vani

They convinced themselves that they only studied humans ways of treating illness in order to better do their job, and that it had nothing to do with the way their chest seized seeing you laying their as if stricken in battle. They memorized recipes for soups, and teas, made note of what herbs and oils made the sheen of sweat on your face grow dull, and all the while, served you with that same stoic expression, as if they were nothing more to you than a servant. When you requested that they stay their first thought was that your condition had worsened, and you needed them to monitor you. However, even more startling than the thought of you getting worse, was the feeling of shock that coursed through Uraume’s icy veins when you said you “just missed spending your day with them”

At this point Uraume doesn’t know what they’re going to do with themselves when you get better, because they’ll no longer have an excuse for the look that they give you, far from their usual distant stares, and the way they tend to insist on taken you anywhere and bringing you everything. It’s gotten to the point where even Sukuna teases Uraume in his own twisted sense, no longer bothering them to help him with things and always making sure to close the doors when you two were together. Laughing a them about their reddened cheeks and shiny skin, as if they were the one with the fever.

Oh well, Uraume would endure his teasing for years as long as your warmth continued to thaw the ice in their veins. Being around you made them begin to understand why a moth follows a flame, the feeling of you curled into them with a hand latched onto their robes made them understand why the humans they always thought were stupid, give up their lives for their loved ones so instantaneously. For Uraume, too, had begun to feel.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He's not very affectionate at all

The era he grew up in wasn't an overly affection one

In public, he'll let his partner hold his arm

But don't expect anything else

He prefers showing love with gifts and acts of service

He prefers it being shown in the same way

Though he also likes words of affirmation

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

This is a hard decision for him

He's not really sure

Probably his hands or arms for himself

And his partner's face and neck

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Kashimo isn't a big cuddler

Especially not at first

Why would you want to be so close?

It does grow on him though

He prefers spooning (he refuses to be the little spoon)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Yes he does

Though his ideas for marriage are very outdated

He has a lot to learn

He can cook some ancient Japanese dishes

And he is very good at picking up after himself

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He's not very nice about it to be honest

Why should he be?

Whether it's his partner that's the issue or him

It doesn't matter

He's not nice at all

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He's not really sure how he feels

He never got married in his first life

And Kashimo's goal to become the strongest will most likely get in the way of that

But he's not really against it

It'd take around 2-3 years before even a proposal happens

Most likely more though

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He's not gentle

At least not at first

He's harsh and rude

But once he's able to relax

He becomes a bit softer even if he is still rough around the edges

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He does not like hugs

Not at all

If someone tries to hug them, they better be ready to get zapped

He will not accept hugs from anyone

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He doesn't believe in it

Not towards a person anyways

He'll say other things

Things that feel somehow deeper than love

Things that make people swoon

And that would take quite some time

At least a year in

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He gets pretty jealous

He knows he isn't the easiest to love

To be around in general

So seeing how his partner is with others gets him pretty riled up

Kashimo will zap whoever is bothering you

And tell them to back off

As well as some creative insults

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

They're brief at first

A small peck here and there

But once he's more comfortable, they're deeper

He kisses mostly his partner's hand and lips

Hand mostly when greeting or leaving

He likes being kissed on his lips and arms/shoulders

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He's not good

Not good at all

He finds them annoying and loud

He can tolerate them for short periods of time though

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He wakes up before dawn

He enjoys watching the sunrise

But he's very respectful

He won't wake his partner up unless they want

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Kashimo is also a night owl

He struggles to fall asleep

So he tries his best to stay quiet

Normally training while he waits for exhaustion to catch up

Normally he doesn't end up in bed until

1-2 am, so he doesn't sleep very much

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He's not very open

He has walls up to protect himself

However, he'll reveal things slowly

Everything he reveals slowly

He doesn't let people close to him immediately

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has a very short temper

He doesn't allow himself to show it

Especially if he's not in danger

But you can definitely see sparks around his buns

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

One thing about Kashimo is that he has a very good memory

He forgets some things about his previous life

But things in his current like he remembers with scary accuracy

He may have a photographic memory

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

First kiss

He's never really been in a relationship

Much less kissed

So that was a pretty big thing for him

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He's very protective

If his partner shows any negative emotion

Kashimo is trying to find a solution

Wanting to make sure his partner is safe

He will never say he wants protection

He doesn't even think he needs it

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts more effort into daily tasks

However he struggles with special events

Especially dates

Anniversaries are a bit easier for him because he's a gift giver

And he's very very good at giving gifts his partner actually likes

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He's very rough around the edges

He has a very hard time being soft

And he will never outright admit how he feels anythinb

Unless it has to do with a negative emotion or training

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He looks presentable

That's really the extent of his care

He always looks good

But he doesn't fret if it's not perfect

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He feels normal

Kashimo isn't one to be sentimental

So he doesn't really feel anything about being away from his partner

He is very happy when he gets home though

He is quite the yearner

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He has to have a ground

So if he kisses his partner, he'll hold their hand

Or something like that

To avoid shocking them

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

As egotistical as he can be

He doesn't like it

Kashimo is confident, but by no means does he really think he's better than others

So anyone who acts the same is a turn off

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He doesn't sleep much

And he's stiff

He doesn't move while he sleeps

˚₊𐚁๋࣭⭑ֶָ֢ Denji watching you try on dresses!!

Denji was way too excited when you asked him to come along.

He’s never been invited to go “dress shopping” before, and he doesn’t totally get the point — but he figures if it’s with you, it’s gotta be fun.

He sits outside the changing room like an eager golden retriever, knees bouncing, shopping bags at his feet. Every time you close the curtain, he leans forward a little, like he’s waiting for the next round of a game show.

“okay, ready?”

“Of course I’m ready.” he says, like its not even a question.

He completely loses it the first time you walk out.

His eyes go wide, his jaw slack.

"woah.”

You laugh, spinning a little, and he’s just staring like you hung the moon.

“you look—uh. you look expensive. like one of those people that get their picture taken in magazines or somethin’.”

Denji, of course, has zero concept of shopping etiquette. He’ll clap. He’ll whistle. He’ll shout from across the store. You keep having to shush him.

He tilts his head when you ask, “so which one’s your favorite?”

He squints at the dresses, then at you, and shrugs with a grin.

“dunno. I like all of them. you make the dresses look good, not the other way around.”

Halfway through, he gets distracted and starts trying on sunglasses and hats near the mirror. When you come out again, he’s standing there with heart-shaped shades, giving you a thumbs-up like he’s your personal hype man.

And when you finally pick one, he insists on carrying all the bags, still grinning ear to ear.

"I dunno why people say shopping’s boring,” he says, walking beside you.

“that was awesome. you’re awesome.”

And maybe he doesn’t know much about fashion — but the way he looks at you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen, makes you feel like you could wear anything and still shine.

“why would you think that?” you ask gently.

“i don’t know,” he says, almost too casually. but it doesn’t land casual at all. “most people look at them with pity.”

you shift closer without thinking, your hand still resting against his waist.

“each one of them is like a little achievement,” you say quietly. “proof you never gave up.”

for a moment, he doesn’t respond.

then, finally, he lets out a small breath that almost sounds like a laugh— but it breaks halfway.

