you were always like this after making love. he didn't really understand why, but it was like a switch was flipped. you said the nastiest things in bed, your love making filled with passionate pants and trembling bodies pressed together in a sea of bedsheets, but after finishing, you curled away— shy of him again.

perhaps it was the fact you were feeling the flush after the intimacy or maybe you realized just how lewd it all was... either way, you sit on the left side of the bed, head in hands as you mutter quiet little words.

"i can't believe i said that..."

"what was that?" your boyfriend hums, shifting in the sheets as he scoots himself closer to you.

he lays on the bed on his stomach, strong body sculpted in a way that is nothing less than handsome. the manifestation of masculinity, your lover lays there contentedly. gojo feels warm, body beaming like a ray of sunlight.

"i can't believe i said that," you mutter. "i can't believe i wanted you to call me that."

gojo laughs, loud and cheerful noise erupts from the steady of his chest. the melody is smooth, flowing from lips you've kissed a hundred times.

"you embarrassed?" he lets out a chortle. "baby, couples have sex. that's a part of the relationship."

your lover gently wraps a hand around your wrist, pulling your hand off of your pretty face. he knows you're embarrassed, he can read your emotions in your eyes.

"okay, i know couples have sex, but i can't believe we—"

"had sex?"

"yes!"

"as a couple?"

a pillow hits his face.

that was a yes in his book.

gojo laughs again. he truly doesn't understand your distress. you're embarrassed you had sex with him... or rather you were embarrassed of how you were when you were intimate. he pulls your hand towards his face, kissing the tips of your fingers.

"well, for one, i had a great time." he smiles against the very faint fingerprint dips that ghost your skin.

"did you now?" you taunt, and he chuckles. you're taunting him, and he knows— gojo can hear it in your voice.

"i did." he scoots closer, placing his head on your bare lap. "how long as it been since we've done that? almost two weeks now surely."

"yeah," you giggle quietly and his ears perk up immediately at the familiar sound. "i feel like i always forget how to even start..."

"i don't."

"perv."

"that doesn't make me a pervert," the man chuckles. "and, you are so attracted to me. don't lie about it."

"am not." you tut, and he laughs.

"really? because what was all of that moaning and groaning earlier? when i had you flipped on your stomach and—" gojo begins, cut off when another pillow meets his face and shuts him up.

that's how he knows you're back to normal when you're able to throw back a quip, lip curling into an annoyed pout at the man you loved.

"okay, enough. i'm not shy anymore."

"really? okay, let's go another round."

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀… is pissed off like no other.

you’d think the king of curses had met his enemy, the cause of his chaos and violence— he’d never been so angry in his life, his frustration threatening to bubble like an explosive, active volcano.

although there is no threat, just you and him… wrapped up in the warm blankets of your bed.

you’re fast asleep on your side, hair messy and lip lined with drool from your peaceful rest. however, sukuna on the other hand, has never been more irritated. he wanted to sleep in your bed with you, just for tonight, but after this— he wasn’t sure if he wanted any of that now.

your body faces away from him, and he’s met with your back profile. he huffs, arms coming up to turn you around so he can face your pretty face before he falls asleep.

he turns you towards him, and in your sleep, you shift and turn away from him.

sukuna’s lip is curled into an angered pout.

it’s not even like you were trying to make him mad either!

you were fast asleep, and here he was— playing tug of war with your sleeping body.

he turns you.

you turn back into your former position with a whine.

he’s like a cat; your body is a ball of yarn.

sukuna has faced nightmares of curses, aggressive bloodsheds, and the falling of his own comrades— but his patience has never been so thin.

“god damnit, woman.” sukuna grumbles.

he tries to turn you again, and you still for a moment. he thinks he’s finally won until you turn around again.

“kuna… stop it.” you groan, half asleep, hand coming up to shoo him away.

“can we just cuddle? damn.” your boyfriend huffs, and you can’t help the sleepy laugh falling from your lips.

