Fragile like Glass

Lohen: in the thousands.

You: oh you’re a slut!

Lohen: oh that’s what you meant by body count! Oh then just you then. *smiles*

you sat your phone against your desk, the charm dangling in front of the camera, obscuring the view for a brief blurry second before sukuna scoffed, a large hand reaching out to flick it out of frame. “damn thing’s in the way.”

as you settled beside him, sukuna shifted into the camera’s frame too—naturally taking up more space than the camera could properly capture—large, broad shoulders, spiky, mussed salmon-hued hair pushed back from his tatted hand running through it way too many times, displaying all his sharp, sinister-looking features that stood out under the bright light in your dorm room.

a long roman nose that almost looked sculpted by the gods rather than born, edged brows pulled into a permanent annoyed expression, peach-colored lips soft despite the permanent grumpiness etched into them.

deep pools of onyx-colored ink seeped into his tanned skin, veins bulging faintly through the markings.

you glance over at your annoyed, pouting hulk of a boyfriend who, despite his rough exterior, is all soft for you.

you smile. “thanks, kuna baby.”

he shrugs, dismissively letting out a rasp-filled grunt. “tch.”

you poke his cheek in return, and he only sighs, but you feel the way he slowly melts into it, subtle and hesitant, like a grumpy stray cat pretending it doesn’t secretly enjoy pets.

“get on with it,” he demands.

you give him a pointed look.

his eye twitches before he grumbles, voice rougher this time, “get on with it, baby.”

“see? was that so hard?” you say sweetly, playing coy.

he rolls his eyes, head falling back against the chair, tongue clicking inside his mouth.

“don’t push it,” he says gruffly.

you squeal, ignoring his warning, clapping your hands together as you pull out the original-flavored ramune soda, the glass bottle clinking beneath your manicured nails while the clear liquid sloshes inside.

having tried every flavor but this one, you were excited—but more than anything, you were practically buzzing from the tips of your fingers to your toes at the trick you were about to play on sukuna.

he doesn’t really keep up with social media or trends—thinks they’re stupid. he only has an instagram because you begged him to get one so he could see your posts, and it’s literally just a black profile picture with the username mygirlfriendmadememakethisbullshit, and a bio that reads:

“fuck off im married.”

you’re not, but sukuna declares every single day that you’re his bride-to-be, ridiculously possessive about it too.

you’re his.

he’ll do anything to make sure you know that.

thankfully, his complete lack of knowledge when it comes to social media means you can play all the stupid, silly pranks on him, and he never sees them coming. and his reactions never fail to amaze you.

sometimes, you swear you can practically see steam billowing from his ears like some cartoon character. he’s embarrassingly easy to rile up.

your lips curl into a mischievous smirk for only a second before you replace it with a silky, saccharine-glossed pout.

“here,” you hum, holding the bottle out. “you try first.”

sukuna’s large hand practically swallows the bottle, fingers covering most of the label before he tips it back and takes a long swig.

immediately, he makes a face—teeth clenched, jaw tightening as he sucks in a breath, grimacing, his expression twisting in disgust.

“tastes like garbage,” he says bluntly, holding the bottle out for you to take back. “too sweet.”

you crinkle your nose. “what? gimme. i’ll be the judge of that. your tastebuds suck.”

he stares at you, his expression completely deadpan.

“clearly they don’t if i’m with you.”

heat pools low in your stomach from his compliment. you smile, pink dusting your cheeks, teasing him back.

“duh. i’m the exception.”

you snatch the bottle from him, bringing the edge of your shirt up to wipe the rim—erasing a part of him, or at least that’s what sukuna thinks as it takes him a second to fully process what you’ve just done.

his mouth tilts into something almost amused, a dangerous sort of smirk, but his crimson eyes narrow to slits, irritation flickering through them as the telltale vein in his forehead pulses.

you bring the bottle to your lips, forming a small “o” around the opening.

sukuna’s red-inked eyes narrow further, tracking every minuscule movement, locked onto you completely like a predator watching its prey—well, without the bloodshed.

“ooo, yummy,” you hum. “tastes like bubblegum.”

he swears you’re going to be the death of him—he’s had enough with your little tricks.

“what the fuck was that, huh?” he snaps. “treatin’ me like i’m some fuckin’ scum?”

you laugh nervously, trying to play it off, but he’s already moving.

rough hands manhandle you effortlessly, yanking the bottle from your grasp before he takes another massive swallow.

one large hand grips your jaw, thumb prodding at your soft lips, forcing your mouth open, holding it wide as he spits the fizzy soda back into your mouth.

he settles against his chair again like nothing happened, watching intently as you swallow it all down.

his hand lightly slaps your cheek, palm heated against your flesh, no real sting—only the phantom lingering touch that makes you feel a little too desperate for more.