“god,” he mutters. “that’s unfair.”

“what is?”

“you.” another pause, like he’s trying to steady himself. “saying things like that so easily.”

your hand drifts again, but slower now, more careful. over his ribs, his side, and finally over his heart.

“i don’t think it’s easy,” you admit, your hand moving to feel his heartbeat.

“you know what’s funny?” he says after a moment, voice quieter now. “i thought i’d come back and everything would feel the same.”

you wait, but he doesn’t finish right away. like the words are heavier than he expected.

“it doesn’t?” you ask softly.

his hand finds yours.

“not really,” he admits. “i used to be untouchable, but now i am littered with all these scars.”

your thumb brushes over his knuckles.

“i still think you’re as handsome as ever,” you say. “you‘ve done so much, toru.”

he shifts a little closer, like your voice is something grounding him back into the present. his forehead almost touches yours now.

“as long as my lovely wife thinks so..” he hums, “it’s just.. i kept thinking i‘d get to feel normal again.”

you glance up at him. “hmm, you were never really normal to begin with.”

that gets a small, real chuckle from him.

“rude,” he says.

“but that‘s not a bad thing,” you smile.

his arm slides around you then, slowly pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

“you’re staring again,” he whispers.

“i’m allowed,” you say.

“wife privileges?”

“mhm.”

he hums, settling deeper into the bed, into you, into the quiet.

his hand rests at your back now, steadying you.

“i like this,” he admits after a moment.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he says, softer. “quiet mornings. just you and me.”

your fingers trace his scar one more time.

“me too,” you whisper, placing a delicate kiss on his lips.

It was just some random Tuesday, and your husband Satoru wasn’t due home until after six — something about looking over a pile of reports on rising cursed energy in the Kanto region. Even with Sukuna gone, chaos liked to linger.

The thought alone makes your stomach twist, like it always does when your mind drifts back to that winter two years ago. The Shinjuku showdown. You’d been convinced you’d lost him — his cursed energy disappeared, his body literally split in two. The moment still plays in your nightmares: the blood, the silence, your own voice screaming. You remember clutching his hand — or what was left of it — while Shoko fought to bring him back. And somehow, impossibly, she did.

He survived. Scarred, different, quieter in ways only you can read — but alive.

Sometimes you still wake up and run your fingers across the long scar that traces the soft skin of his abdomen, as if to confirm he’s really still here.

After that day, everything shifted. You left your role as a teacher at Jujutsu Tech — too much pain, too many memories, and honestly, too much peace. Not many cursed spirits dared show their faces anymore. These days, you exorcise a lingering curse here or there, but mostly? You spend your time being what Gojo Satoru once joked about during a late night walk back when you were still just colleagues: a housewife. A relaxed one at that — sans the apron clichés.

And truthfully? You don’t hate it.

Your house — the one Satoru picked out, of course — is enormous. It sits just outside of Tokyo, nestled high enough to offer sweeping views of the city skyline on one side and forested hills on the other. Wide windows. Sun-drenched walls. Room for both quiet and chaos. "A house that can hold all of our egos," he’d grinned when you moved in, but when he saw you spinning barefoot in the sunlit kitchen, he’d gone quiet. You’d looked over and seen it in his face: this is home.

You decide to clean the attic today. Partly because it’s been ages, partly because the place is a mess of dusty boxes and half-forgotten memories, and partly because you just want to surprise Satoru with something useful. Maybe you’ll find that old vinyl player he swears he didn’t lose.

You spend a solid hour sorting through stacks of cardboard — some labeled with scrawled handwriting (Nanami’s, definitely), others with faded Jujutsu Tech stickers. There’s a whole box of broken sunglasses you recognize immediately. Another of loose-grade mission reports that probably should’ve been shredded, like, a decade ago. You toss what you can into piles — keep, ask Satoru, burn before someone finds it — and you’re wiping sweat off your brow when you find it.

It's in a box labeled “JJT archives”, a thick, heavy book tucked beneath a pile of old uniforms and loose cursed tools wrapped in cloth. The cover is cracked leather, and there’s a faint, almost unreadable embossing on the spine.

It’s not labeled.

Curious, you tug it out, brush the dust from its cover, and flip it open.

Instantly, you realize what it is.

Photos. Dozens of them. Smiling, chaotic, deeply youthful energy practically radiating off the pages. Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Shoko Ieiri. Haibara Yu. Kento Nanami. Their classmates, their mentors, the Tokyo branch in all its raw, messy, golden-era glory.

You blink, and your throat tightens. There’s a warmth in your chest — fond and aching all at once.

You close the book gently, your fingertips resting on the worn leather for a moment longer. This isn’t something you want to rush through alone.

You set it aside carefully, ready to go through it together when he gets home.

He always said he wanted to show you what he was like back then.

–

The front door clicks open at exactly 6:14 p.m.

You hear the familiar jangle of keys, the rustle of his coat as it hits the entryway hook, and then—

“Honeyyyyy,” Satoru’s voice calls out in that signature sing-song tone, the one you always say makes him sound like a bored housewife in a drama. “I’m hooooome and emotionally exhausted!”

You can’t help the smile that breaks over your face. “Kitchen,” you call back.

A beat later, you hear his footsteps pad across the wooden floor — not quite heavy, but still loud enough to announce his presence. He never really learned how to walk quietly. Maybe he just doesn’t want to.

He leans into the doorway like he’s posing for a magazine shoot, white hair tousled from the wind, shirt wrinkled from too many hours slouched at a desk. His jacket’s half-off one shoulder, and his blindfold’s gone — replaced by tinted glasses that slide slightly down his nose as he tilts his head at you.

“Whoa,” he says, deadpan. “Who’s that absolute beauty in my kitchen?”

You snort, stirring the sauce on the stove. “She’s married.”

“Lucky bastard,” he murmurs, crossing the room and slipping his arms around your waist from behind.

His body is warm — always — and it fits against yours like muscle memory. You feel the hard line of his chest, the loose way he rests his chin on your shoulder, the way his breath ghosts against your neck when he exhales like he’s finally safe again.

“Hey,” he says more quietly this time. “Missed you.”

“I saw you this morning.”

“Yeah,” he hums, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “but that was twelve hours ago and I almost died again from boredom.”

You turn around and press a soft kiss to the spot just below his jaw. “You hungry?”

“Starving. For food and love. In that order, but barely.”

You flick his forehead and he pouts, but he lets go so you can plate the food.

Dinner is nothing fancy — rice, grilled fish, the sauce you were working on, a couple of side dishes you whipped up out of boredom. But Satoru reacts like you’ve served him a five-star meal, moaning dramatically with every bite.

“My beautiful, talented wife,” he groans, flopping sideways in his chair like he’s been slain by deliciousness. “You’re always spoiling me.”

“You spoil yourself,” you mutter, pouring him tea with the practiced grace of someone who’s done this a hundred times. “I saw your UberEats bill last week.”

“Hey,” he says, mouth still full of rice, “those were all emotionally necessary. There was a lot of paperwork. Such labor requires tiramisu.”

“Three separate orders in one day?”

“They were from different places. Variety is key to mental wellness.”