“why’re you so grumpy? sleeping is supposed to be peaceful.” you reply, and sukuna crosses his arms across his chest and stares at the ceiling.

“curses don’t sleep.”

“yeah?”

a beat of silence.

“yeah..."

“come here.” you urge, and sukuna finally folds. he crawls over your frame and settles in the spot of the direction your body was urgently craving.

he’s face to face with his precious now.

that wasn’t so hard, now was it?

“such a whiney curse.” you chuckle, his arm coming up to rest around your waist comfortably.

sukuna settles into the blanket, his tips of his pink hair tickle your nose as he finds peace against the column of your throat.

“i’ll kill you.”

"you won't." you murmur.

"yeah... i won't."

his own little kids for that matter.

you always told your children that their father had good eyes, but they've never believed you till now. you're seated on the sofa next to your blindfolded husband, head leaning on his shoulder as you both take in the shenanigans of your young children.

"where am i, daddy?" the youngest chirps, teetering on her feet behind the sofa in the living room.

"hm. let me guess." your husband chuckles, just to fuel your daughter's antics.

he knows exactly where she stands and what soft, fuzzy pieces of the carpet tickle her little toes as she sways back and forth in her little pink princess dress. your husband's black bandage is wrapped around his eyes, and your children stifle their giggles as he pretends to ponder.

"he can't see us, can he?" the oldest whispers.

you shake your head with a soft smile.

a beat of silence before your husband speaks again.

"you're behind the sofa, aren't you, my little flower?" gojo speaks, and a fit of his daughter's girlish giggles makes his heart feel as warm as springtime.

"okay, but where am i, dad?" the oldest asks from where he's perched on a pillow in the center of the room.

"hmm." gojo hums. "you're sitting on mommy's favorite pillow. you're right in front of me."

a soft gasp is drawn from your son, and you watch as gojo lifts the black blindfold. he gives you a playful wink when the kids aren't looking before adjusting the blindfold.

"that's not fair!" the oldest protests. "is he cheating?"

you laugh.

"your father is definitely not cheating." you wave your hand in front of his blindfolded eyes. "see?"

your son pouts.

"that's so cool, daddy!" the youngest smiles. "can we do it again?"

"if mommy says yes." gojo replies, voice smooth as ever.

two pairs of puppy eyes meet yours.

when you say yes, they both cheer happily.

and one day they'll grow old, and he'll tell them about his six eyes and his keen gifts and treasures. his kids will grow up and gasp, shocked that their father really did have exceptional eyesight. they'll laugh and remember the times their father used to play with them, and look at those childhood memories fondly. but for now they're still little and full of light and spirit, hearts warm and tummies full with the dinner you made them an hour ago.

"okay, go hide again!" gojo chuckles, and his children scurry off with pattering feet.

your husband presses his lips to your shoulder gently before slipping his blindfold back on. a silent thanks.

he'll let children be children.

after all, no one is allowed to take the youth from young people, not even himself.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔… is not your boyfriend.

deep down you knew it was fucked up to keep sneaking through his window. it's a large window painted white and a chip in the paint in the wood, evidence that you were there because your bag had scraped against the pearly paint job.

it was wrong, but the way he held your hips in place and caressed you was unlike anything you had ever felt before. he wasn't even your boyfriend, just a snobby business major that you met during your freshmen year of college. hell, you hated his guts— but it wasn't enough to stop seeing him.

he isn't yours.

"we— fuck— we should really stop meeting like this." you say in between soft gasps, interrupted by the soft feeling of his mouth against yours— strangely intimate and romantic compared to the roughness you experienced earlier that night.

"why? 'cause you know you'll be back tomorrow night." the white-haired man quips, pressing his warmth and weight onto your side to keep you in place.

his gaze flickers to your parted lips; he doesn't ask before kissing you.

gojo always kisses you after making love.

despite that, he isn't yours.

his lips were so gentle, as if he was lightly pulling the air from you with every little movement. his voice was shaky, out of breath... and gojo almost thinks the nervousness in his stomach is a butterfly, fluttering around at the presence of you.

you look up at him, waiting for him to speak.

he's intensely pretty.

