blanche baby

That’s what you tell yourself as the door to his office slides shut—again—leaving you staring at the faint glow of cursed monitors through frosted glass. Gojo’s laughter used to spill into the hallway. Now it’s swallowed by paperwork, missions, the weight of being the strongest.

You knock once. Soft. Polite. He doesn’t look up.

“Later, okay?” he says, distracted, fingers flying, blindfold tossed aside like you are too.

Later becomes tomorrow. Tomorrow becomes weeks.

You start measuring your presence by how often he sighs when you speak. How his smile tightens, just a little, when you linger too long. Like you’re something to manage instead of someone to miss.

He doesn’t say you’re an annoyance. He doesn’t have to.

When you finally stop knocking, he doesn’t notice right away. That hurts most of all.

Gojo Satoru saves the world daily, effortlessly, brilliantly— but somehow, loving you feels like the one thing he’s too busy to protect.

A whispered conversation outside the school gates. A familiar laugh, bright, careless, unmistakably his. And a girl stepping just a little too close, smiling like she knew a secret.

You told yourself you were imagining it. You told yourself Gojo Satoru would never—

But the universe didn’t care what you told yourself.

And the truth came crashing down in the form of a photo sent to your phone: his hand on her waist, her lips brushing his cheek, his blindfold pushed up just enough to show he wasn’t pushing her away.

Your heart didn’t shatter. It sank.

Cold, quiet, final.

When he got home that night, he greeted you like nothing was wrong.

“Sweetheart, I’m back. Miss me?” A teasing lilt, a grin you used to melt for.

You didn’t smile.

You just held up your phone.

His grin slipped. “Where’d you get that?”

“That’s all you have to say?”

He opened his mouth, too slow. Too late.

“Is it true?” you asked, voice thin, trembling despite how hard you fought it. “Just tell me, Satoru. Please.”

Silence. He could destroy nations with a flick of his fingers, but he couldn’t answer one simple question.

Finally, he whispered, “It wasn’t—it didn’t mean anything.”

Your breath caught. That hurt worse than any confession.

“So you did do it.”

He flinched. You’d never seen him flinch before.

“I was stupid. I was careless. I thought I had time to tell you, to fix—”

“No.” Your voice cracked. “You don’t get to break me and then decide when to fix it.”

You stepped back, and something in him shattered.

“Don’t,” he breathed, reaching out. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“You walked away first,” you whispered. “You just didn’t notice.”

His hand froze mid-air. Infinity activated instinctively, keeping him from touching you— but for once, it wasn’t your protection.

It was his punishment.

You moved past him, and he didn't stop you. The strongest sorcerer in the world stood powerless in his own living room as you walked out the door he thought you'd always return to.

Later, he’d sit against the wall, head in his hands, whispering your name like a prayer he no longer deserved.

Because for the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru learned what it meant to lose something he couldn’t replace:

You had argued again.

Something stupid, something small, something that shouldn’t have mattered. But Satoru had been tired, stretched thin, and for once he’d let irritation win.

“Fine,” he had snapped, slipping on his blindfold. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

You’d said his name softly, reaching for him. But he’d stepped away.

The last thing he heard before the door closed was your sigh.

And the last thing you heard from him was silence.

The mission should’ve been easy. Routine. Nothing he couldn’t handle half-asleep. But the whole time, the echo of your voice; hurt, quiet, disappointed, kept threading through the back of his mind.

When he finished, he didn’t even wait for cleanup. He just teleported straight home, half-ready to apologize, half-ready to pretend he wasn’t shaking from guilt.

“Sweets? I’m back,” he called out lightly.

No answer.

He frowned. “Hey, don’t tell me you’re still mad. I brought—”

Then he felt it. A smear of energy. Faint. Wrong.

His heart stuttered.

“No.”

He moved through the house in a blur, feet silent, breath shallow. Every step deeper felt like walking underwater. Heavy. Slow.

He found you in the entryway.

Collapsed near the very door he’d slammed hours earlier, as if you’d run to greet him and never made it far enough.

“Hey,” he whispered, dropping to his knees so fast the floor cracked beneath him. “No, no—this isn’t—don’t do this.”

There was blood on your hands. Not much, but enough. Too much.

His fingers hovered above you, trembling violently. He could fix things—anything—if he just stayed calm. If he focused. If he tried harder.

