Hi!! I write fanfics and mostly oneshots! If you have any request let me know!! I mostly write about aot or jjk, but i may write about more games, animes or films!!
MASTERLIST
JJK .ᐟ
Megumi
Megumi always lets you play your music around him (fluff)
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scrolling through the aot x reader tag and each scroll is either a smutfic or a shitty smau, and somehow every one is from the hood or a drug dealer and calls reader "ma"
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Satoru was rich… like… crazy rich, so he didn’t have the need to cook. Because of that, he cannot cook.
You were watching a film together, his arm around your shoulders, when you complained about being hungry.
Now, Satoru was in the kitchen. He had locked himself in, convinced that he could cook something for you. It hadn’t even been 10 minutes before he came out, his face dirty with remains of egg yolk, probably from touching his face with dirty hands, and his lower lip sticking out in a childish pout.
You knew he had fucked up even before he spoke.
“Baby… I burnt the noddles…” He said, like an ashamed kid who’s just broke something.
You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips. “How do you burn instant noodles, Satoru?”
“I don’t know… but they’re burnt now.”
You stared at him for a moment.
Then at the kitchen behind him, where a suspicious amount of smoke was slowly drifting into the living room.
Then back at him.
“Satoru.”
“Yeah?”
“Why is there smoke?”
His expression immediately became guilty.
“…Maybe don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
Honestly, sometimes you forgot this was the strongest sorcerer alive.
The same man capable of taking down curses that could level cities somehow couldn’t survive ten minutes alone with a pot of instant noodles.
A beat of silence passed.
Then Satoru shuffled closer.
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You have your mad face on.”
“This is my normal face.”
“No, your normal face is prettier.”
You rolled your eyes immediately.
And just like that, his shoulders relaxed.
The brat.
You stood up from the couch and walked toward him.
Satoru perked up instantly, clearly thinking he’d somehow escaped punishment.
Then you grabbed his chin.
“Ow.”
“You literally fight monsters.”
“It still hurts.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It emotionally hurts.”
You ignored him and wiped the streak of egg yolk off his cheek with your thumb.
How had he even managed that?
There was egg in instant noodles?
Actually, no. You didn’t want to know.
“Why are you covered in food?” you asked.
His gaze shifted away.
A terrible sign.
“Satoru.”
“I thought adding an egg would make it better.”
“And?”
“The egg disagreed.”
You stared.
He stared back.
Then he smiled sheepishly.
God.
“You’re impossible.”
“That’s what Suguru says too.”
“That should concern you.”
“It doesn’t.”
Of course it didn’t.
You sighed before walking toward the kitchen.
The second you stepped inside, you froze.
There was water on the counter.
The stove looked concerning.
A spoon was somehow on the floor.
And the pot…
The pot looked like it had personally offended him.
You slowly turned around.
“Satoru.”
“Yeah?”
“Why does it look like a natural disaster happened in here?”
“I was improvising.”
“You were making noodles.”
“Exactly.”
You didn’t even know what to say. How can someone mess up this badly on the easiest meal ever?
“Clean the kitchen, I’ll cook.” You said, giving up on whatever hopes you had.
“But I want to cook for you.” Your boyfriend complained. As soon as you heard him, you shot him a dirty glance.
“You can’t make instant noodles…” you said, as if that sentence said all he needed to know, which, honestly, it did.
Satoru looked personally offended by that. His mouth fell open slightly, blue eyes widening behind his sunglasses as if you had just accused him of committing a crime. Which was rich, considering the state of your kitchen currently looked like the aftermath of one.
“That was one time,” he argued immediately.
“It happened ten minutes ago.”
“It was an accident.”
“You somehow burnt noodles, water, and an egg simultaneously.”
“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
You stared at him.
“It is bad.”
He frowned dramatically before looking over your shoulder into the kitchen. For a brief second, you watched him assess the damage, his gaze moving from the blackened pot to the water on the counter to the packet of noodles that had somehow ended up on top of the microwave.
Then he pointed at the pot.
“I still think that thing betrayed me.”
“The pot betrayed you?”
“Yes.”
“Satoru.”
“It knew I was inexperienced and took advantage of me.”
You couldn’t even bring yourself to respond.
Sometimes talking to him felt like arguing with a particularly handsome wall.
A very rich wall.
A wall that somehow kept getting away with things because it looked pretty.
With another sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and moved toward the counter. The second you reached for the ingredients, however, a pair of long arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind.
Of course.
You should have expected it.
Satoru rested his chin on your shoulder, immediately becoming dead weight against your back. He wasn’t even trying to help. He was just hanging off you like an oversized cat.