“don’t do that stupid shit again,” he says, voice low, sending a shiver down your spine, your heart stuttering with a sudden, aching need for him.

꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ masterlist - kofi - emergency comm info!

note: first time writing for sukuna.. how did i do?? this was inspired by a tiktok trend btw

If a robin wants to go out on patrol, he has to make sure he takes his coat first. It gets cold during winter in Gotham…

as for how they found out i was thinking maybe an old picture?

jjk smau fluff tension-filled friendship (?)

olderbf!nanami headcannons ! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.

"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.

"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."

you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."

he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."

olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.

"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.

he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."

you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"

"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."

you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.

olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.

he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.

"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."

you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.

he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."

olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.

"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."

you pout. "i don’t want to wait."

you’re standing in front of a kettle, waiting for the water to boil, halfway through making tea, when a loud clank! echoes from the living room, followed immediately by a sharp, very clear—

“FUCK!”

from the floor, yuji’s head snaps up like a puppy hearing a treat bag crinkle. his eyes go wide.

“…fawk?” he repeats, testing it out.

you close your eyes briefly. of course he repeats it.

you step into the doorway just in time to see sukuna crouched beside a half-assembled shelf, one hand clutching his knuckles where he very clearly just hit himself with a wrench.

he notices you and immediately goes still.

you raise a brow and cross your arms, slowly tapping your foot on the ground.

“…what,” you ask, “did you just say?”

“nothing,” sukuna replies immediately, far too quickly for someone who definitely said something.

“fawk!” yuji says helpfully from where he‘s playing with his toy cars.

you look down at him. “thank you, ji. very helpful.”

sukuna scowls. “eh? don’t encourage him.”

“i’m not encouraging him,” you reply coolly. “i’m identifying the source of the problem right now.”

“it slipped out,” sukuna rolls his eyes. “it happens.”

“this is different, sukuna! you swore in front of my angel nephew!”

“the brat will be fine,” he scoffs, pouting a little. “i am the one injured here.”

“fawk that injury,” yuji repeats, a little louder now.

“you little brat—” sukuna snaps.

you put a hand on your hip, and he immediately stops talking.

“…we don’t use that language,” you say, still calm. “don’t repeat stuff your uncle says, okay?”

yuji tilts his head. “language?”

you soften immediately, turning to him. “that word isn’t a nice word, yuji.”

“oh.” he nods, understanding that quickly. “okay. i’m sorry auntie..”

“i would never get mad at you, ji,” you say, ruffling his hair softly.

sukuna lets out a quiet, disbelieving exhale. “that’s it? no consequences for him?”

“yes,” you say, turning back to your boyfriend. “because he wasn’t the one who said it first.”

“yes!” yuji points, sticking his tongue out. “uncle kuna said the bad word!”

“i know,” you say gently. “kuna has a severe case of potty mouth.”

yuji giggles, while sukuna looks very offended.

“i do not,” he mutters.

you ignore him.

“yuji,” you say kindly, crouching a little to his level, “what do we say instead if something hurts?”

yuji thinks hard. “…ow?”

“perfect!”

sukuna stares at the two of you. “you cannot be serious.”

you stand, composure returning like a switch flipping. then you point down the hallway.

“timeout.”

dead silence.

“…timeout?” sukuna asks hesitantly, crossing his arms.

“you heard me.”

“i am not going to—”

“yuji,” you say softly, interrupting sukuna.

“yes?” he perks up instantly.

“what did sukuna say?”

yuji sits up straighter, happy to be asked. “he said fawk!”

you nod once, then look back at sukuna.

“tch..” sukuna’s eye twitches. “…i am the one that got hurt.”

“hallway.”

“no.”

you take one step forward, and sukuna pauses. then, with a low, irritated sigh, he stands and walks past you like a man heading to his execution.

“always favoring these brats.”

“you’ll be fine,” you reply.

he stops in the hallway, and turns back slightly. “for how long?”

you consider for a bit. “hmm.. five minutes.”

“five—”

“ten, if you argue.”

he turns back around immediately.

yuji watches this entire exchange like he’s seeing the most fascinating thing in the world.

“uncle kuna got sent into timeout,” he whispers in awe.

you nod. “he needs to learn.”

yuji leans closer to you. “so can i say ‘ow’ again?”

your expression softens instantly. “of course you can.”

