sending grwm video to 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Higuruma Hiromi ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ while he's at work .✦ ݁˖

The soft, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of your beauty blender against your skin was the only sound in your bedroom, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Propped up against a stack of books on your vanity was your phone, the front-facing camera recording a high-definition video of your morning routine.

You swiped a bit of concealer under your eyes, blending it out with practiced ease before looking directly into the lens.

“Okay, so I know he’s probably in the middle of drafting a motion or arguing in front of a judge right now,” you whispered to the camera, a conspiratorial smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But I promised I’d send him a GRWM today. Let's see if we can get a reaction out of the most serious lawyer in Tokyo.”

You picked up an eyeshadow palette, tapping off the excess powder. “Today’s vibe is effortless but put-together. We're going for the ‘I definitely didn't hit snooze three times’ look.”

For the next ten minutes, you chatted with the camera as if you were talking directly to him. You complained about a minor inconvenience at work, debated between two different lip gloss shades, and briefly lost your train of thought when you accidentally poked yourself in the eye with a mascara wand.

It was chaotic, casual, and entirely you—a stark contrast to the rigid, highly structured world Higuruma operated in every day.

Once your hair was done and your outfit was sorted, you blew a kiss to the camera. “And that's the final look. Wish me luck today, counselor. Don't work too hard. Bye!”

You hit stop, trimmed the edges of the video, and attached it to a message line.

[Video Attachment: 04:12]

For your lunch break. Or whenever you need a distraction from legal briefs.

You hit send and tossed your phone into your bag, heading out the door with a slight bounce in your step.

Across town, in a sleek, fluorescent-lit office piled high with case files and legal transcripts, Higuruma Hiromi was rubbing the bridge of his nose. A massive stack of corporate litigation documents sat in front of him, and he had been staring at the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes. His shoulders were tense, the knot of his tie felt just a bit too tight, and the dull ache of a looming headache was beginning to form behind his eyes.

Then, his phone buzzed on the desk.

He glanced down, fully expecting an email from a senior partner or a notification about a court date. Instead, your name popped up, accompanied by a video file.

A rare, faint smile broke through his exhausted expression. Higuruma leaned back in his leather chair, loosening his tie by a fraction of an inch, and tapped the screen.

The video loaded, and suddenly your bright, sunlit bedroom filled his screen. He lowered the volume slightly, mindful of the quiet office, and watched.

Seeing you in your element—hair tied back, completely focused on the precise application of your makeup—instantly took the edge off his stress. He found himself fascinated by the process, watching how meticulously you worked, even while rambling about a stray cat you saw yesterday or the coffee order you were craving.

When you looked directly into the camera and said, “Let's see if we can get a reaction out of the most serious lawyer in Tokyo,” Higuruma let out a soft, genuine laugh, shaking his head.

“You always manage to,” he murmured to the empty room.

He watched the entire four minutes without blinking. He didn't miss the way your eyes lit up when you liked how your eyeliner turned out, or the slight pout you gave when you muttered about being late. By the time the video ended with you blowing a kiss, the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of his office had completely evaporated.

He propped his chin on his hand, staring at the frozen final frame of the video for a long moment before tapping out a reply.

The makeup looks beautiful, though I'm fairly certain you don't need half of those products to look incredible. As for the distraction—it worked perfectly. Court is adjourned in my mind for the rest of the day.

Let me take you to dinner tonight. I'll pick you up at seven.

He hit send, the familiar weight of his workload suddenly feeling a whole lot lighter. Re-engaging with the corporate documents in front of him, he found his focus renewed, driven by the quiet anticipation of seeing the final look in person.

© 2026 aeresha. All content is owned by @aeresha. Do not repost, edit, translate, or copy in any form across any platform.

catching 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Gojo Satoru ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ eating chocolates at 3 in the morning .✦ ݁˖

The kitchen was dead silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator and the faint, unmistakable crinkle of high-end foil.

You blinked against the darkness of the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you glanced at the microwave clock. 3:02 AM.

Stepping into the kitchen, you didn’t even need to turn on the overhead lights to know exactly what was happening. The soft, ambient blue glow of the digital clock illuminated a towering, white-haired silhouette perched right on top of the marble kitchen counter. Gojo Satoru was sitting cross-legged, surrounded by a mini-fortress of discarded wrappers, completely at peace with the world.

Without his blindfold or sunglasses, his striking blue eyes practically glowed in the dark as they tracked your movement. He didn't even startle. He just paused, a premium imported truffle halfway to his mouth, and offered you a bright, entirely unbothered grin.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly midnight murmur. “Did the chocolate call out to you from across the hall too? Because I swear it was whispering my name from the pantry.”

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms as you took in the sight of him. The strongest sorcerer alive was currently wearing oversized, faded grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt with a stretched-out collar. His stark white hair was a complete, unruly mess, falling into his face in a way that made him look far softer than he ever did during the day.

