#geto is SO wife but he’s your house husband. makes you food and lifts your furniture for you and kisses your forehead in the morning

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

gojo is soooo husband coded and geto is so wife coded but geto is a Husband and gojo is a Wife…… you wouldn’t get it

[toxiccluvvv]

HOW THEY SHOW LOVE;

Pairing: Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru x reader

Content Warning: chile idek

Word count: IM BACKKKKKK

Readers sex: Female

Hey babiesssss, I missed you and writing so this will be part 1 of maybe 3. I want to take writing slow to enjoy it and hopefully offer a better experience!! I hope you enjoy, did I mention IM BACKKKK. <3

Masterlist

HOW THEY SHOW LOVE:

Gojo-

* is very affectionate in private

* He has multiple love languages: touch, gift giving, and words of affirmation.

“Gojo!!!” You squealed as he lifted you in your shared apartment, Megumi wasn’t home yet, so it was just you and your lover. He has been very touchy and affectionate as of recent, you’re not complaining, but you wonder if there is something behind all of the affection…

“I got something for you, you’re coming with me” he spoke as he lifted you over his shoulder. He felt as if he could be himself entirely around you, no limitless, no best of his century, just Gojo and you.. it’s the place he has found the most solidarity in, where he identifies his peace.

You melted in his arms and allowed him to take you wherever he intended to take you without a worry in your mind, you loved being around him as much as you could, due to his busy and dangerous place of work tomorrow is truly never guaranteed. Your white haired blue eyed boyfriend is all that you needed in this life, and though you didn’t chose to be a sorcerer, he was all you needed in this life to feel complete. The little family you shared with him and Megumi made your heart so whole, so warm.

“I just wanted you to know how much you mean to Megumi and I, you make this house a home, and you deserve so much more than this, but it’s just the start of completing this imperfect life of ours.” Gojo spoke softly as he sat you at the dinner table in your house. It was filled with all your favorite foods along with a few gifts off to the side.

“You didn’t have to do all of this babe!!” You spoke taking in the beautiful surroundings, you could see all the time and effort put into this, he had laid out your favorite in order of how much you eat them, the room had a dim light, and he had the fire on in the back.

It was perfect just for you, and that’s all that mattered to the two of you.

Geto-

* He is very protective of you and the love that the two of you share

* He also has multiple love languages, but the main one being Touch.

You and Geto were out in the beautiful town of Shiybuya, the lights shining bright as the stars, the weather was a perfect cool breeze, and the town was booming. You took the time to embrace your surroundings just glad to be in the moment with your husband Geto. He had just returned from a serious mission with a S grade curse, due to all of the stress of the mission, he took you out on a night on the town!

You were admiring the clothes from behind the glass when you suddenly felt a person push into you abruptly, you were taken aback, but got over it fairly quick due to the volume of people in the area. Geto on the other hand was fuming, you could feel it without it even being said.

“Excuse me!! Watch where you’re going!!” Geto boomed from beside you, you felt yourself burning up as you started to blush. The person that bumped into you turned around just as quick as the words left Geto’s mouth. “What did you just say to me?” The man spoke just as loud “ I told you to watch the fuck where you’re going!! My wife is standing there!! Apologize!! Now!!” He demanded as he poked the man in the chest with each word. His demeanor was scary, the man quivered in fear.

“I’m very sorry!! Please forgive me ma’am” he spoke as he fell to his knees in front of you bowing before you, you were lost for words as you covered your mouth feeling your cheeks get even hotter, as if that was possible. “Please get up!! You’re forgiven!!” You spoke feeling bad for the man truly. He shot up and ran away with obvious fear.

“Honey, you didn’t have to do that.” You spoke as you felt Geto pulling you into his side wrapping his arm around you. He had a very funny way of showing how much he cared, but he never failed to show you.

“For you, I’ll do anything.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (Part 1): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: matchmaking day is upon you, and you’re in for more than just a partner. 

wc: 2.1k

tw: none - just a bunch of backstory. (part 2 is going to be much more interesting and Geto WILL appear.)

masterlist

The trees along the grounds of your family’s estate are blooming in full force, once again signaling the coming of the most anticipated day of the year: matchmaking day. Beautiful petals of yellow, red, and pink would decorate the lawn and as a child, you would gather them up and toss them around. You imagined your wedding would be just as majestic as the coming of spring and that matchmaking day would be the happiest day of your life. 

For years, you had watched your older siblings be married off to wonderful and loving partners, their names being called from the crowd of people who gathered in the village square every year. For years, you eagerly waited your turn to meet the love of your life. And last year - the year before you were set to make your debut in the matchmaking pool - you found him. 

