“He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.”
— In the Mood for Love (2000) dir. Wong Kar-wai
recent works:
JJK characters and their beauty
Our Thing - Megumi x Reader
Runaway Bride - Yuuta x Reader
currently reading 📖: Madonna in a Fur Coat by Sabahattin Ali (1943)
requests: open.
(send me prompts, half-baked ideas, characters, songs, or scenes you want to write about! I’ll be meeting everyone’s request to the best of my abilities <3)
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You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
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tattoo artist sukuna x painter gf who draws tiny doodles onto his skin. from little stars on his knuckles to flowers cascading up his wrist, with cheap acrylic paint that eventually smears away
"if you're too broke to buy a sketchbook, just ask me," he mutters with a frown.
“grump,” you mutter back without looking up, too focused on perfecting your drawing of may flowers.
at first, you noticed it only in passing, with the sight of a pale blue star still lingering beside his thumb three days past you drawing it on him. then, you realised he prolongs washing them off, waiting until they smear away on their own.
until one eventual night after closing his shop up, he just drops onto the chair, expectantly tapping his thick fingers against the armrest.
“come on then,” he says. “tattoo it for real this time.”
and suddenly, your tiny may flower doodles are sitting permanently beneath his skin, with little stars tucked beside his older, more grotesque tattoos. your handwriting graces the skin just beneath his collarbone, very close to his chest.
just turning him into your very own personal canvas
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
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You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
the music coming from inside was faint now, muffled by the old stone walls. inside, your husband — the term felt strange and tender — was amidst the crowd being tugged into dancing with different children, whose hands were, no doubt, sticky with wedding cake. your eyes shift over to his friends, who were capturing everything before you with disposable cameras to their heart's content.
you had slipped outside quietly, for only a second.
it had been a long day and god, you could do with a cigarette, if only so you had something to do with your twitching hands. but you had quit a while back now, for the sake of your husband but mostly, your own as your husband likes to remind you.
you leaned against the railing and closed your eyes.
“you always run from parties.”
your body went still.
when you turned, gojo stood in front of you. now, you would rub your eyes comically if you could. this was not a sight you were used to seeing anywhere.
he stood against the stone railing, in a black suit, no tie, and the collar open at the throat. his white hair disordered and tangled in strong wind. the years had sharpened him strangely.
for one sickening second, you were twenty again.
“satoru.”
“wow,” he murmured, his gaze moved over you slowly, almost in reverence and wonder. “you're actually married.”
you folded your arms tightly, fingers disappearing into your silk sleeves. “i didn’t invite you.”
a smile flashed on his mouth then.
“no,” he said. “i noticed.”
“well, who invites an ex to their wedding?”
“didn't know we broke up," he said, a lilt of humour to his tone.
and he would be excruciatingly, exquisitely right. you weren't exes exactly. exes had anniversaries and friends who picked sides after a break up. you two didn't have a break up. you two had none of these things.
satoru walked up the stairs a little, to take a glance through the windows. inside, your husband was laughing as one of the children clung to his arm triumphantly.
“he seems normal,” he said.
you snorted softly despite yourself. “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about someone i dated. and he is.”
"sorry i'm late," he says. "i had to pick out a gift."
“a gift?”
“what?” he tilted his head innocently. “i can’t support your terrible life decisions?”
you narrowed your eyes. “so, where is my gift then?”
"right here," his finger pointed lazily toward himself.
you tilt your head, crossing your arm with a frown. of course.
for a brief second your mind flits through images of him, in different shades and different lightings. always young.
conjuring up an image of the boy who used to would buy and eat dessert from the same fork with you after bloodstained missions. at the boy who you shared rows on planes neither of you remembered boarding. at the man who kissed you in hotel elevators at three in the morning.
inside, the music changed, shifting into something slower.
i’ll be your dream, i’ll be your wish, i’ll be your fantasy…
the melody spilled through the open terrace as someone turned the volume up.
“will you dance with me?” he asked.
you looked at him for a long moment.
“isn’t that horribly inappropriate?" you asked, almost genuinely.
“it’s only a dance.” he was watching you carefully now. not hint of humour. just waiting.
you should say no, you think. instead, you say. “one song.”
his hand unfolded, now open toward you.
in return, you enclosed your palms in his.
he led you farther down the garden, a little closer to the music, but somehow away from the eyes inside.
gravel crunched beneath his shoes. somewhere nearby, you briefly noticed a bright jasmine blooming so richly against the green.
satoru danced beautifully, effortlessly, and infuriatingly so. as he did most things.
you let him guide you to the music. his body did all the work while you followed his movements with each spin, as your arms now encircled around his neck.
“you were always terrible at this,” he murmured.
you conjure another faint memory of your old cramped apartment after a mission that left all of you downtrodden in spirit. shoko was half asleep on the couch. suguru laughing into his drink. nanami had left right after the mission was over.
dancing that night was his idea of evading the sadness that had started to fill up the room. he had started with shoko, flailing her around the room before she grew tired, and then geto, followed by you.
you, who had scarcely danced before. satoru grabbed onto your wrist and spun you around recklessly through the quaint living room while jazz crackled from the old speaker you've now sold on ebay. you stepped on his feet over and over while he merely grinned back in response.