“ow!” he says, delighted.

you smile faintly. “good job, ji.”

“…my hand still hurts.” you can hear sukuna’s very grumpy voice call out from the hallway.

“do you want ten minutes?” you say back.

silence. then, very stiffly—

“…ow.”

yuji gasps, thrilled. “he did it!”

“that isn’t so hard now, hmm?” you tease, entirely satisfied, already getting a little cool pack to treat your oh-so-injured boyfriend.

⸝⸝ if you enjoyed this, consider checking out the masterlist for this series. ♡

—

series masterlist

sukuna will say this very seriously, he does not get jealous. the emotion itself is beneath him.

that is until yuji coming home from school, jumping in place.

“i made a friend today!!”

“you did?” you ask. “so what are they like?”

“his name’s megumi and he likes dogs and dinosaurs too and he traded me his pudding because i gave him my chocolate!”

yuji keeps talking without stopping.

“and he’s really quiet but he laughed when i scared a pigeon away and megumi said maybe we can go to the park together and can we please please please—”

“ji— okay, okay,” you laugh. “slow down.”

his eyes widen instantly. “really?!”

“if megumi’s dad says yes, sure.”

yuji cheers.

later that week you end up exchanging numbers with megumi’s father after pickup.

toji fushiguro, he introduced himself— pretty tall, scar across his mouth, seems normal enough, though.

The apology

The fourth letter never gets delivered because Satoru Gojo finally snaps after you had disregarded his attempt to speak to you.

The rain was heavier than when he saw you this afternoon, the kind that soaks through his sweatshirt and drips from his eyelashes.

The dorm lady is halfway through her crossword when he runs past the front desk.

“Hey—”

She was too late. He’s already taking the stairs two at a time.

By the time he reaches your floor, his chest is heaving, his hands are shaking. Not from the cold, but from fear.

Because for the first time since he broke up with you, he realizes something awful.

You might actually never forgive him.

The thought hits harder than any linebacker ever has.

So he pounds on your door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Loud enough that doors start opening up and down the hallway. Girls peek their heads out, mouths open with shock.

“Is that Gojo?”

“No way.”

The football star doesn’t care.

He bangs again. “Please.”

His voice cracks. “Please open the door.”

Silence.

Then he hears the lock click.

The door opens painfully slow, but there you are. Swearpants… and is that his oversized hoodie? Did you miss him ?

The look on your face said otherwise. He had never seen this look directed at him before. Was it indifference? Was it annoyance?

God it hurt.

For a second neither of you speak.

Then your eyes flick down to where he’s standing. He was drenched, a puddle of water forming at his shoes. His eyes were red, he looked miserable. Pathetic even.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is flat.

Gojo swallows. “I just need five minutes.”

“No.”

The door starts closing.

His hand catches it, “please.” His voice breaks again.

You freeze.

The hallway has gotten noticeably quieter.

Everyone is watching you. He knows they are and for once he doesn’t care what people think of him.

“I know you don’t want to see me.”

“Then leave,” you said sternly.

“I can’t.” His eyes are already shining. “I tried leaving.”

Your expression falters, just barely.

“I tried giving you space.” A broken laugh escapes him. “Apparently I can’t do that either.”

The girls down the hall are openly staring now, some are getting closer to hear the conversation. Others are pulling out their phones too, recording.

You notice, your jaw tightens and that annoyed look returns.

Gojo notices too.

And maybe that’s the thing that finally breaks him, he thinks you’re going to shut the door on him again.

So he does the unimaginable, and drops straight to his knees.

The hallway erupts. Gasps, whispers, and chuckles.

“Oh my God.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Is he crying?”

And he is. Rainwater and tears mixed together. He doesn’t care how humiliated and embarrassing he looks. Nothing matters anymore.

“Gojo—”

“No.”

He grabs your wrist desperately before you can pull away.“Please.”

The word comes out shattered. “Please just hear me out.”

Your eyes widen.

He’s never looked like this. Not the cocky quarterback, the football hero.

Right now he’s just your Satoru.

“Get inside,” you whisper. “You’ve embarrassed yourself enough.” He follows your eyes to the girls in your dorm hall. Judging, laughing, mouths wide open, in awe at his behaviour.

And to that, he scurries into your dorm room, tripping and falling back onto his knees. He stays there, because frankly he doesn’t have it in him to face you head on.

Silence follows, because he really didn’t expect you to give him the time of day. He hadn’t planned this far.

“I messed up.” His voice trembles.

You stare.

Gojo’s head drops; and before he can stop himself, his arms wrap around your legs. Holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

Which, honestly, might be true. He can feel his face burning; but he doesn’t let go.