The man you wanted to be set up with - Yuko Hashinara - was perfect. 

As the son of a potter, he wasn’t filthy rich, but for a whole six months, you dipped your hands into the kaolin just to get closer to him. Yuko seemed to take a liking to you too, his soft features and green eyes following you around the workshop while you made conversation or giggled over town gossip. He had even touched your hand tenderly once; the white clay smearing over your fingers with care. He hadn’t admitted that he loved you, but today would change all of that. 

“Mother! What should I wear?” All of the formal wear in your closet now seemed too plain for what you planned on being your debut into society as Yuko’s Betrothed. You no longer had the scores of clothing your sisters offered or the keen eye of your eldest brother. It was just you now, and as the youngest, there was a need to show everyone you were just as worthy as your siblings of a perfect match. 

Your mother bustles in hastily, attempting to fix your hair while you rifle through the clothing that’s available to you. “Don’t wear red; only whores wear red. Perhaps the hunter green one will do.” When you pull out the silk garment your mother detailed, your shoulders fall a bit, noting it’s plainness. 

“But will this look attractive for Yuko?” you wonder, trying to see the dress in better lighting. Gold and brown swirls decorate the dress around the neck and hemline but it still looks inelegant. “You know, like I’m supposed to be his wife?” Your mother’s hands still on your hair, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve said something wrong.

“This dress will look beautiful on you, like it did on your grandmother when she was matched with her husband.” Ah, yes. Grandmother. At the mention of the old matriarch, you’re silenced immediately, recalling the love she and your grandfather had upon their union. “We should only hope you are as lucky as she was to find a worthy match.” 

“Yuko is a ‘worthy match’,” you retort, but your mother doesn’t reply, finishing your hairdo and stepping back to admire her handiwork. 

“Now let’s get you dressed; we don’t have a lot of time.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

When you arrive in the square with the other girls of the village, there is an uproar of chatter about who would be matched with who, and whether or not the matchmaker would be fair to some of the older girls who had never been matched with before. 

You’re not overly friendly with any of the others gathered - due to your family’s estate being on the far side of the main village and as such, every trip into town required a long trek - but you’re welcomed nonetheless. As you stand in the cool, spring breeze, your eyes roam around the boys who were gathered on the left side of the square. Your eyes fall upon Yuko, and a sigh escapes your lips, your mind fluttering off to begin fantasies of the rest of your lives together. You would have an extravagant wedding, a lavish reception, and an equally attention-bringing birth of your first born: a son you’d already named in your head. 

But as soon as you get to the day your son would take his first steps, the sound of the matchmaker’s voice echoes across the courtyard. She was short - very short - with small, beady eyes, and white hair that feel in a braid down her back. Her wrinkled skin holds all of the years she performed this ceremony, and you’re sure if you stare long enough that she might even shrink a little.

“We will now begin the matchmaking ceremonies with a prayer…” Your nerves bundle up in your stomach as the old woman begins reciting a prayer to the gods that you completely ignore. Couldn’t she just say all of the names and then pray? What did the gods care about the order of things? 

It isn’t until you hear the soft murmurs of the women around you that you know it’s time to look up and resume your fretting about the pickings, which were sort of slim to begin with. 

“Kashishime Okkostua… and Junte Yakamura.” The first couple of the ceremony had been announced, and you look at the brightened expression of a woman in the sea of female faces, who excitedly approaches her betrothed with arms open wide. The following twenty or so names were read off with similar results; only a few couples do not already know each other, and they approach each other with a timidness you could only describe as painful to watch. 

“Yuko Hashinara and…” Oh, no, the time had already come. You look at the man who wrings his hands nervously, eyes glued to the matchmaker, while you hold your hands similarly, heart pounding beneath your dress wildly. The name of the woman falls from the matchmaker’s lips in slow motion, it seems, but it’s obviously not your name. 

It’s not me. 

It’s not me. 

It’s. 

Not. 

Me. 

Your first thought is to go numb. As you eye the female who emerges from the crowd, your self-preservation instincts take over, analyzing the way she looks while you fix your fallen countenance. She is nothing amazing to look at, you reason, but as they acknowledge each other and depart from the crowd, your heart goes with them, never to return to the hole in your chest. Not even a trade from another other-worldly spirit could bring it back. 

The rest of the day blows by you, and you don’t even hear a single syllable that sounds remotely like your name grace the tongue of the matchmaker. When she sets aside her papers, you and two other women are left standing in the square. 