“Satoru, it’s three in the morning,” you whispered, trying and failing to sound stern. “And you're eating pure sugar on the counter like a raccoon.”

“A raccoon? Ouch.” He placed a dramatic hand over his heart, though he still popped the truffle into his mouth. He chewed happily before tapping his temple with a chocolate-smudged finger. “You know this is a medical necessity. Running Limitless twenty-four-seven requires an immense amount of glucose. My brain is basically a supercomputer, and right now, the supercomputer needs dark chocolate sea-salt caramels.”

“Is that why you were crinkling the wrappers so loud? To let the whole house know about your medical emergency?”

“Baby, I was being a silent shadow ninja,” he protested, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. The playful glint in his eyes deepened. He looked down at the box in his lap, then up at you, sighing heavily as if he were making the ultimate sacrifice. “Fine. Since you caught me red-handed... I suppose I can share.”

He picked out a small, dark chocolate square filled with raspberry ganache. Instead of handing it over, he held it out between his long fingers, waiting.

You sighed, walking over to the counter and stepping into his space. Satoru leaned down slightly, a soft, amused look in his eyes as he carefully nudged the sweet past your lips. His thumb brushed against the corner of your mouth to catch a stray crumb, his touch lingering for a second too long.

“Good, right?” he murmured, watching your face relax as the rich flavor hit your tongue.

“Yeah,” you admitted, leaning your hip against the counter. “It's really good.”

“See? Now you’re my accomplice.” A gleeful smile broke across his face. He patted the empty space on the marble next to him. “Come on, climb up. We can commit a grand larceny against my own pantry together in secret.”

You laughed softly but shook your head, pulling gently at the hem of his oversized shirt. “No way. If we stay up any longer, you're going to crash, and you have a meeting with the higher-ups tomorrow morning.”

Satoru instantly let out a long, exaggerated whine, slouching forward until his forehead rested heavily against your shoulder. “Don't remind me of the old men. They're so boring. Let's just stay here and eat the whole box.”

“Satoru.”

“Fiiiiine,” he groaned into your neck, though he didn't move for a long moment, simply breathing in your scent and wrapping his long arms loosely around your waist.

When he finally pulled back, he carefully gathered all the crumpled foil wrappers, shoved them into the empty box, and hopped down from the counter with effortless grace. He slid the box to the very bottom of the trash can, covering it with a paper towel. He turned back to you, pressing a chocolate-stained finger to his lips with a conspiratorial wink.

“Our little secret,” he whispered.

“Your secret is safe with me,” you smiled, turning to lead the way back down the dark hallway.

Before you could take two steps, Satoru caught your hand, tugging you gently backward until you were flushed against his chest. He guided you back into the bedroom, and the moment you both crawled under the heavy covers, he pulled you tightly into his space. He wrapped his long limbs around you like a giant blanket, smelling faintly of expensive cocoa and fresh linen.

Entirely warm, entirely content, and thoroughly full of sugar, he buried his face in your hair, his breathing slowing down almost instantly as he finally drifted off to sleep.

© 2026 aeresha. All content is owned by @aeresha. Do not repost, edit, translate, or copy in any form across any platform.

𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Sukuna Ryomen ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ secretly likes it when you put hair clips on him .✦ ݁˖

The King of Curses was currently sitting on the floor of your living room, radiating enough dark, malicious energy to level a small village—all because of a tiny piece of pink plastic.

“If anyone breathes a word of this,” Ryomen rumbled, his voice low and dangerous, “I will flay them alive. Slowly.”

“Yes, yes, the grand King of Curses, terror of the Heian era, undone by a pastel hair accessory,” you teased, completely unfazed by the threat.

You were sitting on the couch behind him, running your fingers through his surprisingly soft, unruly pink hair. He had come to you in a rare, quiet mood, seeking a break from Jujutsu sorcerers and ancient feuds. But his bangs kept falling into his primary set of eyes, and his constant, irritated clicking of his tongue was driving you crazy.

So, you did the only logical thing: you went to your vanity and grabbed a pack of colorful, sparkly hair clips.

When you first snapped a glittery blue butterfly clip right above his forehead, pinning back the stubborn spikes, his entire body went rigid. The extra set of eyes on his cheeks blinked in utter disbelief. Four arms immediately tensed, claws digging into his knees.

“What is the meaning of this insolence?” he had snarled, a genuine threat laced in his tone.

But you didn't back down. Instead, you just smoothed down a stray strand of hair and smiled. “Your hair was in your eyes. Now you can see better. Keep them in.”

He growled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated right through the floorboards. He could have cleaved you in two before you could even blink. He could have reduced the entire building to ash.

Instead... he just sat there. He let out a heavy, defeated sigh, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.

As the minutes ticked by, you kept going. You added a yellow star clip, then a little pink strawberry one.