"don't leave tonight." gojo shushes you, removing any possibility that he doesn't want you here with him tonight.

without even noticing it, your eyes go wide. what does it mean? stay here, stay here with him? there couldn't be any way he wants more than this.

he isn't yours.

gojo's nose lightly presses into the crease of your neck, pleading. he knows your heart will depart for the door the minute he stands, but he wonders if your body will still choose him.

"please, stay."

"are you sure?" you whisper, so faintly the words get lost in the sea of darkness that surrounds the two of you.

his eyes meet yours— an indescribable flame bursts into a thousand scarlet fragments and he's at your mercy, again.

"stay."

he's at the kitchen table alone, eyes brimming with angry tears.

the two of you barely fought, really. but this time, things got really out of hand. you had forgotten to take care of an errand today, and he had his own bullshit to take care of with his higher ups. when gojo got home, the two of you unexpectedly clashed. it was unlike him to take his stress out on you, and it was even more unlike you to throw back a quip to purposefully hurt his feelings.

you were exhausted, more exhausted than usual, and he was at his wits end with everyone— unfortunately, that included you too... his other half. and to make things even worse, this all happened in front of his daughter. the two of you agreed to never argue in front of her, but this time, she happened to get caught in the crossfire. big, baby blue eyes looking up at you and gojo as he called you horrible names and you cursed at him.

she watched you walk away. the slam of the door before the house was met with complete silence.

mama and dada never fought; this was odd for your little one to understand. why were you so angry? pumpkin had never seen her parents under so much stress... and it hurt her little heart to see them anything other than happy.

a little grubby hand grabs onto gojo's pant leg, and he pulls his heavy head up to find the culprit: his daughter in her bubble guppies pajamas.

"dada?"

the white-haired man takes a deep breath through his nose, cold air piercing his nostrils as he turns to his daughter. he doesn't have it in him to entertain her right now.

"what is it, pumpkin...?" he asks softly, playful demeanor completely melting away.

"are you mad at mama?" she chirps, a worried expression on her babyish features.

gojo sighs, picking up his baby and setting her on the bulk of his thigh so she doesn't slide off on accident. pumpkin leans against his chest, lip stuck in a pout.

"i'm not mad, pumpkin. sometimes mama and i fight, it's part of living together and... being in love." he tries his best to explain such a complex concept.

his baby girl blinks a few times.

"can you talk to mama?" his daughter offers. "she said she isn't mad at you anymore."

his ears perk up at that comment.

"you went to go talk to her?"

"mhm! she said she isn't mad at you..." his mini me explains, and his heart feels so much warmer. gojo can't believe his daughter sometimes, always so curious and instigating. to his disbelief, she got those traits from him.

"'toru." your voice suddenly comes from the hallway.

you look equally as disgruntled as him, eyes tired and bloodshot from frustrated crying.... but god, you're beautiful. pumpkin hops off of gojo's leg. he know he can't apologize to you with his daughter in the room, so he opts for the next best thing— he stands by your side as an adoring husband, heavy hand resting on your hip as he brings his lips to your forehead.

"i'm sorry—" you begin, but your husband immediately shushes you.

"shh, it's fine. we'll talk about it later. thank you for coming back."

your daughter clings to your left leg, hiding her little head in the empty crease of your clothed leg behind your knee. your husband's face drops, eyebrows crinkling in pain at the sound of his baby girl's wails, screams of torment and pain coming from her usual giggly lips...

it's heartbreaking.

she's crying... over the fact gojo let his beard grow out.

truth be told, he shaved weekly. it was a routine; you would stand next to him in the bathroom mirror and watch as he whips up the white shaving cream on his hands before lathering it onto his chiseled face and sharp of his jawline. gojo would shave with such precision, making sure every existing stubble was removed before kissing you again. it made him feel clean and was part of maintaining his charming, youthful look.

but recently, he's been so busy with his sorcerer missions.

your husband hadn't shaved in a few weeks, soft tufts of white springing from his chin and dotting his cupid's bow. while you found his stubble and beard quite handsome, your daughter did not.

she found it to be quite the opposite, actually.