One of them started crying long ago, her face puffy and red. The other crosses her arms and takes a glance at you, shrugging her shoulders disinterestedly. But you… you’re feeling as numb as a rock. You stare at the sand lining the pathway, unsure of what to say or how to feel other than empty. The matchmaker hobbles down from her perch to where you three are standing and looks all of you over once. When she opens her mouth, all you can hear is:

“... maybe next year.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Next year. That’s the only thought that bounces around your skull as you make the embarrassing trek back to your residence. Next year. 

But there wouldn’t be a next year. 

The one you wanted was already gone, and--

Your eyes lift slowly to the door of your family’s home. Never in your lifetime had you experienced such a painful moment, but you wouldn’t let anyone see you defeated. Even after your mother opens the door and witnesses your shuffle back into the house, you announce to her and your father stoically: “The matchmaker said next year would be the year,” and walk into your bedroom with nothing else to declare. 

The pillows on your bed muffle the sobs of your broken heartedness, and cover up the absolute humiliation you had suffered in front of the whole town. You wouldn’t speak of this day to anyone, not even your parents. Next year would be your year.

_______________________________________________________________________

Thunder rattles the windows of your house, and you stare at the various trees being stripped of their buds and flower petals in the pending storm though the panel in your bedroom. This is perfect weather for your mood, you note, and settle into the soft cushion beneath you with a sense of satisfaction. The world mirrors your inner turmoil with this storm, and you like the way the darkness swallows up the bright blue sky. 

“Y/n…” A tap on your door signals the arrival of your mother, but you don’t answer, preferring to stare out of the window at the destruction instead. “I’m coming in.” The door is pushed open with ease, and your mother waddles in, holding a bowl of your favorite soup. “I made some soup for you.” You look at the offering with disinterest,  eyes sliding away from the bowl and to the mirror across the room. 

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” you croak. You can’t see your reflection, but you know you look like a wreck. You had snatched out the bobby pins and ribbons in your hair after you cried, then stripped the dress off in haste, throwing it into the corner before dressing in a plain kimono to remain decent. You’re still in that same kimono, even though it’s been almost a day since you’d changed. 

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.” The keen observation doesn’t make your stomach growl. Instead, it’s like a stone is sitting in your gut, preventing you from even desiring food.

“I’ll be okay.” Your mother sits the soup down on your bedside table anyways, leaving you in peace just like she found you. A slight hiccup finds its way into your throat, and you want to cry, but you have no tears left at all. Your face is tight and raw, and you want to scrub at it to make it all go away… but you can’t. The matchmaker’s word is as good as a bond, and you can’t break that bond; not even if you tried. 

The sound of the front door rattling initially sounds like some aftereffect of the lightning and thunder rolling across the sky, but you notice that the windows hadn’t shook. The pounding sound echoes again, and you find the strength to slide to the edge of your bed, feet dangling in the air precariously. 

Your father would be there to get it, wouldn’t he? So why are you moving? Before you can question yourself further, you place your feet on the floor and pad to your bedroom door. Perhaps it was Yuko, and something had gone terribly wrong with his new wife. The thought makes you move even faster, your legs propelling you down the hallway and to the foyer, where your father stood with the door open to the rain. As you crane your head around the wall between the foyer and hallway, you see a figure bent over at the knees, catching their breath and mumbling erratically. 

“Can I help you?” your father asks the person, who’s head snaps up, flinging his long, white hair back and showing his startling blue eyes. He’s dressed as an Imperial Warrior in a black and red kimono and hakama with a white sash around his waist, which signifies his rank, but you don’t know what rank white is.

“Sir, I have come a long way,” he begins, panting still. “The Imperial Court is in need of your youngest daughter. I have ord--” Your father scoffs, not even entertaining the man at his feet by listening to his speech.��

“I’m sorry, but my youngest daughter is not a fighter,” he cuts the man off with his hand, but the man continues anyway.

“If you would please grant me entry into your home, I will be able to tell you the entire story. I am sure you will allow me this much upon seeing this.” Suddenly, the man reveals a water damaged envelope with the Imperial seal stamped upon it from his kimono. Your father looks at the document, but does not open it. 

“Come inside, then. I’m sure you’re weary from your travels. I’ll have my wife prepare you some dinner.” As your father lets the man inside, your peer a little closer at the soldier and find his sapphire orbs boring right into your soul. A charming half smile pulls at his lips, but he turns away to follow your father into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the foyer and to wonder who exactly was in your home and why.