But he couldn’t find your cursed energy. He couldn’t find you.

“Sweets… c’mon. Open your eyes.” His voice broke, splintering into pieces he couldn’t pick up. “I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t—I wasn’t leaving like that. I was coming back to you. I always come back to you.”

His forehead dropped to yours, his whole body folding in on itself.

“You can’t do this. You can’t leave me like this. Not when my last words to you—” He choked, unable to finish.

The world’s strongest sorcerer wasn’t strong enough to lift you. Not yet. Not like this.

So he held you instead, arms shaking, breath unsteady, the house too quiet around him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, voice shredded. “I should’ve told you I loved you. I should’ve—god, I should’ve stayed.”

The curse was long gone. But Satoru Gojo stayed there on the floor, holding you long after the warmth left your skin.

Because he had finally learned the one thing he was never meant to:

WMMAP

HAS

RETURNED

Kaiser

You wave the test stick around like you’re about to make a big announcement.

“Michael, I think I might be pregnant.”

He spits out his mineral water. “Excuse me, what? We’ve been married for one month. ONE. MONTH.” He points at the ceiling like he’s blaming God. “I didn’t even finish organizing the champagne glasses in alphabetical order yet.”

When you tell him it’s a prank, he dramatically clutches his chest. “You… you vile little angel. I already saw myself on the cover of Vogue: Kaiser, Soccer Dad of the Year.” He flops onto the couch. “Do not joke about things that will ruin my flawless jawline with stress wrinkles.”

Sae

You show him the test. “Sae… I think I might be pregnant.”

He doesn’t even look up from his phone. “And?”

“And?! We’ve been married for a month.”

He finally looks at you, deadpan. “…So?” He shrugs. “You’d just stop waking up at 7am for work then.”

When you tell him it’s a prank, he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters, “I already started calculating college tuition in my head. You’re insufferable.” But the faint smirk betrays him.

Rin

You put the test on the table. “Rin… I think I’m pregnant.”

He freezes mid-bite of his ramen. “HUH?!” He immediately starts pacing the kitchen like he’s preparing for a penalty kick. “This is—this is too fast. We’re still in the tutorial level of marriage!”

“Tutorial level???”

He runs a hand through his hair, mumbling, “Do I need to baby-proof the outlets? Buy a crib? I don’t even know how to fold fitted sheets yet!”

When you finally say it’s a prank, he stares at you with murder in his eyes. “Not funny. I already envisioned myself passed out at 3 a.m. making formula.”

Bachira

You wave the test like a magic wand. “Bee, I think I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widen, and then he grins. “Cool! Can we name it Spider-Man if it’s a boy?”

“…What??”

He’s already bouncing around, listing baby toy ideas, and how he’ll teach it soccer tricks as soon as it can crawl. “And we’ll paint the nursery with monster doodles! Ohhh, and a mini jersey with my number!”

When you tell him it’s a prank, he blinks, then flops onto the floor dramatically. “You mean… no mini-Bee yet? Ugh, false advertising.” Then he grins again. “Next time, don’t joke unless you’re ready for me to break out the baby name book.”

Nagi

You sit beside him and whisper, “Nagi… I think I might be pregnant.”

He yawns. “…That sounds like a lot of work.”

“What???”

He scratches his head. “Not for me, obviously. I’ll help. But… wow, I just started learning your coffee order. Now I have to learn diaper brands too?” He flops onto the bed like the weight of the world has hit him.

telling ur man u (unfortunately) can't pay the mortgage this month

kaiser

you let out a dramatic sigh while he’s lounging on the couch, scrolling his phone. “kaiser… i don’t think i can pay my mortgage this month.”

his head turns slowly, like you’ve just spoken blasphemy. “dein ernst? what did you just say?”

“my mortgage,” you repeat, as seriously as you can manage.

he actually laughs—loud and sharp—before tossing his phone aside. “oh, mein schatz, that’s the funniest thing i’ve heard all week. your mortgage?” he leans forward, smirk pulling at his lips. “you’ve never paid it. not before we were married, not now. why are you suddenly pretending you know what a mortgage looks like?”

when you stammer, he shakes his head dramatically. “no, no, no. the only thing you’ve been paying since day one is in kisses and your time with me. everything else? that’s my arena.” he leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “cute prank. but next time, pick something you’ve actually touched before—because bills? never.”