You shoot him a flat look as you sit back down. “Pretty sure buying four desserts doesn’t count as a balanced diet.”

“I got one of them for you.”

“No, you got it for you and said, ‘you can have half if you want.’”

“And you didn’t want it,” he points out smugly. “Which means it became mine by universal law.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. You always sit across from him — it’s become a quiet habit over time, a way to read his expressions even when he’s being dramatic. Like now, when he’s chewing with exaggerated slowness, eyes half-lidded like he’s in some kind of blissful trance.

Sometimes he nudges your foot under the table, tapping his toes against yours like a child trying to get attention without using words.

Other times, like tonight, you catch him staring mid-bite — not in a silly way, but in that strange, still quietness he gets sometimes. Like he’s memorizing you. Like there’s a part of him that still can’t believe this is his life now: a warm dinner, soft light, your voice in the kitchen, no curses waiting around the corner.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you set down your chopsticks.

“Hmm?” He blinks, then smiles, and it’s all teeth and softness. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He kicks your shin lightly under the table. “Thinking about how I tricked the prettiest person in the world into marrying me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Oh come on,” he groans, laughing, “at least let me pretend I’m a catch.”

“You are a catch,” you say, voice softer now, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Just… a really expensive one with terrible food delivery habits. And you hog the bathroom a lot.”

He grins and laces his fingers with yours. “I’ll take it.”

After dinner, he insists on helping with the cleanup, which mostly means he dries dishes while doing an elaborate stand-up routine with a tea towel slung over his shoulder like a bartender. You’re halfway through rinsing a plate when you feel a cold splash hit your back.

You pause. Slowly turn.

He’s holding the sink hose, blinking innocently.

“…Did you just—?”

“Oh my god,” he gasps, “did someone get wet? That must’ve been a malfunction. Tragic, really.”

You squirt him back instantly. He lets out a squawk like a wet cat, and before long, the floor is a mess, one of you is definitely going to slip and die, and he’s trying to use his body as a shield while cackling like a maniac.

“I live with you,” you mutter, wiping water off your face.

“And what a gift that is,” he says grandly, leaning in to kiss your damp cheek, water droplets still clinging to his ivory eyelashes. “Totally worth the near-death experience.”

You shake your head, but let the moment linger, let him hold you there by the sink, his lips brushing against yours like a silent thanks.

Eventually, he drags you to the bathroom.

The shower is big — another Gojo-specific choice when you built the house. He said he needed “space to dance dramatically during hair-washing.” You hadn’t realized he meant it literally until you walked in one day to find him swaying under the water, humming some ballad with shampoo running down his face.

Tonight, though, it’s quiet.

You both strip down without fanfare. He steps in first, holding out a hand like a gentleman even though he’s already dripping wet. The steam fills the air as you join him, the water warm and soft as it runs over your skin.

You wash his hair, carefully, gently, nails scraping his scalp in slow circles. His eyes are closed the whole time, a rare expression of serenity on his face.

Next up is washing his body — an act you love a bit too much.

His hands are by his sides, water cascading down the large expanse of sinewed muscle and scarred skin. There's a glimpse of a jagged scar that runs diagonally across his collarbone — one of the many pale remnants of the battle that nearly ended everything.

Your fingers brush against it absently, and Satoru doesn’t flinch.

He never hides them anymore — the scars. They scatter across his body now: fine lines, brutal gashes, faded burns. A slash across his abdomen from where Sukuna’s curse split him in two. A jagged cut down his spine that he jokes looks like a zipper. An old puncture near his hip that Shoko sewed shut with her own hands, mumbling curses the whole time.

You’ve memorized each one. Some days you trace them like constellations. Some days he lets you.

He doesn’t talk, not much. Just stands there and lets you take care of him.

Later, he returns the favor — fingers combing through your hair, rinsing soap from your back, holding you steady with his large hands reverently roving across your body when you lean into him just a little too much.

When you’re both towelled off and dressed in pajamas (his: old Jujutsu Tech sweats and a faded tee; yours: one of his shirts and soft shorts), you crawl into bed.

He flops down beside you with a dramatic sigh, limbs sprawling everywhere. You make a sound of protest when his knee knocks into yours, and he just grins at you lazily.

“Can we watch that dumb baking show?” he asks, already pulling the blanket over the two of you.

“The one where they all sabotage each other?”

“Yes. It’s healing. Sorry that I said it was boring before.”

You roll your eyes but grab the remote anyway.

He shifts closer as the episode starts, arm sliding under your neck to pull you in. Your head rests against his chest, and you listen to the steady thrum of his heart, strong and sure beneath old wounds.

“Comfy?” he murmurs.

“Mhm.”

He kisses the top of your head. “Good. Stay right there. I had a long day of being the strongest and I need my beautiful wife.”

You laugh into his shirt.

This — the warmth, the closeness, the scent of his skin mixed with soap — this is the part no one sees. Not the world, not his students, not the remnants of the Jujutsu world that still whisper his name like a myth. Just you. Just him.

The baking show is halfway through an episode. Some poor contestant has just dropped their chiffon cake while another is sabotaging the whipped cream station. You’re tucked under the covers, your head resting on Satoru’s shoulder while his arm holds you close, fingers occasionally playing with the ends of your hair. The glow of the TV casts soft light over the room, flickering across the ceiling in pale pastel hues.

You’re warm. Safe. Your husband smells like your shampoo, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest is starting to lull you into that lovely, sleepy post-dinner haze.

But then — like a light flicking on in your brain — you remember.

“Oh!” you sit up suddenly, disrupting the blankets and causing Satoru to yelp, “I almost forgot. I cleaned the attic today.”

He groans like you’ve just committed a war crime. “Babe… why would you voluntarily enter the attic. That’s the one part of this house I refuse to enter.”

You ignore him, already swinging your legs off the bed. “No, listen — I found something. I think you’ll really like it.”

He props himself up on one elbow, squinting through his glasses. “Oh? What is it? Old love letters from your angsty high school boyfriend?”

“You mean the one who cried when he found out I liked Gojo Satoru more than him?” you smirk, heading toward the walk-in closet. “Yeah, no.”

You pad barefoot across the room and slide open the double doors. The closet is huge — because of course it is. Satoru insisted on custom shelving, backlighting, and enough hanging space for what he called his “seasonal drip.” But your things have taken over half of it by now, neatly folded sweaters, coats, your woven baskets for accessories. You had tucked the book on the upper shelf earlier after finishing the attic, too tired to sort through it just yet.

It takes a second of rummaging, but you find it: a thick, heavy photo album with a fabric cover that’s fraying slightly at the edges. You had found it in a box labeled with faded marker: JJT Archives.

As you walk back into the bedroom, Satoru’s sprawled on the bed like a lazy cat, hair wild, blanket pushed down to his waist. He raises an eyebrow when he sees the album.

“Oh? What’s this, a cursed object?”

You roll your eyes, climbing back in beside him.

He smacks your butt lightly as you settle under the covers again.

“Satoru!”

“What?” he grins. “You turned your back on me. That’s an invitation.”

You elbow him in the ribs, but you're smiling. “Figured we could look at it together. I think it’s a photo album of sorts.”

