiling, laughing (well, mostly everybody) and then there was just you.

Standing with your old high school crush.

She chuckled before replying, "Will I ever know before this night ends?" Both of you giggled after that. You glanced over at the living room to find Gojo standing on a table and clapping his hands.

"Alright, everybody! Midnight's just a minute awayyy! Hope everybody found their partners!"

"Gojo, you literally don't have one!"

"SHUTUP!"

You and Yuki both chuckled again at his reaction. "You got a partner?" She asked, turning back to you. You looked at her. "Pfft. I'm standing here alone with you. Do you think I have one?" You snickered before taking a sip from the mug. She chuckled before shrugging. "Never judge a book by its cover." She answered. You looked at her with a judging look, "Who even says that anymore? You nerd." You shook your head before taking yet another sip. You thought that Gojo could never cook for his own life but his homemade hot chocolate was one of the few exceptions.

Yuki took a pause for a minute.

"...I was wondering if I could be a suggestion for kissing under the mistletoe." She said quietly, flush painting her cheeks a deep shade of red. You looked over at her before most of everybody cheered and started making out near every mistletoe.

"What?" You questioned, looking up at the mistletoe before Yuki leaned closer, snaking her hand up to your neck and slotting her lips against yours. Your eyes widened at the contact and you almost dropped the mug. You were careful to set the mug down on a nearby table and not break contact with her.

You finally shut your eyes and wrapped your arms around her neck while her hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

A few minutes later after everybody stopped sucking face, they all turned to you and Yuki still making out under the mistletoe.

"Hah! Would ya' look at that! Y/n finally got to kiss her high school crush after all!" Gojo chirped, pointing his finger at you. A moment later, you and Yuki both pulled away for air.

"You had a crush on me in high school?" She asked with a smile, resting her forehead against yours. You scoffed then chuckled, "Shut up. I just thought you were cute." You smiled before going back in for another kiss.

Everybody else in the room clapped and you and her. With a soft huff, Yuki pulled away for more air.

"Personally, I think we could move on from just high school crushes."

---

(me)

AHHHHHH yes this was written all in one night which means its not proof read

yes i went onto someone elses blog and read thru several christmas themed prompts cuz i was brain dead😀

anyways STAN YUKI🤩✊

[undergoing-mitosis]

by far the hardest thing about writing present-day gojo is his lack of eyes. like i just had to edit a line reading "gojo's gaze narrowed, focused on something in the space above [char]'s left shoulder" cause like,,,, no aqua you can't say his gaze narrowed. he's wearing a FUCKIN BLINDFOLD

[hinamie]

jjk doodles from requests !!! these were fun ty everyone for sending

[frogiwi]

TOP 5 MOST SLAPPABLE ANIME MEN GO

VERY NICE THANK U CRAB

red keeper aka akabane sousei sentai daishikkaku I WANT TO SLAP HIM SO BAD

yoshida chainsaw man. fuck that guy

shindo akutaro bucchigiri. slapping him out of pure love for how pathetic he is

togami byakuya danganronpa. obviously slappable, i love him tho

minamoto teru toilet bound hanako-kun. he's great and he's also a fake ass bitch i think he would benefit from being slapped by aoi or akane

[petrichorium]

satoru tries to keep it from you, as if your reach in the court isn’t threaded more firmly even than his own. as if the royal guards do not prefer your company to his, as if you’re such a fool you wouldn’t notice how he’s come to bed long after you’ve gone to sleep every day for the past week—he tells you it’s dull financial advising, you know it’s because he’s been busy torturing a man. an assassin, you’ve been told; a poisoner who hadn’t even made it out of the kitchen before being caught.

you also know he’s back earlier tonight because he’s executed another man—the one who hired the hit, one of his own cousins. ordinarily such a thing would be dealt with swiftly, except that the food found dosed had been not your husband’s but yours, and your king does not take kindly to threats against you. the maids had told you all of that days ago; it’s the guards that tell you he assembled the court without you, hours past sunset, and made a display of cutting down his own kin for your sake. ruthless, they tell you, savage, lest there be any doubt in his affections for you.

he comes back to your shared bedchamber without a drop of crimson on his clothes, but the satisfied air about him and the heavy drum of bloodlust you can see in his eye tell you that your information is correct. still, you greet him casually and don’t bring up your discontent as he removes his blindfold and makes himself comfortable on the bed, unabashedly peering at you while you sit at your vanity pretending to ready yourself for sleep. he’s silent with his staring, and you are silent as well, busy ruminating on how you’re feeling until you come to the conclusion that the only action of his which has sparked your ire is that he has chosen not to share them with you—no, you’re not bothered by his barbaric display, but rather that he did it without informing you. with your opinion found, you are ready to initiate the conversation.

“so?” you begin casually, gaze flitting up to meet his eye through the mirror. “are the conspirators dead, then?”

at first he gives no response, but when you turn in your seat to face him he rises to stand and strides over to you. lacing his fingers with yours, he pulls you to your feet—holds you close, leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“can’t get anything past you, hm? not with your brain.”

“well, are they?”

“yes. of course. they’ve hardly earned the title of conspirators frankly, not with that pitiful display.”

“mm.” you purse your lips and pull away, turning your back on him. “lovely to know that you’d accept my death if it were at the hands of a competent man.”

he follows you swiftly, eases his arms around your waist and rests his chin in the crook of your neck. his tone is easy, light—amused, perhaps. “i don’t believe i said anything of the sort.”

“i do not find this amusing, my king.” despite your tone, you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, drawing a contented noise from him which he buries into your nape. “i’m displeased by you.”

“are you, now?” his lips quirk against your skin, and he shifts, his whole body moving so that he can trace kisses along your jaw. “i’ll simply have to please you, my queen.”