"must you be mean to me on my wedding night," you chided.
“no.” his mouth brushed near your temple when he spoke. “i’m just wondering how the first dance went.”
"you should've showed up on time then."
“showing up unannounced to your wedding,” he mused, “would be too much even for me.”
"you're here now."
“yes.” his hands settled at your waist, warm even through the silk. “if i’d come earlier, you might’ve left him for me.”
"ha." your laugh came too quickly. “never.”
drawing you closer to him, you rested your cheek against his chest. gojo's hands slid down over slowly to rest against the slope of your waist now.
"you cut your hair." his voice reverberating through his chest as he spoke.
“about a year ago,” you hummed.
"it suits you." he said. "it's nice."
his hand stays warm against your waist as the two of you sway slowly beneath the terrace lights. somewhere inside, someone whistles loudly enough to be heard through the open doors. laughter ensues.
“you know,” he said eventually, “when suguru told me you were getting married, i thought he was joking.”
“everyone seems deeply shocked i’m capable of commitment.”
“no.” he paused. “i just never pictured you with someone else.”
you swallowed slowly. “you told me once you’d never get married.”
you remembered the scene too vividly.
rain against enormous hotel windows.
“i remember,” he replied.
white sheets tangled around your bare limbs, he lay beside you in some expensive hotel bed.
i’m never getting married.
at twenty-three, you had felt this had little to do with you, and everything to do with the future woman that fell for him. and so, you had laughed on his warm chest and fell asleep moments later.
by twenty-seven, you realised he meant it.
“you really meant it," you said.
“i did.”
“and now?”
you were not certain what you wanted to hear. you were not certain what answer would wound you least. whether you wanted him to say yes, he would marry you now, or no, never you, never anyone.
if anything had changed. if nothing had.
but satoru only looked at you with that a sense of clarity and honesty he reserved for when things were ending and real. “i was never going to get married.”
your fingers curled slightly against the back of his neck.
the song neared its end. you could feel its death approaching in the languid sway of his body.
"hey," you said, stepping back, finally detaching from him for what you could only hope was the last time.
he hummed in response, expectantly.
“i’ll send you an invitation to the baby shower.”
"how kind of you," he said with a smile. "i'll see you then."
“and for god’s sake,” you added weakly, feeling your throat closing in now. “you’re rich. you better show up with a better gift.”
his smile widened then, bright, but something only vaguely akin to the boy you used to know.
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You wouldn’t call yourself a video game hater either. Not particuarly. You had dabbled, but had come to realise it was not an activity that you would consider participating in often.
It was clear that there were other things you were more interested in. Tangible things. Pottery classes where you can make coasters. Knitting a sweater that warms you on a winter evening. The weight of your boyfriend's hand finding yours beneath a cheese and wine tasting event. Such things.
This same thing could not be said for your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.
The windows were cracked open against the summer heat, letting in the distant hubbub of Tokyo traffic come through the filters of living high up in a high-rise building.
And Satoru Gojo was spread across your bed, laying on his stomach. His socked feet swung through the air behind him, far too preoccupied and focused on his console.
Your lives as jujutsu sorcerers were stressful, swallowing up any free time you had, and if your boyfriend felt like looking at pixel versions of you getting together and falling in love. Who were you to judge?
It was his prerogative.
You tried to focus on your paperwork. There were reports spread across your bed. Witness statements. Property damage estimates. Curse sightinga in Shinjuku. Witness statements.
You tried to read.
Trying being the operative word.
The console chirped, and Satoru made a noise of genuine distress.
You did not look up. You traced a line of text with your finger, forcing your eyes to stay fixed.
“Baby,” he finally said, with a grave sense of concentration you could say you had only heard from him on the battlefield.
“Our Miis are fighting again.”
“Maybe pixel-me is tired of your pixel-infidelity,” you spoke up from where you sat cross-legged against the headboard.
A wounded noise escaped him.
"That was one time."
Your eyes remained fixed on the page before you. The paper crackled softly as you adjusted it.
“You flirted with a grocery clerk."
“She sold me good bread.”
“She sold your Mii bread.” You rolled your eyes, though it wasn't lost on you that you were feeling a real annoyance in this matter.
The screen lit his face ghost-blue as he groaned dramatically. “No, no, no— she just said she needs space. What does that mean, baby?”
You turned the page.
"Then give her space."
"But what does it mean?"
“It means,” you said, “even my digital self finds you really annoying.”
He rolled over instantly, strong enough that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. White hair wild and cascading against your blue pillow.
And then, softer he asked. “But she still likes me, right?”
You stared down now over the edges of your paperwork. A man who could stare down curses without blinking. The strongest sorcerer alive looked genuinely troubled by the emotional wellbeing of a digital approximation of yourself. You could laugh in amusement right now.
“I don't know, Satoru,” you said. “She asked for space. Leave the poor girl alone.” And pay attention to me. The thought appeared uninvited, but you weren't the kind of person to say it out loud.