His expression softens instantly. “Yeah? Alright. Let’s see what kind of damage my past self got up to.”

You flip the cover open.

The first photo is grainy and a little off-center — a picture of him and Suguru pulling exaggerated faces at the camera, their expressions wild, faces contorted in a weird expression. Satoru snorts.

“Oh, wow,” he says. “Look at us. I told him I’d look better than him if we both pulled a dumb face.”

You study the image closely. Suguru’s hair is tied up, not unlike most of the photos you’ve seen of him, which were during his time as a wanted criminal. 

Satoru’s laugh fades into something quieter.

“That was my old phone. Shoko looked at this picture and said we looked ‘ugly enough to preserve for future generations.’”

The next is a selfie — Satoru smiling into the camera in his black sunglasses, unlike the round ones he wears to protect his sensitive eyes. Suguru is beside him with sunglasses, and Nanami just barely in frame, scowling at the lens like he’s half being forced at gunpoint to participate and half wanting to do it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, amused. “Kento looks so cute. His hairstyle… He definitely had an emo phase.”

“Because he was,” Satoru grins. “And he did have an emo phase. The amount of Visual Kei he listened to… We made him go shopping with us in Harajuku that day. Got the sunnies as a treat for doing well on the mission. And because they were on sale.”

You both laugh, the warmth lingering even as the sound fades. You flip the page.

This one’s softer: Nanami, Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru sitting at a dinner table at someone’s house, a dinner spread between them — looks very much like homemade food. It’s candid. Suguru’s laughing at something and posing with a peace sign. Shoko’s mid-clap, mouth open in laughter. Nanami looks slightly more relaxed than usual, a peace sign on his fingers too. Satoru’s grinning widely, and your heart melts at how lively his smile used to be when he was a teen.

“That was Shoko’s family house,” Satoru murmurs. “She invited us over after a mission. She lived nearby. We just… stayed. Slept in her living room. Talked until like, three in the morning.”

“She really was part of your trio, wasn’t she?” you say softly.

He nods. “Yeah. People always think it was just me and Suguru. But Shoko was there too. She was always there. Holding us together.”

You flip to the next: the entrance ceremony.

A selfie again — this time it looks like Shoko’s doing. They're all grinning like idiots. Principal Yaga is in a corner. Suguru is holding up a peace sign. Shoko’s teeth are out as she grins. Satoru, front and center, is glowing with the kind of cocky, pure-hearted energy only youth can give you, throwing a thumbs up, rounded glasses slipping down his nose.

“Your smile is so big in these, sweetheart. You look beautiful when you smile,” you say softly.

Satoru presses a kiss to your neck in quiet thanks, arm coming around your waist as you both continue flipping through the album.

The next photo is pure chaos: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara standing in the bathroom mirror, toothbrushes in their mouths. Looks like they were having a sleepover of some sort.

You let out a startled laugh.

“Oh my god, you guys are so cute. Was it a sleepover?”

“It was,” Satoru says. “Haibara had to practically force Nanami to come. Too bad Shoko and Utahime couldn’t come. For some reason, dorm restrictions were actually quite strict — not that we’d ever do anything like that. We were like a family.”

You laugh, squeezing his knee under the blankets.

You keep going.

A photo of Suguru with his hair mussed, smiling into the camera like he doesn’t know it’s pointed at him. It's intimate — the angle low, soft light filtering in.

Satoru's voice drops. “I took that. We’d just woken up from a nap in the common room. He hated being caught without brushing his hair, but… he let me keep it. He never had a bad hair day, you know? Was always so particular about it. Only used a specific shampoo that he said his mother would buy for him in the countryside.”

He goes quiet for a long moment, hand flexing slightly on the luminescent film of the album page.

“He really loved his mom.”

You rest your cheek against his arm.

There’s a photo of Shoko tying her Converse, crouched down, her fingers deft and focused. It's an ordinary moment — a cute smile on her face — but something about it feels lived-in. Real.

“Shoko loved this pair,” he chuckles. “She wore them to annoy the elders. They claimed proper shoes were needed if we were to go on missions.”

You grin. “Respect.”

The next is crowded: all of them standing outside a classroom door. Nanami, Shoko, Suguru, Haibara, and Satoru — shoulder to shoulder, smiling like they’re just normal teenagers, not the weapons the Jujutsu world molded them into.

The key highlight of the photo is Satoru’s arms are around Suguru and he has this big, goofy smile on his lips.

“I can’t believe they’re all…” you trail off.

Satoru doesn’t respond right away.

You glance up.

His jaw is tight. His eyes are wet.

“They were… good. All of them,” he says at last, voice barely above a whisper. “They should’ve had more time.”

You nod, curling into his side.

Another photo makes you both pause. It's taken from behind: Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko in matching red soccer jerseys, standing on a field. They're holding up peace signs with their backs to the camera. You can almost hear their laughter, imagine the mud on their shoes, the heat of the sun.

You run your hand down the page.

You flip through more: snapshots of their friend group — sleeping, on trips, in classrooms, in ceremonies. Candid, fleeting, young.

And then — the final ones: close-ups of Suguru.

Photos taken with quiet intention. One where he's clearly caught off guard. One where he's looking out from the bridge. Another where his back is to the camera and he has a small bear keychain on his bag. The sight makes your stomach clench.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does Satoru.

The weight of the past settles thick in the room, like dust stirred from an old shelf. The baking show continues on in the background — a contestant shouting about a collapsed ganache — but it feels distant. Muted. Like it belongs to someone else’s life.

Your hand finds his where it’s resting on the bedspread. His fingers twitch, then curl slowly around yours.

You glance at him.

He’s quiet in that particular way he gets when he’s fighting to stay intact — jaw locked, mouth set, shoulders wound tight with grief. His eyes are glassy, tracking the same photo over and over, like he’s trying to memorize it before it disappears.

Nanami with his dumb emo haircut. His peace signs. Haibara’s joy, how young he looked when he laughed. Suguru’s sleepy, messy hair. That crooked smile. The ghost of laughter in his eyes.

It’s rare to see Satoru this still. Not just physically — but inside. No quip. No grin. Just silence, and the slow breathing of someone on the edge of something sharp.

“I used to think,” he says eventually, voice hoarse, “that we’d grow old together.”

You don’t interrupt. You let the words come, raw and aching.

“Me, Suguru, Shoko,” he murmurs. “Nanami and Haibara. I pictured it sometimes. Thought we’d be old and bitter and still calling each other dumbasses over desserts. Thought maybe… maybe we’d all be able to come back from the shit we did. Thought we’d last”.

He pauses, taking in a deep breath.

“Thought I could save him.”

Your thumb strokes his knuckles.

He blinks fast. Swallows hard.

“I see these pictures and I—I forget he’s gone. Just for a second. And then it hits me all over again. Every fucking time.”

You press your forehead gently to his shoulder. “He was your best friend.”

A hollow laugh escapes him. It sounds like it hurts. “He was everything. The only person who ever really… got me. Not the strongest. Not Gojo Satoru. Just… me.”

You wait.