You don’t shrug him off, and god does this contact he’s having with you feel comforting. It’s the first time he has touched you in two months. Tears prick his eyes again, as he nuzzles his head into your legs.

“I was wrong.” The words come muffled against sweatpants.

“I was so wrong.”

“Satoru.”

“No.” His grip tightens.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” Another shaky breath.

“I thought if I focused on football everything would work out.” He laughs bitterly.

“Turns out I was just an idiot.”

Your chest aches despite the hate you felt for him after the break up. This isn’t the Satoru who broke your heart.

This is one who can’t even look at you. The one shaking like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again.

“I miss you.” His voice is barely audible.

“I miss talking to you.” A tear slides down his cheek.

“I miss hearing about your classes.”

“I miss getting you sugary coffee in the morning.”

“I miss annoying you in the library and I miss you trying to help me study.”

You blink.

For the first time in months, a tiny smile almost appears.

Gojo notices, an his eyes immediately fill with hope.

“I love you…I never stopped loving you. I’m so sorry, I’ve been such a dick,” he sniffles.

You close your eyes. This is a problem you thought to yourself. You know he means it. The idiot means every word. Which somehow makes it worse.

When you open your eyes again, he’s still there.

Still kneeling.

Still holding onto you.

Waiting. Like a man standing in front of a judge. Waiting for his sentence.

Finally you sigh. “If you think this” you point to him and the scene he created, “fixes anything, you’re dumber than I thought.”

He looks up at you, big glassy blue eyes, bottom lip quivering from crying.

His shoulders immediately slump. “That’s fair.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know.” His eyes lower.

The room falls silent.

Then—“If I ever forgive you…”

Gojo looks up so fast he almost gets whiplash.

“…there’s a lot of work to do.”

The hope on his face is painful. “You mean that?”

“I mean maybe, if there’s change.”

For Gojo, that feels like winning the lottery. “I’ll do it.” His answer comes instantly. “I’ll do anything.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

He nods his head, standing up now.

“No complaints?”

“Nope. Whatever you want me to do.” Gojo stares like you’ve hung the moon.

And for the first time since the breakup, he thinks—

Maybe.

He hasn’t lost you forever.

The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.

At first he thinks it’s funny.

You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.

But after the breakup?

You vanish.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.

He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.

Blocked.

“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”

Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.

Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.

The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.

So he broke up with you.

Clean and quick.

Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.

And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.

———-

The First Attempt

He tries texting.

It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.

He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”

But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.

Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”

Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”

“Means she’s not here.”

He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.

The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.

Flowers

A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.

Attached card: —SG <3

He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.

The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.

Still no message back.

The Letters

Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.

The first one is simple.

I know you blocked me. I deserve it.

Let me know if you wanna talk

-Satoru <3

No response.

The second one is longer.

I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.

Please unblock me xoxo

The third one is messy.

He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.

I keep looking for you around campus.

You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?

- Toru

Your Favorite Snacks

The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.

Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.

Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.

The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”

Meanwhile

Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.

But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.

The First Time He Sees You Again

It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.

For a second he thinks he imagined it.

But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.

The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.

It’s indifference.

You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.

“Hey—!”

You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.

Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”

“Yes.”

“…And?…will you please talk to me?”

You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”

Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.

Superboy Prime: Red Hood, I'm your biggest fan.

Jason: That's... Wait, aren't you-?

Superboy Prime: Yes, Superboy Prime. And you're Jason Todd.

Jason: How did you-?

Superboy Prime: I'm your biggest fan, dummy. How is life treating you? Oh nevermind, it's not like I don't know. But yeah, sorry about the whole having to crawl out of your grave thing? My bad.

Jason: Wait, you're the son of a bitch that killed-

Superboy Prime: Yeah, that was an oopsie on my part but let's be serious 90s Kon was way better. Don't you all think so?

Jason: Who are you talking to?

Superboy Prime, gesturing vaguely at you reader of this post: Oh, them. They get it. So they have this craaaaazy idea that we should, well you know... They got fan art and fics already.

Jason:... Of what?

Superboy Prime, grinning: I think you know.

Jason:

Jason: Bruce? Batman? Dad? Can you-?

the kitchen smells like garlic, butter, and whatever expensive seasoning satoru bought last week because apparently “regular salt is boring.”

you’re standing at the stove stirring dinner while quietly regretting ever teaching your husband how to cook.

not because he’s bad at it, unfortunately, he’s annoyingly good.

but because now he treats the kitchen like his personal playground whenever you’re inside it.