Ryomen crossed his top arms, looking thoroughly displeased, while his lower arms rested on his knees. He muttered curses under his breath about how weak human culture had become. But you noticed something he would never admit aloud.

The truth was, Sukuna Ryomen spent every waking second of his existence being feared, hated, or hunted. No one dared to touch him unless they were trying to kill him. But here you were, casually treating the most dangerous entity in history like an oversized doll, running your fingers through his hair with gentle, completely unafraid movements.

He secretly, deeply, absolutely loved it.

“You're ridiculous.”

“There,” you said cheerfully, patting the top of his head. “All done. You look beautiful, Ryomen.”

He scoffed, finally turning his head to look up at you. The view was absurd: the undisputed King of Curses, covered in demonic tattoos, looking at you with four eyes while sporting a crown of colorful, sparkly kids' hair clips.

“You have a death wish,” he muttered, though the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. One of his large, tattooed hands reached up, his sharp claws brushing against the strawberry clip. He could have ripped it out, but he just tapped it gently, making sure it was secure.

“You're not going to take them out?” you asked, leaning forward with a smirk.

Ryomen turned back around, facing away from you so you couldn't see the slight softening in his expression. “They are keeping the hair out of my eyes. Nothing more.”

“Right. Sure,” you laughed, resting your chin on the top of the couch, watching him.

He didn't move to take them out for the rest of the night. In fact, when he finally stood up to leave hours later, he made sure to walk past the hallway mirror, casting a brief, satisfied glance at his reflection before disappearing into the shadows—clips still firmly in place.

© 2026 aeresha. All content is owned by @aeresha. Do not repost, edit, translate, or copy in any form across any platform.

𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 doing the mowie wowie trend with ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ Toji Fushiguro .✦ ݁˖

Toji Fushiguro did not understand social media, he did not understand trends, and he definitely did not understand whatever it was you were currently doing with your phone.

He was sitting sideways on the couch, one long leg hooked over the armrest, nursing a cold drink. His other arm—clad in his usual tight, short-sleeved black shirt—was resting casually along the back cushions.

You knelt on the couch right next to him, phone held high in your left hand, camera flipped to selfie mode.

“Toji, look up,” you instructed, adjusting the frame. “And bend your arm. Just hold it like you're resting, but tight.”

Toji cut his eyes toward you, thoroughly unamused. “What are you doing now? If this is another one of those filters that makes me look like a cartoon animal, I’m throwing your phone out the window.”

“It's not, I promise! Just keep your arm right there.” You hit record on the video app.

The audio track started playing from your phone speakers—a upbeat, rhythmic voice counting down to the beat.

Going back to Honolulu

Right on cue with the music, you grabbed his bicep with both hands. Because Toji’s arms were entirely too massive for your hands to span, you had to use both palms just to get a grip, forcefully squeezing the solid mass of muscle to the rhythm of the track.

Toji didn't move, but one of his dark eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. He looked from the screen, where your hands were aggressively kneading his upper arm, back to your face. He looked like a large, dangerous jungle cat being thoroughly bothered by a very small, very determined house pet.

Just to get that

You kept going, completely committing to the trend, shifting your grip to shake the muscle. It was like trying to shake a boulder. Even relaxed, Toji’s arms had zero slack. Your hands just bounced off the sheer density of it.

By the third beat of the song, the absurdity of the situation finally broke through Toji’s gruff exterior. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his scarred face. He let out a low, rough huff of a laugh, his dark eyes locking onto the camera lens.

That Mowie Wowie

“You look ridiculous,” he muttered, his deep voice vibrating right next to you.

“Shh, you're ruining the audio! Now flex!” you whispered frantically.

Just as the audio hit its dramatic finale, Toji gave in. He didn't just flex; he deliberately shifted his weight closer, bringing his arm up and tightening the bicep directly in front of the camera lens.

The muscle hardened instantly into a mountain of solid, striated mass, completely flexing your hands wide open and pushing them out of the way. It effectively blocked out half the screen, the sheer size of it completely ridiculous in the phone's front camera.

You gasped, entirely losing your composure as the video ended. “Oh my gosh, it looks even crazier on screen.”

Toji lazily relaxed his arm, letting it drop heavily over your shoulders and dragging you down into his side. He snatched the phone right out of your grip with his massive hand, looping the video back to the beginning to watch it.

He stared at the screen for a few seconds, watching your tiny hands struggle against his arm while he just smirked in the background. A genuine, low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“So,” Toji murmured, tossing the phone face-down onto the couch cushions and tightening his arm around your neck in a playful, heavy headlock. “Is that what the kids are doing online these days? Using me for views?”

“It's a very popular trend, Toji, people need to see the material.”

“Yeah, well,” he grunted, leaning down to press a rough, lingering kiss to the top of your head, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Tell 'em the material costs extra next time.”