You let the silence stretch — thick, aching, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“I hate that I still miss him,” Satoru finally says, voice raw. “I hate that he left. I hate that I couldn’t stop him. But I miss him. Every day. Like an ache in my ribs I forget about until I breathe too deep.”

You turn toward him, hand still wrapped in his. He looks like he’s trying to hold himself together with nothing but willpower — a man who’s used to keeping the world up with one hand, now struggling just to hold his own heart in place.

“I miss him too,” you whisper. “I never even met him — but with the way you talk about him, I miss him too. I miss him for what he meant to you. For who he must’ve been, to leave this much of a mark.”

His breath falters. A quiet shudder works through him. You lean up and kiss his cheek, slow and steady, then press another to his temple, just where his hair is growing back in, short and soft. He leans into it, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded — like he’s been brittle for a while now and you’re the only thing keeping him from cracking open.

“He would’ve loved this house,” he murmurs, voice thick. “He’d pretend it was too flashy. Say I was compensating for something. But then he’d steal all the good tea and claim it was just to humble me.”

You smile gently, warm against the side of his face. “Well. You do have terrible spending habits.”

That gets a sound out of him — a real laugh, shaky and low in his chest. He presses his forehead to yours.

“He’d have hated the mirror in our bathroom.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says, the faintest curve to his lips. “Would’ve said it makes me look even more insufferable than usual.”

You laugh. “To be fair, you are insufferable.”

“Mm. Don’t forget stunning.”

“Of course,” you breathe. “That’s a given. My beautiful, insufferable husband.”

You kiss away some of the tears that have fallen down his pale, scared face, wiping away the tracks as you pull back.

The silence settles again, softer this time. You tug the blanket higher over both of you. His thumb is rubbing slow circles against the back of your hand now — absent, but insistent. Like he’s anchoring himself to you, to this moment, to anything that won’t vanish like the rest.

You watch his face, watch the way his expression drifts somewhere far away and comes back a little more worn every time. A man standing in the ruins of his past, trying to build something worth living in.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He turns, only slightly. But it’s enough. His eyes find yours — wide, blue, shining a little too much even in the low light. You see everything there. The love, the grief, the guilt, the ache. The part of him that never really left that bridge. That battlefield. That moment.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say, your voice barely above a breath.

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face. Like he’s seeing the future and the past crash into each other in the shape of your smile.

And then, after a long beat:

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.”

His hand lifts — trembling just faintly — and he cups your cheek. His thumb swipes gently across your skin, reverent. Then he presses a kiss to your temple, slow and careful, like he’s sealing something sacred inside you. A promise. A memory. A hope.

The baking show buzzes quietly in the background, someone yelling about a collapsed meringue, the absurdity of it all somehow making it feel more real — more here. More now.

Grief still sits in the room, thick like fog, but it no longer feels unbearable. It lingers, yes, but it’s softened at the edges by something gentler. Something like love. Something like healing.

You curl back into him, resting your head against his chest. His hand comes up to cradle your back without thinking. His heartbeat drums steadily beneath your ear — a rhythm that tells you he’s still here. Still trying. Still holding on.

You hold each other in that silence. In that ache. And in the quiet miracle of still being able to love, even when it hurts.

You close the album gently, smoothing your hand over the cover like it’s sacred. And maybe it is. The only reliquary you have left of those years — of who he was, of who they all were, when the world was still a little less cruel.

Satoru shifts a little closer, nosing into the crook of your neck like he’s trying to burrow into the safest place he knows. His hand finds your waist beneath the covers and rests there, thumb absently stroking small circles against your skin.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Mm?”

“Do you think we’ll still be like this when we’re old? All wrinkly and stubborn and falling asleep at nine?”

You smile into the dark. “We already fall asleep at nine.”

He laughs — a soft, sleepy sound. “Okay, fair. But I mean like… old-old. Like, arguing about soup and forgetting where we put our keys kind of old.”

You tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are lidded, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, hair messy and soft and just barely starting to silver at the edges. You think about him with deeper lines around his eyes, laugh lines etched into his skin from years of grinning too wide.

“I think we’ll be annoying,” you say.

“Hell yeah.”

“Annoying and still obsessed with each other.”

“Obviously.”

“Still holding hands in public and making waiters uncomfortable.”

“I plan on kissing you in every checkout line we ever stand in,” he whispers, and presses a kiss to your shoulder to prove it.

You laugh softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love that about me.”

You turn in his arms until you’re face to face. His eyes are warm in the dim light, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

“I do,” you murmur. “I love everything about you.”

He leans in, kisses you — slow and unhurried. Not out of need, but out of affection. Out of something deeper. His hand cradles your jaw as he does it again, then again, softer each time, like he’s trying to say things he doesn’t have words for.

You kiss him back, just as slow.

He pulls back only slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I want it all with you,” he says. “The boring parts. The little arguments. Taxes. Grocery lists and laundry days and late-night walks when we can’t sleep. All of it. I want to grow old with you.”

Your throat tightens, but not from grief this time. From something tender. Something whole.

“You have me,” you whisper. “For as long as we both get.”

He kisses you again, this time on your nose. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. Then your lips again, just because he can.

Eventually, you settle into the silence, warm and safe under the covers, his arm around your waist and your head tucked beneath his chin. His breathing evens out first, deep and steady, but his hold on you never loosens.

You stay awake a little longer, just watching him. Memorizing the curve of his mouth, the softness in his face, the way he looks at peace when he’s finally, finally allowed to rest.

And before you let yourself drift too, you whisper it one last time, just to be sure he hears it — even if he’s already asleep.

“I’ll love you when we’re old. And after that, too.”

And in his sleep, Satoru smiles.

i miss you

and i wonder how you feel about me too

do you miss the way we would play

and waste our time away?

the silver chain around yuta's neck sits upon a glistening layer of sweat accumulating on his pale skin, his hand clutching the small locket you had gifted him a mere three weeks before he left. inside was a photo of the moon that you had taken six months back, on the night he had finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

he had never expected himself to ever find love throughout his lifetime, being sick throughout his childhood and bullied during his middle school years left him broken and dejected. in his eyes you were a saviour, an angel sent from heaven to show him what life was 'supposed' to feel like.

watching low-budget action films after a long day of training, doodling on each others homework, kicking the vending machine during break time to get a jammed cereal bar off the shelf before bursting into a fit of giggles when you accidentally knocked the wrong item off the shelf. all these seemingly normal activities were foreign to him until the day he joined jujutsu high, when you showed him the whole world he'd been shut out of for almost all his life.

suddenly, we're apart

and i cant see you every night

though we'd fight i loved you so much

now i can't feel your touch

he slowly let go of the necklace, bringing a hand to shield his weary eyes from the unforgiving beams of sunlight shining down at him. he had approximately three keychains and four intricately beaded bracelets stuffed in his pockets that he'd bought as souvenirs for you and his classmates.

the sound of the bustling streets and the inaudible chatter of passersby surrounding him was tuned out of his head as he gazed up at the blue sky above him. yuta found himself wondering what you we currently doing, what time it was back home, how excited you would be when he returned home. he was beginning to forget the ghostly feeling of your arms around him with each day that passed.