“whatcha makin’?” satoru asks for the fourth time in ten minutes.

you don’t even turn around. “food.”

“woaah,” he gasps dramatically behind you. “really?”

you sigh. already, you can feel him hovering nearby.

he never just stands normally either. no. he leans against counters dramatically, stretches himself over your shoulder unnecessarily, or wraps himself around you like an oversized cat who thinks personal space is offensive.

today seems to be one of those days.

before you can react, long arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest.

“satoru,” you warn immediately.

“what?” he hums innocently against your shoulder.

“i’m cooking.”

“and?”

“and you’re attached to me.”

“exactly.”

you close your eyes briefly. this man.

“go sit down.”

“don’t wanna.”

of course he doesn’t.

he rests his chin on your shoulder now, white hair tickling your cheek while he watches the pan like he’s genuinely interested in what you’re doing.

“…yer stirring too aggressively.”

you stop mid-motion, then slowly turn your head toward him.

“i’m sorry?”

“mhm,” he nods seriously. “the vegetables are scared.”

you stare at him flatly, he grins immediately.

there it is.

that stupid grin that says he knows exactly how annoying he’s being.

“you’re unbearable,” you mutter, turning back toward the stove.

“but ya love me.”

and you can’t even argue against it. because you do, way too much honestly.

you try focusing again, ignoring the way his fingers lazily tap against your stomach while he sways both of you side to side slightly.

for exactly twelve seconds.

then, 

“baby.”

you sigh. “what.”

“kiss.”

“i’m cooking.”

“multitask.”

you snort despite yourself. instantly, he notices.

“there’s the laugh i wanted,” he says proudly.

you roll your eyes. “you’re acting like a child.”

“yeah, but i’m your child.”

“that is absolutely not romantic.”

“worked though.”

before you can respond, he suddenly steals the spoon from your hand.

“satoru-”

he takes a dramatic taste directly from it, humming thoughtfully like he’s judging a five-star restaurant.

“…needs more love.”

you blink.

“love?”

“mhm.”

“that’s not an ingredient.”

“sure it is.” he points the spoon toward you accusingly. “yer cooking while annoyed at me. the food can tell.”

you laugh again, quieter this time.

he’s impossible.

and somehow fully aware that making you laugh is exactly how he gets away with everything.

he beams the second he hears it, immediately tightening his arms around you.

“there it is.”

“you’re insane.”

“and yet ya married me anyway.”

fair.

you shake your head, reaching for the spoon again, but instead of giving it back immediately, he lifts it higher out of reach.

“satoru.”

“say please.”

you narrow your eyes. “i’m going to hit you with this pan.”

“violent. scary. terrifying even.”

“…satoru.”

he grins,  then finally hands it back only to immediately steal a kiss from your cheek while you’re distracted.

you let out an annoyed sound, but he just laughs softly against your skin.

“worth it.”

you swear he gets clingier the longer you’re married. not less.

because now he follows you everywhere around the apartment like he physically cannot handle being more than three feet away from you.

and the worst part?

you’re used to it now.

used to the random kisses, the constant touching and the dramatic whining whenever you don’t give him attention immediately.

“baby,” he says again suddenly.

you point the spoon toward him threateningly. “if you ask for another kiss while i’m holding hot oil, i’m divorcing you.”

he gasps loudly.

“wow. so this is what our marriage has become?”

“you caused this.”

“false,” he says immediately. “i’m adorable.”

you finally turn toward him fully, raising a brow.

“…adorable.”

“mhm.”

“…not annoying?”

“both can exist.”

you hate that he’s right.

satoru notices your expression immediately and lights up like he’s won something.

“you think i’m cute.”

“i think you should leave my kitchen.”

instead of listening, he pulls you closer again, large hands settling against your hips this time.

then, without warning-

he buries his face into your neck dramatically.

“missed you today,” he mumbles.

your expression softens instantly.

ah.

there it is, underneath all the teasing, he just wanted attention.

you sigh quietly, setting the spoon down before reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

immediately, he melts against you, completely.

“you saw me this morning,” you murmur.

“too long ago.”

“…you’re needy.”

“only for you.”

his voice is quieter now, warmer.

and suddenly the teasing husband act slips just enough for you to see the softer part underneath it.

the real part.

you smile despite yourself, scratching lightly against his scalp.

“okay,” you whisper. “you can stay.”

he lifts his head immediately, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“sick. what’re we making?”

a/n : first time writing for gojo 👀👀 yall is this mic on 👀👀. tysm for reading and other than that theres nothing more to add !!

𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐞, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 2026. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.