They are shown into his study, the space all dark oak and scented with lavender diffusers, lined with cases of books that are probably thought lost to the world. And right there in the middle, basking in the afternoon sun peeking from the window, curled on your side with a body pillow and sleeping away like a cat, is you.

Sylus's woman. His wife.

His very pregnant wife.

The one who had retreated from public events a few months ago for 'unknown' reasons.

Your one hand is tucked beneath your cheek, fingers loosely curled against the plush cushion. The other hand rests protectively over the full, taut curve of your belly, palm splayed wide as if protecting the life within even in the depths of sleep. Every now and then, your fingers twitch slightly- a subconscious, maternal reflex- pressing just a little firmer against the stretched fabric of your nightgown now visible thanks to the cashmere throw having slipped and pooled at your waist.

A trolley of assorted beverages- a sweating pitcher of lemon-infused water, a porcelain teapot still holding a faint curl of steam, a small glass of chilled milk- sits beside you alongside a haphazard stack of well-worn books, their spines cracked from repeated readings. Your hair spills over the arm of the couch in glossy waves, catching the afternoon light until it glints like spun silk. A few rebellious strands cling to the corner of your parted lips, stirring faintly with each slow, languid exhale.

“where the hell are those three?” gakuganji asks, disgruntled. the higher-ups from jujutsu high are gathered in a meeting, which you, satoru and suguru were expected to be there for as well.

little did they know that the three of you were currently lounging on beach towels, basking in the sun’s smile.

suguru lies back with his arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed as he soaks up the heat. you have your legs stretched out with satoru’s head resting on your lap, a pair of sunglasses sitting on his peaceful face.

“this is wayyy better than a boring meeting,” satoru says, and he peeks up through the gap in the top of his sunglasses and grins once his eyes meet yours. “and a much better view than that old man.”

your fork is already halfway to your mouth when you hear him speak. you glance over your shoulder towards the source of the question.

seriously, your boyfriend must have a nose like a bloodhound. his ability to sniff out sugar is starting to become uncanny.

“a colleague of mine celebrated their birthday today,” you say. “someone brought a cake to the office, and i took my slice to-go.”

as you chew on a mouthful of the delicious treat, a wicked idea suddenly springs to mind.

“want a bite?”

and you know zayne would never, ever refuse the offer of cake. especially not from you, his beautiful, loving, and definitely innocent girlfriend.

and so, he makes his way over, leans down to your level, and opens his mouth expectantly.

his eyes are practically sparkling with excitement, which almost makes you feel bad enough to call this whole prank off.

almost.

as soon as the forkful of cake hits his tongue, his nose wrinkles in disgust. he looks like it’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to spit the damn thing out.

“… what flavor did you say this was, again?”

you purse your lips to suppress your giggle.

“oh, didn’t i mention? it’s carrot cake.”

zayne looks positively wounded, like you’ve just stabbed him in the back without mercy. which, to be fair, you kind of did.

“it’s good, isn’t it?” you continue, only adding fuel to the fire. “the bakery did a great job with the cream cheese frosting.”

worst part is, the bite you fed him didn’t even have any frosting on it. you’re rubbing salt into an open wound, and you know it.

the deadpan stare he sends your way screams “i’m not mad, just disappointed.” his eyes say the words for him.

this time, you can’t help but laugh. the sound of it softens the edges of his frown, if only slightly. he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“i suppose this is my punishment for finishing off the last of your favorite ice cream.”

“… you did what?”

Satoru having a really talented student who somehow always cleverly plays into his hands. It’s helpful, especially with the higher-ups always breathing down Satoru’s neck. You never give him, or anyone else, any trouble. You’re cooperative and see through jujutsu politics and corruption. With Yuji being Sukuna’s vessel, Megumi often wanting to use the card up his sleeve, unknown curses organizing, it’s a relief that there’s someone Satoru never has to worry about.