his phone service was never great, and with every day consisting of extensive training paired with regular travelling it was nearly impossible to keep in consistent contact with you, but regardless, he had thought of you for what felt like every living second of his time abroad.

oh, girlfriend

that's the end

and i'm lost without your love

oh, love

he was unknowing of the horrors that had stormed through tokyo until an entire day after. the flight home was spent staring at the same text message on his phone; "baby i heard about the situation in shibuya, are you safe? are the others okay too?" the red exclamation point beside his message indicating that it was not delivered taunting him, jeering in his face, reminding him just how little control he had in that moment.

the infirmary was cold and unrelenting, the scent of antiseptic filling his nostrils as yuta pulled the curtain separating him from you after six long months of slow replies over text and daydreaming of your face every chance he could spare.

exhausted eyes flutter open to meet his as you emerge from your sleep, you gaze up at him as he studies your face in concern. stitches and bruises litter your face and body, one arm noticeably bandaged and elevated, shattering his heart at the sight. "yu...ta..?" your voice was weaker than you had previously expected, your words coming out raspy and coarse. "[name].. i'm here now, i'm home." he drops to his knees on the freezing floor of your bedside before tears begin to cloud his vision, distorting his view and blinding himself with his sorrow.

"you... you missed everything." you mumble with the little strength in your lungs, head turned to the side as you watch him clutch your hand in both of his. "i know, i'm sorry, im so sorry. i'll never leave you again," his voice was shaky as he broke out into hushed sobs, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. as your hand made contact with his lips you mustered the strength to face away from him before reluctantly speaking once more, "it's too late. we needed you, and you weren't there when it mattered."

the look of concern he previously wore began to morph into one of dread as his eyes shifted back to your face, the realisation hitting him instantaneously. there was no going back to what once was, the lazy smiles and sneaking over to each others dorms was now replaced with an unfamiliar hole in his heart where your love once was. the distance between you wasn't the only thing that brought your love to it's end, it was the way you had both grown, the process of learning how to live in two separate worlds from each other, and the way those two worlds would only meet once more after the storm had passed.

⟢ secretly does chores you hate but makes it look like a joke so it doesn’t feel like he's working

"vacuum vs gojo: final showdown. spoiler alert: i win."

"i dusted, i conquered, i survived. now my queen may smile.”

⟢ he has zero concept of how a washing machine works. he throws expensive designer shirts in with your gym clothes on a heavy-duty cycle so you eventually had to ban him from the laundry room for the sake of his wardrobe (and your sanity)

⟢ piles laundry dramatically and makes you fold it together as a 'game'

⟢ he randomly reorganizes things for fun sometimes annoyingly, sometimes pleasantly by making your space more convenient

˚*ੈ clinginess in the most casual way

⟢ personal space? never heard of such a concept

⟢ gojo is a physical leaner. if you’re washing dishes, he hugs you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder, if you’re on the couch reading his legs are draped over yours, if you're watching a movie he snuggles up to you like a cat and demands to be paid attention to

⟢ pokes or tickles you just to get a laugh then swoops in for hugs or kisses

⟢ never goes to sleep without you and never lets you go to sleep without him

"you're tired too, you just don’t know it yet. let me show you."

"oh you think you can stay awake? cute but wrong."

"c'mon, it’s gonna be nice… quiet, soft, just us."

"fine, fine… you sleep, i sleep… but only because it’s you."

˚*ੈ night routine with him is unexpectedly soft

⟢ he dramatically announces bedtime

"baby prepare yourself… bedtime is mandatory and i'm the enforcer.”

⟢ adjusts the pillows and the light, makes it cozy

⟢ even if he is not going to sleep he goes to bed with you just to cuddle and be with you because he loves the intimacy

⟢ uses you as a pillow or wraps himself around you like a giant octopus while he continues to look at his phone or read over your shoulder

⟢ he lets you choose the cuddling position from the following three: spooning, you curling up to his neck, or your head on his chest

⟢ he stays alert until he knows you’re settled and asleep even if he is already tired

⟢ he wakes up during the night for a moment and instictively checks if you kicked the covers off you, if so he covers you back

⟢ when he’s asleep his infinity is usually active but your touch is whitelisted in his subconscious so you don't hit his invisible barrier, it's the ultimate 'i love you'

⟢ if you can't drift off he talks about literally nothing until you fall asleep cause he knows his voice calms you

⟢ sleeps entangled with you, legs intertwined and arms wrapped around each other

⟢ if you wake up in discomfort (cramps, nightmares, anxiety) he is instantly awake

⟢ he rubs your lower back or stomach, pulls you even closer to him and hums or whispers

"it's okay, i've got you… always.”

⟢ if you ever move slightly away from him even if unconscious he senses it and pulls you back to himself instinctively

⟢ he prefers the both of you sleeping in your underwear cause he loves being skin to skin with you and he knows you can't get cold cause he's right next to you as your human heater

˚*ੈ his emotional and mental support is constant

⟢ when the strongest sorcerer in the world—a man who literally carries the weight of the balance of the world on his shoulders—sees his person struggling his entire energy shifts, he drops the invincible act immediately

⟢ he doesn't just sympathize. he approaches your mental health with the same terrifyingly efficient focus he uses in a fight, but with a tenderness he shows no one else

⟢ because of his six eyes he can see the physiological changes in you before you even realize you're spiraling, he notices your breathing is slightly shallower and your cursed energy or just your vibe is jagged

⟢ he doesn't always ask because he knows sometimes it's a hard question to answer so he just appears next to you, places a hand on your head, and gently ruffle your hair

⟢ however if he feels he needs to or he can, he asks softly

"wanna tell me what's on your mind baby?"

"you know i notice when you're not okay, right? wanna talk about it?"

"what's got that serious face on… and can i fix it?"

"is it something i can fix for you?"

⟢ he is incredibly observant and even without his six eyes he noticies the tiniest cues and shifts in the most natural way because he's learned you

⟢ when you're mentally unwell he physically blocks people from bothering you. if your phone's blowing up with texts you don't wanna deal with he 'accidentally' misplace it for an hour or so while he distracts you

⟢ he knows what it’s like to feel like you have to be 'on' all the time so he holds you as long as you need him to and softly whispers reassurances

"you don't have to be strong right now. i'm strong enough for both of us. just be."

"i understand... sometimes it's hard but we'll figure everything out together."

"i'm here and i'll always help you babe."