"you're not dada!!" his daughter screams, sobs of fear becoming cries of anger and distress.

you can't help but stifle a laugh, motherly hand reaching back to gently stroke her head in an affectionate manner.

"pumpkin, that's dada." you try to soothe her, words gentle as your husband stands in shock over the fact his own three-year-old hasn't realized it's him.

"no!!" your daughter screams, voice trill as she shrieks in fear.

"baby..." you frown.

"no! no! no!!"

you sigh, crouching down to her level to soothe her. you gently kiss her forehead, watching as grubby little hands come up and hastily try to wipe away childish tears. the scary man, your husband, leaves— you assume to shave.

ten minutes later, said scary man returns with a clean-shaven face.

his heart softens at the sight of you and your daughter, sitting on her play mat together. his baby girl rests in your lap with a pouty lip, eyes glossy with previous tears. gojo feels bad for scaring his little pumpkin so badly.

"look, pumpkin." you say softly, pointing up at your husband. his face is still damp from his shave, but he's certainly regained a certain charm back from being bare faced.

"hi, baby."

"dada!" your daughter squeals, nearly tripping over herself to get off of your lap and into the warm confines of gojo's arms.

it's adorable, really... how his baby girl only recognizes him when he's clean shaven.

"hi there, baby. did ya miss me?" your husband smiles as your daughter grabs onto his face, little hands running over gojo's soft skin where prickly stubble once was.

a little chirpy giggle escapes your daughter.

the past image of the scary man is forgotten, and the only man that remains is a loving father. you laugh, heart full of warmth.

your little family was so funny, and it was yours to love.

he's iconic the moment he steps into the view of the camera. recognized by his pearly white hair and pretty eyelashes that flutter like the wings of an angel. you can find him on the cover of the most recent fashion magazines and internet blogs in japan— he's the hottest topic right now no matter the platform.

the crowd is growing as he pulls up in his sleek silver car, indigo accents shimmering and catching the eyes of everyone around. heads instantly snap in his direction, and some sort of smug satisfaction fills him as he pulls up. it's only natural he feels this way; he just won first place after all. his black gloved hand runs over the wheel before he comes to a stop, revving the engine once before parking and stepping out of the car. he is nothing short of expensive and lavish, a man of high class and charisma. gojo "undefeated winner on the track ever since he started this sorta thing" satoru is a dream, and when he talks, people listen.

you swallow hard as you take in his presence, knees buckling as you try to match the man's confidence.

you— a senior university student who had a day off and decided to check out all the commotion a few blocks down from campus. you were an art student, sketchbook settled in your arms filled with messy graphite sketches of cars and portraits of people that came to these events. you didn't know a goddamn thing about race cars, and you definitely did not know about the hot men that drove them.

too busy in your own world, you miss the way you catch his curious, iridescent ocean eyes.

"you curious, princess? come a little closer. i don't bite." he chuckles, and it takes a moment before you realize he's talking to you.

oh.

oh.

"me?" you ask with widened eyes. there were multiple people around you— and he was referring to you out of all of them? you tilt your head a bit to check if he was talking to someone behind you perhaps.

gojo finds your reaction amusing.

"yeah, you." he confirms, words rolling off of his tongue like a purr. he leans against his car, muscles rippling under his leather race jacket in the shade charcoal. you swallow hard before approaching the man.

"what's your name?" gojo asks out of genuine curiosity. his car shifts as he straightens up a bit in your presence. the man towers over you with ease.

you tell him your name, wondering if the sunlight is making you feel hot under your clothes or if it's just him. you take a nervous breath.

"congrats on winning, by the way." you smile kindly, trying to get as many words as possible out before your throat goes entirely dry.