Satoru relying on you in many situations and being well aware that he can rely on you. It makes things so comfortable for him. He can breathe. He has time for his hobbies, something that hasn’t happened in so long. Going to the spa, enjoying yummy desserts… His shoulders aren’t so tense knowing you’re assigned to the mission too. Honestly, he’s grateful and sleeps better at night. He can feel like his own person again, thanks to you.

Satoru just finding you very convenient and… oh? Useful? Uh-oh…

Satoru noticing little things. Like how your preferences always align with whatever is most practical. Waffles or boba tea? Well, everyone else wants waffles, so it’s easier if you pick boba too. The katana or the naginata? Yuta needs practice with the naginata, and you just happen to choose the katana instead. That essay of yours, centering on the importance of critical thinking, was really something. It was exactly what the Tokyo faculty wants to hear. Makes Satoru feel like his hard work to reshape jujutsu society is paying off. You’re the perfect example of Satoru’s success. Proof that what he’s doing is working.

Satoru starting to get really uncomfortable with how easy of a student you are. How far you would go to be good. Something seems off. A bit too eager to see the relief on Satoru’s face when you dragged back Megumi after Sukuna got control for the second time. Obviously took the hits for him. It’s also weird that you have no desire to get back at people or to take revenge on anyone who wrongs you. That’s most obvious when Satoru puts you next to Maki, a person with no other goal than standing up to her bullies.

Satoru catching a glimpse of your room and seeing that there are no decorations or personal touches whatsoever, like you have no personality at all.

Satoru being unsure what to do because the more you can put on the line, the stronger you get. The more useful you are to Satoru, the happier you look.

Satoru sending Ijichi to investigate your background, and things start making sense.

Satoru realizing that he accidentally took in a student with very strong people-pleasing tendencies, a desperate desire to be useful, and a lack of sense of self due to complete dehumanization at your previous home. And while you seemed to understand the point of what Satoru was trying to teach, you were really just turning yourself into a very loyal extension for him nevertheless. Satoru wants independence but that’s not something you believe in, so you fake it. And he absolutely enabled you. Essentially, he pushed you into the exact opposite direction of what he was trying to achieve. Because, what, he wanted to relax a bit? To feel like a person with their own lives?

Satoru knowing what it’s like to be used as a weapon and feeling immense guilt when he realizes he turned you into one too. He desperately tries to undo whatever is programmed into you but you just stare at him with a blank face and parrot everything back at him. And he has no idea how to fix things. You smile so dumbly, saying “don’t confuse me with a real person.” While Satoru was gaining his humanity back, you were losing yours. It’s unfair because that shouldn’t be the price for his peace.

࣪ ˖ 𖦹°. Staff room.

At this rate, Principal Yaga will fire you both.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader.

"I am not going to kiss you."

You huffed, scooting your table away from Satoru, the metal scrapping against the wooden floor, your attempt to get away seeming futile against him, as he shuffled closer.

"Come on now," He whined, pouting whilst batting his ivory lashes at you, hands clasped under his chin as he inched closer, "just one little peck, please?"

You sighed, glaring at the papers littered on the desk, majority of them where marked with red, answers crossed out, spellings corrected.

"Do you know what these are, Satoru?"

His brows furrowed as he leaned over to look at the papers, before looking up at you in confusion, "Report card for my class?" He answered, not understanding the severity of the situation yet.

"Yes." You breathed out, centre of your forehead throbbing with dull ache, "results of students under your supervision." You elaborated, setting three marksheets before him.

Fushiguro Megumi: 179/300

Nobara Kugisaki: 99/300

Itadori Yuuji: 67/300

With each passing paper, it was evident that he wasn't doing a very good job of teaching them, at least academically.

"Well, they do plan on staying in sorcery, so grades don't matter." He reasoned, already nudging the papers underneath a pile of mission files, getting back to his initial plan of snogging in the teacher's staff room.

You scowled, reaching over to pull the papers back out and setting them in the center of the table, "They need to pass these classes, Gojo." You hissed, your gaze strict and scrutinizing.