⟢ if you don't wanna talk he quietly exists with you

⟢ no matter how chaotic it's out there for him he at home he's grounded for you

⟢ he is a very tactile healer. he pulls you into his lap and let you listen to his heartbeat, since he uses rct constantly he always feels solid and warm

⟢ even when he is the one who had a rough day his prescence is calming

⟢ he behaves extra ridiculous; he makes terrible puns and jokes or do 'magic tricks' with his infinity just to get even a tiny, tired smile out of you

⟢ if you have anxiety attacks or panic he talks to you a firm, low voice. he holds your hands, make you match his breathing and stays perfectly still until he's sure you're okay

⟢ if you're depressed or lethargic he doesn't judge you for staying in bed instead he climbs in with you

⟢ he brings 'bed-friendly' (in his terms) snacks and puts on a mindless movie, happy to just exist in the dark with you

⟢ if you're overwhelmed and break down crying he becomes a human shield

⟢ he wraps his arms (and his infinity) around you so the rest of the world literally cannot touch you while you let it out

⟢ the most telling part of his behavior is that he stops talking, usually he is a chatterbox but when you’re hurting he becomes remarkably quiet

⟢ so he listens. lets you vent for hours without interrupting, his blue eyes fixed on yours with a depth of empathy that most people never get to see

˚*ੈ weekends with him are unpredictable

⟢ saturday is gojo's rot day, after a week of saving the world, he wants to pretend he doesn't have a single responsibility

⟢ he wakes up around 11pm and he refuses to leave the bed. if you try to get up he uses his infinity to trap you under the covers with him until he decides he’s had enough morning cuddles

⟢ he assembles brunch, he orders delivery from god knows how many different places—one for the best pancakes, one for the best fruit, and one for a specific coffee so the kitchen counter becomes a graveyard of expensive takeout containers

⟢ then he moves onto his useless phase. he spends three hours lying horizontally on the sofa with his head in your lap, demanding you play with his hair while he watches trashy reality tv or scrolls through memes to show you

⟢ by evening his energy spikes and you find yourself either on teleportation or normal dates or a shopping spree

⟢ normal dates with gojo usually mean vip underground places, he likes high contrast places and environments. you can't expect the strongest to go on actual normal dates

⟢ his first go to date are vip only lounges in the heart of shibuya where the entry fee alone is enough to buy a small car. he rents out the entire owner's table and order the most expensive champagne on the menu just to use it as a mixer for his fruit juice because he doesn't like the taste of alcohol

⟢ the second one is places with puzzle entrances, he doesn't tell you where you’re going. he leads you to a row of lockers, watch you look confused, and then pull a specific handle that swings open to reveal a sprawling, velvet-lined underground jazz bar or some high class club

⟢ the third and his favorite: private or no-entry rooftops. gojo has connections everywhere, he loves taking you to a private, helipad or a garden on top of a building owned by a wealthy clan he once helped

⟢ he uses his ct to bring a 5-star dinner from a ginza restaurant directly to the roof. you sit on a designer rug in the middle of a helipad, surrounded by the silence of the upper atmosphere

⟢ or he uses infinity to create a literal floor in mid-air so you can sit comfortably without falling. he brings a weighted blanket and a 5-star takeout meal

⟢ this is where he is most affectionate regarding pda. without the noise of the city or the eyes of his students, he pulls you into his lap and just watch the lights of tokyo sparkle below

"if i let go of the world, it might fall apart. but if i let go of you? i'd fall apart so sorry, you’re stuck with me."

"everything down there is so small. The people, the problems, the fear... it’s all insignificant. but you? you're the only thing in this entire world that feels bigger than me. and i'm the strongest there is, so that’s really saying something."

⟢ if it's a shopping spree day he treats his credit card like it has infinite health points, buys everything that your gaze lingers on and he doesn't even look at the bill, just hands over a black credit card and keeps talking to you about a cat he saw earlier

⟢ sunday is when he tries to act like a regular boyfriend

⟢ total bum mode. oversized hoodies, grey sweatpants, and messy hair. he looks like a college student who hasn't seen the sun

⟢ more trashy tv, he's the one always talking throughout the movie; making fun of everything and roasting the life decisions of the character

⟢ he spends an hour or two grading his students' reports. he reads the funny ones out loud to you, complaining about how 'his kids' are such headaches but the look in his eyes is pure affection

⟢ then he proceeds to the brainrot phase again wşth video games this time, because of his six eyes his reaction time is literal milliseconds, which makes him nearly unbeatable—and he is insufferable to play against

⟢ if you're playing a horror game he intentionally walks into a jump-scare just to see if he can scare you

⟢ he has a thing he calls 'the gojo control grip'. he sits behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist so he can 'help' you aim. you feel his chin resting on your shoulder and his white hair tickling your cheek as he whispers exactly when to press the buttons

⟢ toward the end of a long sunday of gaming and movies, his energy gets heavy and sweet. he stops the annoying gamer act, puts the controller down, and pulls you into his chest

''y'know out there, everyone wants me to solve their problems but in here? you just want me to finish the tasks of a game or pick a movie. it's the only time my brain feels like it’s actually on vacation. thanks for being my pause button, babe."

⟢ by the time the sun starts to set, gojo winds down. he gets something warm to drink and goes to the balcony to watch the sunset with you

⟢ he seats you on the swing but more often than not, he just sits on the floor of the balcony and pull you between his knees so you can lean back against his chest

⟢ he wraps his long arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. he is heavy and warm, a solid weight that reminds you he’s actually there

⟢ he talks about nothing and everything; his students, his planned future with you and his feelings in the softest voice as he breathes your scent in

"i spend all week looking at 'ends.' end of missions, end of curses, end of problems. but watching the day end with you? it's the only 'end' that doesn't feel heavy. it just feels like a reset."

"you see megumi, yuji, yuta, maki... they’re so stubborn, i love that about them. i'm raising them to be strong, yeah, but i'm really raising them to be free. i don't want them to ever feel as alone as i did at their age."

"i want to see what happens when the dust settles. i want to see megumi actually smile for once and i want to see yuji eat a meal without worrying about a finger. and i want to see you every single morning without having to leave our bed and go deal with the world. that's the only future i'm actually fighting for."

"we'll have the kids over for dinner. they'll complain about my cooking—which will be terrible, obviously—and they’ll roll their eyes at us. we'll be the 'cool aunt and uncle' who actually changed the world so they didn't have to."

"i know i'm a lot to handle. i know my life is a mess of curses and politics but i'm building a space in the middle of all that chaos just for you. and one day, that space is going to be our entire world. just wait for me, yeah? i'm going to give you a future that’s actually worth living in."

˚*ੈ other gojo-ish things he does that are fun, teasing, loving and caring

⟢ he loves to 'supervise' you when you’re doing things, often hovering over you with annoying commentary

"are you sure you're doing it right?"

"let me demonstrate... dramatically."

⟢ sometimes you catch him just looking at you from across the room. because of the six eyes he processes every atom of your being and when ask what he's doing, he just grins and says something flirty

"just making sure you’re still the prettiest thing in the room. update: you are."

⟢ he loves using infinity for the most mundane things, if you try to throw something at him he leaves it active just to watch that something hover an inch from his face while he smirks at you

⟢ he goes out for milk, comes back with a new espresso machine, three designer bags, and a giant plushie because ' looked like you, babe.'

⟢ he uses his height to put things on the highest shelves specifically so you have to ask him for help, then he attempts to charm you by dramatically presenting them to you

"a gift from your tall, handsome knight.”