© 2026 aeresha. All content is owned by @aeresha. Do not repost, edit, translate, or copy in any form across any platform.

𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 doing skincare with your boyfriend ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ Gojo Satoru .✦ ݁˖

The bathroom mirror was completely fogged over, but you didn’t need a clear reflection to know exactly what was happening behind you.

“Step aside, babe, the professional has arrived.”

Satoru slid into the bathroom, kicking the door shut with his heel. His trademark blindfold was gone, replaced by a ridiculously plush, pastel-pink spa headband that pushed his stark white hair up into a chaotic, fluffy cloud. He was already wearing a silk bathrobe that matched yours, looking entirely too enthusiastic for eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night.

“I told you, Satoru, I’m just doing a quick wash and tone,” you said, reaching for your usual cleanser. “I don’t need the whole theatrical production.”

“Foul!” Satoru gasped, dropping a dramatic hand over his heart as if you had personally insulted his entire lineage. “A quick wash? With that drugstore brand? Absolutely not. Tonight, you are a guest at the Satoru Spa, and we do not cut corners.”

Before you could protest, he snatched your cleanser and tossed it into the cabinet, replacing it with a sleek, heavy glass bottle that looked like it cost more than your monthly groceries.

“First step: the double cleanse,” he announced, pumping a fragrant, silky oil into his massive palms. He rubbed his hands together to warm the product, a brilliant, bright-eyed grin spreading across his face. “Close your eyes. No peeking at the master at work.”

You sighed but complied, closing your eyes and tilting your head up.

The moment his hands touched your face, the chaotic energy completely melted away. For all his loud antics, Satoru was incredibly gentle. His long fingers moved in slow, practiced upward circles across your cheeks and jawline, breaking down the day’s grime with a surprisingly meticulous touch. His thumbs swept lightly over your brow bones, easing a tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“See? Isn’t this better?” he murmured, his voice dropping into a rare, soft cadence right near your ear. “You work too hard. Your face deserves to be pampered.”

“It does feel good,” you admitted, keeping your eyes shut. “Where did you even learn how to do this?”

“Please, I’m Gojo Satoru. I’m naturally gifted at everything,” he bragged, the smugness instantly returning to his tone. “Plus, do you think skin this flawless happens by accident? Infinity keeps the pollution out, sure, but the glow? That’s all talent.”

He instructed you to rinse, and you successfully avoided his attempt to splash water all over the counter like a luxury commercial model. Once your face was patted dry with a fluffy towel, Satoru held up two identical, slimy sheet masks.

“Look! They have little cat whiskers printed on them,” he beamed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Within seconds, he had slapped the cold, wet sheet onto your face, smoothing it down over your nose and forehead. He applied his own with practiced ease, then immediately grabbed his phone, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to drag you into the frame.

“Smile for the camera, babe!”

He snapped a dozen photos—most of them featuring him making ridiculous peace signs or puckering his lips while you struggled to look normal beneath a dripping piece of hydrogel.

While the masks set, Satoru pulled a chilled jade roller from his robe pocket. He leaned against the counter, pulling you gently between his knees so he could roll the cool stone across your cheekbones.

“You know,” you mumbled, the mask making it hard to enunciate, “for someone who fights special grade curses for a living, you’re really invested in pores.”

“Hey, presentation matters,” he laughed, tapping the tip of your nose with the jade roller. “Imagine the strongest sorcerer in the world having a breakout. It’s bad for the brand. Besides, doing this with you is the only time my brain actually shuts up for a second.”

He peeled the masks off a few minutes later, throwing them into the trash with perfect basketball accuracy. To lock in the essence, he grabbed a heavy moisturizer, slathering a generous amount onto his hands.

He leaned in close, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours as he carefully smoothed the cream over your skin. For a second, the atmosphere shifted. His gaze lingered on your lips, then traveled back up to your eyes, a soft, genuinely affectionate smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, right at the hairline.

“All done,” he whispered, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Look at that. Radiant. Stunning. Absolutely beautiful.”

You turned to the mirror, wiping away a patch of condensation. Your skin was completely glowing, hydrated to perfection. “Wow. Okay, I admit it. You did a good job.”

“Of course I did!” Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin heavily on your shoulder as both of you looked at your reflections. “And now that we are peak health and wellness icons...”

He gave you a wicked grin in the mirror.

“...we are going to the kitchen to eat an entire pint of triple-chocolate ice cream in our robes.”

“Satoru, it's midnight. That completely defeats the purpose of a health routine.”

“Duh,” he laughed, already dragging you out of the bathroom by your hand. “That's what makes it fun.”

© 2026 aeresha. All content is owned by @aeresha. Do not repost, edit, translate, or copy in any form across any platform.

A/N: follow @faeloresha for some steamy stuff and @aeresha for some fluff :0