How Boyfriend!Gojo Satoru deals with you when you’re moody 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
“Stop looking at me,” you snap. “Stop touching me. Just stop.”
Satoru points to himself, eyes wide and jaw dropping. “What did I do?”
“Can you leave, Gojo? I can’t deal with you right now.”
For the last hour or so, you’ve been scrolling through your phone, annoyed by the lack of good things to read or catch up on. Meanwhile, your boyfriend’s been lounging beside you, long leg thrown over the back of the sofa, head propped up on his arm as he watches cartoons on the TV and throws caramel popcorn into his mouth. Once in a while, he’d say, “Baby, baby! Look at this!”, “Do you think I should dye my hair? Maybe pink like Yuji and we can go around pretending to be twins?”, or something along those lines. Every time he reached for you, trying to get your attention, you’d shake him off, glaring.
You’ve reached your limit. But it seems so has he; he turns the TV off and grumbles, “Fine. I’ll go since I’m clearly not wanted here. I’ll just put my life on the line fighting curses, or whatever.” Satoru teleports out of your living room.
Guilt hits you instantly — what is wrong with you? He’s never spoken to you like that, even at his worst. He was spending his free time, which is far and few between, with you, although you’re not very amusing right now. And there you were talking down to him, like he was a child. You’re a terrible girlfriend.
Sighing, you call his phone. He picks up on the first ring. “Satoru? Can you come back? Please.”
He reappears before you barely a second later, arms crossed and chin up. Satoru haughtily asks, “Something you need?”
“Yes, for you to forgive me,” you reply, rounding the coffee table to hug him. He doesn’t return it but he doesn’t push you away either. “I’m sor—Oh.”
Something sweet’s shoved between your lips. You chew on a piece of chocolate chip cookie, blinking up at him.
Satoru, holding a bag of them and feeding you like you’re a duck, says, “I know, I know. I’m incredible, unbelievably handsome, I deserve to be treated like a prince, you want to worship my very existence for all eternity, and so on and so forth. Save it, babe. I already know all of that. Just like I know you’re nearing the time of your month. Must suck being a woman, huh? Better you than me though.”
Then he teleports himself back on the sofa, with you in his arms. TV back on, he presses a wet kiss to your cheek and adds,
“Gosh, you’re scary when hormonal. It’s hot.”
I hc he doesn't hold grudges, not against his fave people at least