"and how'd a sweet thing like you know i'd won?" he gives you a cocky little smirk. "you a fan?"

"not necessarily. i'm just a student here in tokyo. i'm designing your next car wrap and working on a new brand for you, and i thought it would be nice to meet the man behind the wheel." you reply with a soft laugh, gazing up at him with something that feels a lot like warm fondness.

"you're a student here?" he tilts his head. "what are you studying?"

"graphic design."

gojo blinks, and you've caught him off guard this time.

"and you're the one designing my new wrap?" he asks, letting it sink in for a moment before he speaks again. "like... a personal designer?"

"something like that." you smile.

"you have no idea how much i'll enjoy having you around."

"do you tell all of your new designers that?" you laugh, trying to avoid the flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

"of course not, only you."

before you can respond, a man with long, black hair jogs over, magenta helmet tucked under a strong arm. equally as handsome as gojo himself.

"satoru," the man purrs, gaze catching yours for a second before he turns back to the white-haired man. "time to go mingle with higher ups."

"right now, suguru?" gojo's smile falls a bit. he does have to keep his sponsors happy, much to his irritation. he motions to you with his head, and the black-haired man chuckles.

gojo gives you an apologetic glance; he's not ready to let you go just yet. he doesn't chase anyone or anything, but for you, he was willing to if it meant getting to speak to you a little longer.

"no, no— it's alright. i was heading out soon anyways. it was nice meeting you, gojo." you smile up at him, giving the racer by his side a polite grin as well before departing.

a lazy laugh escapes the white-haired man as you walk away, and that's all it takes for gojo to make up his mind.

he's gonna need you to draw him like one of your french girls.

he doesn't know how to ground himself or go to therapy to heal for the things he doesn't talk about, so this is what he's settled for. despite this, he still desperately wishes to be loved by a gentle hand. it's unfair for the heavens to grant him everything but a soulmate that will stay, and his heart pains at the thought. the movies and books teach him that love is supposed to hurt, a hot needle that pushes and pierces past his plush skin and leaves a mark in his heart. his friends tell them that being in love is so grand, a gesture that cannot be mimicked by anything that isn't love itself.

so fuckin' dramatic, he thinks. it's all shit.

gojo shoves his friends away and calls them stupid before going down his own destructive path. the man is determined to prove everyone wrong. situationships seem to be the safest approach for him, intentionally ambiguous on his end. he sleeps around; he's an asshole. he gets up in the morning without a word and when his last girl thinks she's finally getting close, he immediately pushes her away and wears a painted mask of indifference.

things have never been like that with you.

from the moment he first met you, gojo knew there was something off about you. perhaps your outfit or the awkward way you stood while waiting for coffee, but he was intrigued. it's a new feeling for someone who always has the upper hand.

what was supposed to be gojo leading you on quickly turns into you walking him like a dog on a leash.

the man stares at his phone for hours, awaiting your text message. he bites the inside pink of his cheek, and when the notification goes through— gojo has to physically count the seconds before he can text back, so he doesn't look like you've got him around your finger. he practices talking to himself in the mirror because what if he randomly runs into you some day and doesn't know what to say? everyone does that... don't they?

it doesn't even register in his head that he might possibly be in too deep.

all he knows is his heart has never felt so free in his chest. like a bird freed from its cage, his heart flies into the sky— completely oblivious to what snakes may linger under his wings. it'll all come crashing down, it's inevitable. the two of you will meet your demise sooner or later, and he'll have to tell you that maybe it just wasn't gonna work out.

it's been three minutes since you last texted him.

gojo groans lowly into his hands before they travel to fist his snowy white hair. he gives it a good pull; as if it'll wake him up. it doesn't wake him up, and that's when he starts pinching himself. let it all be a dream, the man begs.

a moment passes.

you text him.

he doesn't know what he feels for you... but it's powerful, and it scares him. the notification goes through and gojo immediately snatches his phone from his side and hopes whatever the two of you have will never end.