Satoru gasped, hand splayed on his chest as he, quiet literally, laid on top of your desk, knocking paper off it, "What did you just call me?!"

"Quit being dramatic, I am serious." You groaned, brows furrowed in distress as you contemplated about Yuuji and Nobara's future, you still had hope for Megumi though.

"Just kill me then." He sobbed, grabbing a random it was Yuuji's paper and clutching it to his chest, crumpling it, "First you rejected my affection, then you pretended to be a stranger—"

"You are not slick, Gojo." You sighed, snatching Yuuji's paper from his hand, smoothening out the creases, "Kyoto students all excelled their exams," you leaned back, watching as he got comfortable on your desk, "Gakuganji already send a copy of reports to Principal Yaga."

"Old men comparing dicks." He breathed out, eyeing your frame, mind still churning out ways to get you to kiss him, "Tell Yaga, Gakuganji is old, he'll die soo—"

"Not soon enough, Satoru." A third voice suddenly resonated in the staff room, echoing as Satoru scrambled to stand up straight, smoothening his uniform as Principal Yaga entered the room.

You crossed your arms, eyes locked on the paper weight on your desk, knowing the moment your eyes met his, his punishment would become yours too.

"I send her to knock some sense into you." Principal Yaga nodded towards you, hands in his pockets as he calming stared at Satoru, although the veins pulsing along his forehead ensured you he was anything but calm.

"She was trying, I just wanted a—" Satoru quickly sealed his lips shut as Yaga quirked his brow at him, figuring he'll only dig a deeper grave, he sighed, "I'll figure something out for them."

Principal Yaga nodded his head, momentarily satisfied, before turning around and leaving the staff room, the sound of his shoes clicking against the wooden floor fading away slowly.

"Can I get a ki—"

"No."

You abruptly cut him off, gathering pages into a single file and holding it out to him, eyes narrowed as he slumped down in his chair, cheeks puffed up lips all glossy and puckered in a pout.

"Fuckin', loser." You grumbled, standing up and stepping closer to him, grabbing the front collar of his uniform to pull him closer, planting a quick and messy peck against his lips before pulling away, "Figure out a better study plan and I'll give you more."

Darn it, Satoru will put his soul into educating those kids now.

before you met him, you'd been betrayed one too many times by some greedy network axing your beloved series one season in. so when you finally gain the resources to fight back, you vow to never be left on an unanswered cliffhanger ever again.

as the current season of your most-watched show comes to an end, you scour the news for a renewal announcement that never comes. when the inevitable “unfortunately, this series will not return for another season,” article drops, there’s no time for mourning—only action. you stay up all night running numbers you shouldn’t even know, wondering just how many zeros it’ll take for the studio to change their minds. (and they will change their minds. like, the main characters haven’t even kissed yet! there’s potential here, people!)

within the next week, the retraction statement floods the media:

“to our amazing community: an anonymous benefactor has made a multimillion-dollar donation to the production team behind your favorite show! their generosity will secure at least five more seasons for this brilliant team of creatives. thank you for making your voices heard!” 

hmmph, you think when you finish reading. and don’t let it happen again!

other fans around the world rejoice at the network's change of heart, though they’ll never know the “benefactor” who made it happen was one of their very own.

a/n: hi hi !! gojo fluff because i miss my angel boy !!! i hope u guys enjoy hehe :3 might be ooc hold the tomatoes plz!

every night you tell yourself you won't let satoru keep you up late, and every night you give in when he stares at you with the slightest pout on his glossy lips and pleading, gleaming eyes.

"only five minutes and then i'm going to sleep. I have to be up early tomorrow," you say sternly, biting back a smile when satoru crushes you in his arms, kissing the top of your head repeatedly.

five minutes turns to ten, then thirty, and before you know its already two in the morning. but incessant giggles leave your lips as the two of you talk about anything that comes up, burying your face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment when he recalls the time you drunk texted him before the two of you became official.

the next morning goes just as you'd predicted it would. wrestling yourself out of your lovers obnoxiously tight grip on you and whispering harshly about how you were already running late.