“What are you making?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You should make something fancy.”
“You burned instant noodles.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to lower your standards.”
You elbowed him lightly.
“Ow.”
“You deserve worse.”
“I was trying to be romantic.”
The complaint was delivered with such sincerity that you actually paused.
Because underneath all the whining and dramatics, that was the problem.
Satoru genuinely had been trying.
The strongest sorcerer alive could buy practically anything he wanted. If you mentioned wanting food, he could have ordered from the most expensive restaurant in Tokyo without even glancing at the price. He could have had a five-star meal delivered to your door in less than half an hour.
Instead, he’d decided to cook.
For you.
Which was sweet.
Incredibly stupid.
But sweet.
Your shoulders relaxed slightly.
Behind you, Satoru immediately noticed.
The man had a sixth sense for your moods.
“You’re not mad anymore,” he announced proudly.
“I wasn’t mad to begin with.”
“You were disappointed.”
“That too.”
He groaned loudly, burying his face in your shoulder. “That’s even worse.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
The second he heard it, Satoru straightened.
“There it is.”
“No.”
“There it is,” he repeated triumphantly. “You laughed.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“See?” His grin widened. “You admitted it.”
You turned around just enough to flick his forehead.
He gasped dramatically and stumbled backward as though you’d punched him.
“Violence.”
“Drama queen.”
“Abuse.”
“I tapped your forehead.”
“I could’ve died.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
“You’re impossible.”
Satoru just shrugged, clinging closer to you.
“Probably,” he admitted easily. “Good thing you’re stuck with me, then.”
When Satoru bought a new bed for you two to share, you had assumed it meant you would finally regain some personal space.
This was proven to be, in fact, false.
This was the third night in a row that you had been awakened by your husband's long limbs smacking you in your sleep. One lanky leg flopped over your own shorter legs while his arm draped over your stomach. It had become a routine of sorts; he would join you in bed around 4AM after finishing his duties, then around 5AM, he would begin his shenanigans.
At first, it was smaller, less irritable things like accidentally nudging you in his sleep, or snoring, but as time went on, his unconscious body seemed to turn restless. Satoru began to spread out on the bed, taking up around seventy five percent of the mattress, leaving you a sliver of space to occupy.
His lanky frame lay sprawled on the bed, limbs stretched out on top of your own as if you were his personal body pillow.
It eventually became insufferable; you couldn’t sleep with his constant invasion of your personal space, so you begged him to buy a bigger bed.
And that he did, except it somehow made the problem worse.
Now you lie awake, 5:17AM, with your husband snoring happily next to you, his leg draped over your hip, arm stretched over your collarbone, and face tucked into the crook of your neck. You didn’t understand how he managed to somehow take up the entire king-sized bed.
You huffed, trying — and failing — to push his body off of you, “Gosh, why are you so damn heavy?” You muttered under your breath, hand moving to nudge him awake.
“Toru, get up!” You whisper shouted, “You’re suffocating me, you oaf.” Gojo blinked groggily, bright blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room, “As much as I adore you, I’d like to get my three hours of beauty sleep, babe.” He groaned, nuzzling further into your neck, “Yeah, Toru. Me too, get off.”
He whined, pulling you further into his embrace as if he was trying to trap you. You rolled your eyes at him, hands still trying to push him away so you could actually enjoy your sleep. “Why do you hate me? I’m just trying to cuddle my wife,” he peeked up at you, blue eyes widening in faux puppy eyes.
“No, you’re suffocating me. Seriously, baby, how do you take up so much space?” He lifted his head, gasping in mock offence, “Are you calling me overweight? That’s so hurtful, I’ll have you know I have an amazing physique.” You stifled a laugh, brushing your fingers through his snowy hair, “Yes, Toru, I can see that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all those sugary snacks caught up to you.”
“I’m just saying you sprawl out a lot, Toru, I’m trying to sleep, and I feel you practically on top of me.” He hummed into your neck, seemingly contemplating how to respond, “I just enjoy being close to you, is that a crime?”
You giggled, “It is when I’m practically being strangled.” Satoru whined louder this time, “It’s not fair, you deprive me of physical touch, babe.” You swatted his shoulder lightly, “Be quiet, you big baby. No one said we couldn’t cuddle. I just said stop confusing me for the mattress.” He pouted, “But you’re so soft.”
Leaning down, you kissed his pursed lips, “Just cuddle me like a normal person, okay?”
“But I’m not normal,” he sleepily argued.
You laughed, tugging lightly on his messy hair, “I know, baby. I know.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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