______________________

sae

the kitchen is quiet while sae washes the dishes. you lean against the counter, frowning. “sae… i don’t think i can pay my mortgage this month.”

he stops mid-motion, water dripping off the plate in his hand. “…excuse me?”

“my mortgage,” you say carefully.

he sets the plate down slowly, like he’s giving you a chance to take it back. “you’ve never paid that. not once. do you even know the account it comes out of?” his tone is sharp, almost irritated. “no, you don’t. because i’ve handled it. always.”

when you giggle nervously, he stares, deadpan. “this is a prank, isn’t it?”

“yes.”

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…unbelievable. a month into marriage and you’re already joking like you’re single.” he turns back to the sink, but his voice softens: “don’t insult me like that. you’re my wife. you don’t touch things like that—not now, not ever.”

______________________

rin

you sit on the armrest of the couch while rin ties his shoelaces. “rin… i can’t pay my mortgage this month.”

his head whips up, eyes narrowing. “…what?”

“my mortgage,” you repeat, biting your lip.

he scoffs instantly. “that’s rich. you’ve never paid it. why are you acting like you suddenly do now?” he shakes his head, glaring. “do you even know the amount? the due date? anything?”

you shrug, trying to hold back your smile. “no…”

“exactly,” he mutters, standing up and shouldering his bag. “you’ve never touched it, and you never will. not while i’m here. what kind of husband would i be if i let my wife deal with bills? tch. ridiculous.”

when you finally admit it’s a prank, his ears turn pink. “…idiot.” he looks away, muttering, “don’t mess with me like that. you’re mine. that means you don’t carry those things anymore.”

______________________

bachira

you collapse onto the couch dramatically. “bee… i don’t think i can pay my mortgage this month.”

he pops his head out from the kitchen, hair messy, eyes wide. “huh? your mortgage?”

“yes…”

he tilts his head like a confused puppy, then bursts out laughing. “no way. babe, you’ve never paid that. do you even know what a mortgage bill looks like?”

you stay quiet, pretending to sulk.

“see? you don’t! because you’ve never touched it.” he drops beside you, grinning. “you think i’d let you deal with boring money stuff? nooo way. that’s my job. your job is to sit here with me, watch movies, and let me handle all the rest.”

you crack, laughing, and admit it’s a prank.

bachira pouts, then tackles you into a hug. “mean! you actually had me for a second. don’t prank me like that—my heart can’t take the thought of you thinking you’re on your own.” his pout melts into a smile. “besides… you’ve been mine since day one. that means no bills, no stress, nothing. just me.”

______________________

nagi

you roll over in bed with a sigh. “nagi… i don’t think i can pay my mortgage this month.”

he blinks slowly, phone in hand. “…mortgage?”

“yeah.”

he lets out a groan, sitting up halfway. “what are you talking about? you’ve never paid that. ever. you don’t even know which bank it’s with, do you?”

you hesitate. “…no.”

“exactly.” he flops back down, tossing his phone onto the blanket. “that’s my problem, not yours. always has been.” he peers at you through half-lidded eyes, faintly annoyed. “what kind of husband would i be if my wife even thought about paying bills?”

when you burst out laughing and admit it’s a prank, he groans again. “such a drag. don’t waste my energy with fake worries.” he rolls over, tugging you into his chest. “…still. don’t ever say that again. you’re mine now. that means you don’t lift a finger for stuff like that.”

the first time sae noticed it, it was subtle. your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes when he came home from training. he told himself it was just exhaustion on your part, the kind that softens the edges of warmth until it feels almost cold.

but then the silences grew longer. once, you used to fill them with stories, mundane details, silly rants, the kind of chatter that lit up your face and made him think, this is home. now, when he asked how your day was, you only shrugged.

sae wasn’t clueless. on the field, he read people in seconds. he knew when opponents hesitated, when teammates lost rhythm, when passion wavered. and now… he was watching the same unraveling in you.

your hands used to find his instinctively, threading through his when the world was too loud. now they stayed folded in your lap, as though the warmth between you two had cooled into something fragile, something that might crumble if touched.

one night, when you turned away in bed, he asked quietly, “are you… tired of me?”