"satoru I need to get ready, let go of me!" he only smiles lazily, cracking one eye open as his hair sticks in every direction, finally loosening his grip when you scowl at him.

“Why thank you, kitten.”

You simply roll your eyes, too exhausted from the heat as you were sprawled out across Sylus’ lap.

“Syluuuussss—“ you whine in dismay. He taps at your stomach like a bongo to lighten up your mood.

It was blazingly, excruciatingly hot in Linkon and you couldn’t bear the thought of stepping outside to visit your beloved in the N109 Zone. Despite the promises of a cooler place and a far better AC than what your humble apartment could achieve with a mediocre fan, you stayed at home.

Your boyfriend however, being the ever so loving man, dragged himself through the excruciating heat to reach you instead.

So now, because the two of you are still the couple you are, you find yourself laying across the legs of a half naked, beefed up Sylus, clad in nothing but loose basket ball shorts, you had thrown at him and a sheen of sweat.

The curtains were drawn as best as you could, to lock out the sun, half drunk drinks on the coffee table, the ice now melted, creating a layer of condensation on the glasses, the fan whirring softly, working overtime to provide a breeze. You could feel your bodies sticking and sliding against one another, the skin slippery with the shared warmth, but neither one of you wanting to part and not touch.

“No wonder my hunter couldn’t muster up the strength to get to me, this apartment can barely be called habitable.” His hair bounced slightly with the breeze of the fan, face illuminated by the soft light of your ambient lamps.

“I’m sorry..” you frowned at him in soft guilt, you both handled heat and the sun terribly and he’d come all the way to your place to keep you company in your condemned toaster-apartment.

You could barely apologise, before his nimble fingers pinched your lips shut, making you pucker and pout against them instead. He snickered, dipping his head down to peck your lips affectionately.

“There’s no need for apologies, when I can easily fix your sorrows, kitten.”

And as if on cue:

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Sylus ushered you off his lap to go open the door, the solution to all your troubles.

The delivery man with an AC.

You swear you’ve never loved Sylus more.

A/N: and because we’re all good people, we give the delivery service water and a break ☝️ they’re the true heroes here and deserve recognition. Sylus tips the delivery man a bunch of money imo

“good morning. how’d you sleep?”

you peek over his shoulder at the bunny-shaped pancakes. already golden, speckled with fresh fruit. caleb’s indulgence at its finest.

“terribly,” you say, fingers sliding over his shirt lapel, down to the hem. “I woke up alone.”

he glances back at you, violet eyes warm in the early morning daylight. “I hadn’t wanted to wake you.”

“you left me.”

“so I could make breakfast. I know someone gets horribly cranky when food isn’t on the table by the time she comes down.”

”well, I’m down,” you say loftily, petulant, nipping at his shoulder. “and breakfast isn’t ready, either. so you’ve deprived me twice now, gege.”

his eyebrows rise, and he turns, lowering the stove to a steady simmer as the pancakes fluff. “oh? have I been that cruel?”

“very much.”

he pinches your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip with an adoring look about him. it would sicken you nearly from anyone else, but from him, it makes a soft part of you preen.

“gege is sorry,” caleb murmurs, and the tone he adopts is one that reminds you of being a child, clinging to him as he picked you the freshest strawberries in the field and missed the ripest. cooing, doting. “will you be sweet and wait a little longer?”

“what do I get if I do?”

caleb’s cheeks dimple and he squeezes your own. “you’ll get one kiss. two.” he presses his lips to the apples of your cheeks, blowing a raspberry to hear the shriek you exhale as you attempt to escape. “a third if you’re extra patient.”

“what about a fourth?”

he pops a strawberry in his mouth, teasingly batting away your hands and lifting you atop the kitchen table.