He hummed to himself, unconvinced, turning the console back toward himself. "I don't think she's actually mad."
“You literally just said she asked for space.”
“Yeah, but before that she gave my Mii cold medicine when he got sick.”
"What?" You blinked.
He shoved the screen in your direction.
There, rendered in cheerful little graphics, was a notification.
YOUR SWEETHEART TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE FEELING DOWN.
A strange irritation unfurled inside you. It was immediate.
Because somewhere between exorcising curses, surviving near-death experiences, Satoru had apparently found a way to miss you inside a video game.
Even when you were sitting right next to him.
You frown, you couldn't believe the feelings you were generating right now.
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Nothing,” you frowned, as you lowered your gaze to the paperwork.
—
He sat upright so abruptly the mattress bounced beneath both of you. The sudden movement had also sent the scattered reports trembling across the blanket.
"Satoru,” you groaned.
"Our Miis had a baby."
You stared at him.
"Wow," you remarked. “Our Miis move fast. It's been twenty minutes."
"We have a son," he announces with almost genuine pride. The way he said it made it sound less like a video game update and more like he had just emerged from an actual delivery room.
You closed your eyes.
"Congratulations."
"No, look."
The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he crawled toward you. Before you could object, he had thrusted the console beneath your nose.
"Here."
A tiny digital child waved enthusiastically from the screen. White hair and bright blue eyes except it was tiny and round-faced.
The thing was a miniature version of him, as though someone had compressed Satoru into a pocket-sized creature and softened away any sharp features he had.
The creature waved again, and for one horrifying second, you thought it was actually kind of cute.
"Oh my god," he whispered. Completely enamoured. "Look at his little face."
"Satoru."
"What?"
"Turn it off already, Satoru." You gestured vaguely toward the paperwork littering the bed. "You've barely touched a single one of your reports."
He looked scandalised almost instantly. "Turn off our son, you say?"
"Our son isn't real."
The digital child chose that exact moment to blow a heart toward the screen. Tiny sparkles exploded around its head. A little chiming sound followed.
You had a heart after all, damn it.
The game had clearly understood emotional manipulation. And unfortunately for you, so did Satoru.
Satoru gasped. One hand flew to his chest. "He loves us."
"He is just code."
"That's an incredibly cruel thing to say about your child."
An amused sigh escaped you despite yourself as you dropped your head back against the headboard. Tired.
The pillow was cool where sunlight hadn't touched it. The cotton smelled faintly of detergent and the expensive shampoo Satoru insisted on using.
Your eyes drifted back toward the screen he held. Your eyes narrowed as the child was still waving.
"Oh my god, Satoru. Did you name him Gojo Junior," you rolled your eyes. "Remind me to never give you reign over our actual child's name."
His smile had gone strangely still, and there was a pause before he spoke up.
"Our actual child, you say." He repeated carefully.
Heat flooded your face instantly. "No, I meant—"
His grin widened. "That we're going to have actual children in the future?"
"No."
"And you have their names picked out already?"
"I said, child," you groaned again at your misstep. "I only meant—”
"I can settle on a single child," he says, and you think, genuinely. "One child is reasonable."
"I wasn't negotiating,” you groaned. “I didn't say anything. Leave me alone.”
"You most definitely did say it."
Your face immediately felt hot. Your boyfriend was now staring at you like you'd just handed him a marriage certificate and big fat ring with it.
"Satoru."
"Yes, sweetheart?" God, he could be so smug.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" His grin widened, his teeth shining as white as his hair.
"You know exactly what."
"I know that my lovely girlfriend accidentally admitted she's planning our future."
"I did not."
He sat up straighter then, suddenly deep in thought. “Huh.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Huh what now?"
"No, I'm just thinking."
"That's never good,” you say.
"Would they have your eyes?"
You blink twice. “Think your family would kill me if they don't have your eyes,” you say genuinely.
He considered this seriously. Then looked at you. "But yours are prettier."
You snorted. "They're plain."
"Prettier."
"They're not."
"They are too."
You frown, trying to look out the unassuming window. "Hopefully our child inherits my common sense."
"Rude,” he says, feeling scandalised yet again.
"It wasn't meant to be."
"It absolutely was."
The tiny digital child chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically.
As though participating in the discussion. As if agreeing with you.
Your mouth twitched despite yourself.
"There it is,” Satoru said then.
You glanced back at him, softly now. "What now?"
"You’re smiling.” He pointed at your face, almost genuinely, with an almost childish satisfaction.
You think that's the ability Satoru had, to make things so light.
Yesterday, you had watched the blood stain his uniform. You had watched exhaustion strike black beneath his eyes. You had tried to listen to Shoko and the higher ups while you were pretending not to be afraid yourself. Pretending to be grown and brave.
Yet now he sat before you arguing over a digital child.
"You're smiling so much," he said. "You do love our child after all."
You rolled your eyes again, though this time in jest. Your affection barely hidden now.
"Now come play with me," he said, nudging your knee with his foot. His grin softening. "Family bonding is important, you know."