“satoru.” the name makes him pause. you tighten your hold on his hair, pull him to rest against your shoulder again in an attempt to halt him. “you killed your kin for me and attempted to hide it. did you truly think i wouldn’t find out?”

“not this quickly,” he grumbles, petulant, entirely unsuitable for a king who had just slit the throat of his own cousin before an audience.

“people chatter, especially when you require the attendance of the entire court. but since we are being honest, i knew of the whole ordeal the moment it happened—i do believe i was made aware of the poisoning before you were, my husband. so tell me, why did you torture a man for a week and choose not to inform your wife? why did you so courteously invite my companions to witness this execution but neglect to extend that invitation to me?”

he doesn’t speak for a moment. his breath comes hot against your neck, not quite a sigh but certainly a deep breath—then he turns his face into your hand, leaves a fleeting kiss against your palm, and lifts his head.

“they need to learn, hm? how would they have learned if i’d let this go?” his eyes are manic, the closest you’ve seen to what they’d been that night—yet the moment they meet yours they soften, reverence seeping in. he stands to his full height behind you, hand coming beneath your chin to tilt your face upward so that he can loom over you and press a kiss to your brow; he’s gentle with you, but the steel at the core of his tone is more than palpable. “i won’t show mercy, certainly not when it comes to those who wish to harm you. you cannot ask me to be forgiving with such things.”

you realize with those words that he believes you’re balking at the brutality, that he thinks you timid and soft. he thinks you don’t know what he does to maintain his power, as if you’re not intimately aware of the monster he’s had to become—as if you hadn’t come face-to-face with it, with his blade.

you think you probably shouldn’t be as endeared as you are. you certainly shouldn’t turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and tug him down into a real kiss to reward his actions, yet you still do. it’s addicting how quickly he melts to your affections; you know how intimidating his size must be to so many but it’s impossible for you to fear it when he’d drop to his knees for you at a single word.

when you pull away he doesn’t let go—he whines at you, a wordless protest, and buries his head into your shoulder to nip at your skin.

“i’m not angry with you for refusing mercy,” you mutter to him, “i’m angry with you for lying to me. i am your queen, your partner. you will not do this again, you will tell me the next time you intend to cut down a man in my name.”

he pulls back and opens his mouth, eyes wide, but you cut him off by lunging upward to peck at the corner of his lips.

“it’s in your best interest to comply, husband. you cannot hide things from me.”

“i know, wife.” his sigh is love-struck. “i’m a fool to have tried.”

usurper!gojo masterlist

[tigertoramaru]

Checking out Itadori...hmm...

[necrosin]

❝ —— do you actually know what you're doing? ❞ he knows he sounds mulish, childishly unsure : because he is, thanks, this idea is dumb but he'd been cajoled and corralled and poked and prodded until he'd given in. megumi is 10, okay, and while he's stubborn a CERTAIN SOMEONE is somehow more childish than he, the literal child, is and megumi only has so much patience. most of it goes to tsumiki, who usually manages his hair, but she's been busy and it's just ( ... ) it's annoying and curls around his neck while sticking up everywhere and he might get in trouble with school at this point for dress code and, ugh.

somehow all of that had become : welllllll, i can cut it for you / huh? you? / naturally / have you ever actually cut hair. / i'm wounded! of course i have / i don't believe you / AND SO ON AND SO FORTH until megumi has, somehow, against all common sense ( which he has a good deal of, thanks ) ended up sitting in the cramped bathroom he and tsumiki share, knees bumping against the cabinets while @mastabahs twirls scissors in his hands. it would almost be cool if he weren't SHOWING OFF.

❝ megumi, who do you take me for? someone who'd cut a child's hair without experience? ❞ he tuts, because he thinks it makes him sound more mature or something, and that grin on his face isn't exactly reassuring. actually, it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he glares at gojo in the mirror. ❝ yikes, your face will get stuck like that, y'know !! ❞

megumi huffs, crossing his arms and wondering if he could get out of his. somehow. but there's no way now that he's here. ❝ yes," he says shortly, frown deepening into a scowl when gojo laughs, because of course he does. ❝ ugh, just do it. and don't cut it too short, gojo-san. ❞ megumi's hair is too long but he hates it when it's TOO SHORT, hates not being able to run his fingers through it / he knows that tsumiki likes his hair longer, too, because she says it's pretty.

❝ yes, yes, ❞ gojo waves his hand in the air and it looks almost dismissive, though megumi doesn't have time to point out how annoying the gesture is before gojo pats his head the way he always does : palm pressing against his skull, just a touch too hard, squeezing for some weird reason, tousling his hair in the way that he hates / it must be ON PURPOSE, surely. maybe that's a bit, ugh, uncharitable. ❝ don't worry, megumi, put your trust in gojo-san. ❞

he presses his thumb in the space between his eyebrows / sighs / he'd essentially put his trust in gojo when he was FIVE YEARS OLD for the sake of tsumiki and avoiding what sounded like sure despair amongst whatever family his father had been from, it's not like he'd cared about them, but gojo had given him a way out of what would have been the worst case scenario. or something like that.

( it would occur to him that maybe gojo had simply made it all up for the sake of getting megumi for whatever reason, but —— the few times he'd gone to the zen'in compound, not quite hidden in gojo's shadow, had been MORE THAN ENOUGH to foster a stronger distaste for them than he had even for gojo. )

❝ fine, gojo-san. hurry up. ❞

( it's uneven and slightly ridiculous looking but not too short and it's no longer curling around his neck in that way he HATES and he decidedly doesn't thank gojo, despite everything, and makes a beeline for tsumiki the moment she returns home for her to clean it up. )

NONVERBAL PROMPTS. —— ∗ 81﹕ sender helps receiver cut their hair .