your breath caught, but you didn’t deny it right away. that hesitation was louder than any answer. his chest tightened, sharper than any defeat he’d ever taken.

he wanted to be angry. he wanted to ask if all the promises meant nothing. but instead, all he whispered was, “tell me how to fix this.”

and for the first time, you had no words for him.

the silence was an answer in itself.

bllk boys when u call them after your car breaks down (u changed the oil yourself with olive oil)

michael kaiser

kaiser answered your call on the third ring, voice full of smug confidence. “miss me already?” he teased.

you hesitated. “so… the car kinda died.” his tone immediately changed. “what do you mean died?” “i changed the oil myself,” you said proudly. “wait, you changed the oil?” “yeah! all by myself.” “…okay, wait—what kind of oil did you use?” you smiled nervously. “olive.” silence. “what?” “extra virgin,” you added quickly, like that would help.

you could hear the sharp inhale through the phone. “you mean to tell me you deep-fried your engine like it’s schnitzel?” “i panicked!” he let out the longest sigh in recorded history. “you cooked your car. congratulations, it’s officially a gourmet tragedy.”

thirty minutes later, he pulled up with sunglasses, iced coffee, and the most insufferable smirk. “smells like italy in here,” he said, poking your smoking engine. “are you going to help or not?” “oh, i’ll help. but i will be roasting you about this at your wedding toast.”

_________________

 rin itoshi

you knew rin would be annoyed. you also knew he was your only option. “rin… can you come get me?” you asked over the phone. “what happened?” “i changed the oil… and now the car won’t move.” there was a pause. “what kind of oil?” you swallowed. “…olive.” click. he hung up.

you stared at your phone. “oh my god.”

a few minutes later, it rang again. “drop your location.” “so you are coming?” “i’m coming to rescue your dumb ass, not the car. it’s probably in a coma.”

he arrived stone-faced. looked under the hood. “…it smells like focaccia.” “are you mad?” you asked. “i don’t have the energy to be mad. i’m trying to comprehend how you thought cooking oil would help a vehicle.” you shrugged. “it said oil. i got confused.” he muttered something about getting your vision checked and helping you pick a new car. one he maintained. for everyone’s safety.

_________________

sae itoshi

“don’t laugh,” you said immediately as sae answered. “that’s never a good start,” he muttered. “my car broke down after i changed the oil.” “…okay. what kind did you use?” you whispered, “olive.” “…come again?” “extra virgin olive oil. cold-pressed.” there was a long pause. then a quiet, “you absolute dumbass.”

he showed up in record time. no music, no expression. just sae and an overwhelming sense of judgement. he stared at your engine for a long while. “it’s marinating in there.” “i thought it was fine!” you defended. “it says oil!” “babe, if i drink gasoline, can i call that a smoothie?” you pouted. “you’re being mean.” “i just watched you murder a car with salad dressing. you don’t get to play victim right now.”

he called a tow truck and said nothing the entire ride back—except to quietly ask, “so balsamic next time?”

_________________

shidou ryusei

you: “so… funny story.” shidou: “this better be stupid.” you: “my car broke down and i think i know why.” shidou: “go on.” “i changed the oil with olive oil.” "NO. SHUT UP. THATS METAL"

he showed up not with tools, but with snacks and a camera. “holy hell. you actually did it. you fried a car like a tempura shrimp.” you pouted. “i thought i was doing something cool.” “you did. you committed vehicular culinary homicide.”

he popped the hood, gagged theatrically, and took a selfie with it. “caption: 'girlfriend cooked her car. send help and seasoning.’” you slapped his arm. he winked. “next time, let’s just bake cookies and call it a day.”

_________________

nagi seishiro

you called him with a whisper. “babe…” “mmh.” “the car’s dead.” “what’d you do?” “i changed the oil… with olive oil.” “…why.” “i thought it was the same thing…” another long sigh. “do you want me to come get you?” “yes please.”

he took forever to show up because he stopped for snacks. when he finally arrived, he just stared at your car like it personally offended him. “too much effort,” he muttered. “for me or the car?” “yes.”

he opened the hood, smelled it, and simply said, “this car is a crouton now.” you whined. “you’re not gonna make fun of me?” he shrugged. “i’m too lazy to even be surprised. next time, call a mechanic. or me. or anyone who doesn’t cook.”