⟢ he finds the "can you reach this?" request incredibly endearing

⟢ his tone is always calm, soft and low when it's just the two of you

⟢ on rainy days, he pus you into a nest of fluffy blankets and just talks. it's one of the moments when his 'the strongest' persona drops

⟢ he talks about his students, his worries, or just silly things he wants to do with you in the next ten years

⟢ he always knows when you're arriving home before you even turn the key, he stands right behind the door to 'scare' you (read: hug you immediately)

⟢ he has secret snack stashes everywhere in the house, hidden in the weirdest places—behind the laundry detergent, in your sock drawer... he claims it's for 'emergencies' but the emergency is usually just 11:00 pm on a tuesday

⟢ if you’re eating something, he steals a bite even if he has his own. especially if he has his own, it's a mandatory tax for being the strongest's girlfriend

okkotsu yuta

˚*ੈ mornings with him are quiet and peaceful

⟢ he wakes up early but he is very still, he just lies there and watches you sleep with a look of pure disbelief that he gets to have this life

⟢ after years of isolation and fear, seeing you peacefully resting in his bed is his daily proof that he’s found a home

⟢ he’s the king of 'five more minutes' of cuddling

⟢ he is incredibly careful not to wake you while he gets out of bed to go make breakfast, he untangles himself from your limbs with surgical precision and makes sure the covers are still on you

⟢ after he gets off the bed he goes to the kitchen to make a balanced breakfast before you wake up, if he hears you stir he instantly makes coffee and hands it you with the most adorable smile before giving you a good morning kiss when you walk into the kitchen

⟢ yuta is a very sentimental person and he’s always a little worried when he has to leave for a mission

⟢ he pulls you into a deep hug, buries his face in the crook of your neck and take a long breath, memorizing your scent to carry with him throughout the day

⟢ he always says some variation of, 'i'll be back early' or 'text me what you want for dinner, i'll shop'. to him, these mundane promises are a vow that he will make it home safely, no matter what curse he's facing

˚*ੈ house chores with him are a form of grounding

⟢ after years of feeling like his power was destructive, performing mundane and constructive tasks like folding laundry or scrubbing a sink feels incredibly healing to him

⟢ sharing a home with him means living in one of the cleanest, most organized spaces in tokyo purely because he finds peace in the order

⟢ he never lets you do the chores you hate. in fact he rarely lets you do the chores no matter how tired he is, he likes doing them cause ordinary work is a form of grounding for him

"i've got it love, really. go pick a movie for us, i'll finish up in a bit."

⟢ but if you're doing them together you don't seperate. if you're doing something in the kitchen he is in the kitchen, if you move to the living room to dust he is right there to vacuum

⟢ he pauses every few minutes to look at you and smiles

⟢ if he sees you struggling with a heavy basket or reaching for a high shelf he is behind you in a heartbeat, taking the weight before you even have to ask

⟢ if a load of laundry just came out of the dryer, he wait until you aren't looking and drape a warm, fluffy towel over your head, laughing softly when you peek out

⟢ when you're cooking together he's so observant that he has the salt ready before you reach for it or he starts washing the knife you just put down

⟢ he loves it when you offer him a bite of whatever you’re making

⟢ he always does the dishes cause he doesn't want chemicals touching your skin

˚*ੈ clinginess in a subconscious and subtle way

⟢ yuta has a subconscious need to be physically connected to you when you’re in the same room. it's not always a full body cling but at least a tether like

⟢ if you’re sitting on the couch, instead of sitting next to you sometimes he sits on the floor between your legs, leaning his entire weight back against you

⟢ he loves it when you play with his hair, it's one of the few things that can actually make him drift off into a nap

⟢ when he can't be physically touching you, he clings to your scent. if you’re away for the day, he naps on your side of the bed because it smells like you (hugging your clothes at the same time)

⟢ his clinginess is also mental, he needs to know you feel at peace.

⟢ if you go into another room for a while comes to check on you under the disguise of 'needing a tshirt' or 'asking you a quick question'

⟢ he just needs to see you for a second to reset his internal anxiety so once he sees you’re okay, he smiles softly, give you a quick kiss and wander back to what he was doing

⟢ yuta is a magnet in bed. no matter how big the bed is, you wake up with zero space between you

⟢ he has a habit of tucking his face into the crook of your neck or yours into him when you sleep

⟢ his clinginess is most visible when one of you has to leave the house

⟢ yuta is the king of the lingering goodbye. he finds one more thing to tell you, one more stray hair to tuck behind your ear or one more quick hug

⟢ even inside the house if you're going to another room he finds an excuse to go too just cause he wants to walk those ten feet with you

˚*ੈ nights with him are soft and safe

⟢ night time is is when the 'special grade' weight finally leaves his shoulders. yuta is someone who has spent a lot of his life feeling haunted or isolated so the quiet hours of the night with you are incredibly precious to him

⟢ he is the king of mood lighting, he turns off the big lights and switches on warm lamps or candles cause he wants the world to feel small and contained

⟢ he makes a pot of some kind of herbal tea and brings out snacks, this is the most talkative part of yuta's day

⟢ he tells you about his day. something toge did, a funny thing that panda said or a cute cat he saw, kind of curses they dealt with and wants to hear all about your day too

⟢ he carries a lot of tension in cause of his massive cursed energy so at the end of the day he loves a long, warm bath. if you join him he’s very respectful and gentle, usually using the time to wash your hair and enjoy the intimacy you two have

⟢ he has no understanding of personal space when it's time to sleep, usually pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms and legs around you like he’s subconsciously making sure you don't disappear while he's sleeping

⟢ if you get restless or wake up he wakes up instantly. he doesn't ask if you’re okay he just starts rubbing your back in slow, rhythmic circles until you drift off again

⟢ he is a human furnace, he pulls you closer to share his body heat until you’re completely warm

⟢ if he has a bad dream he doesn't wake you up. he just tightens his grip on you and take deep breaths. if you wake up, he gives you a sleepy, apologetic smile and kiss your forehead

⟢ before he closes his eyes, he always whispers a very quiet 'good night baby, i love you.' he never skips it

⟢ he takes off his ring and set it on the nightstand right next to your jewelry, it's a symbolic way of saying he’s off duty

⟢ yuta struggles with total silence, it makes him think too much. if the room is too quiet, he might stay awake just to listen to you breathing, finding comfort in the fact that you’re safe and sound right next to him or he open a white noise video like rain sound before he lays down beside you

˚*ੈ his emotional and mental support is gentle

⟢ since yuta has spent so much of his life carrying heavy emotional burdens, he is very practical about relief. if you are mentally unwell, he silently takes over the functioning part of your life. he tides up the space around you, dims the lights, and brings snacks and something warm to drink and places them within your reach

⟢ he is not the type to offer toxic positivity, having dealt with intense trauma and the literal manifestation of grief, he respects the weight of your feelings. he pulls you into a warm hug and offers reassurances

"you don't have to be okay right now. i'm not going anywhere."

"your mind is being a bit mean to you today, isn't it? that's okay. you don't have to believe what it's saying right now. i'll hold onto the truth for both of us until you’re ready to see it again. you're doing enough just by breathing."

⟢ he knows it's hard to answer questions so he uses a thumb system. thumbs up for okay, middle for tired, down for bad. it allows you to communicate without needing to find words you don't have

⟢ he doesn't pressure you to function, he mirrors your pace. he just lets you be. you wanna sleep? he cuddles you. you only ate two bites? he is happy you ate at all. if you wanna sit in a dark room all day and do nothing, he's perfectly content to sit in the corner with a book in his hand

⟢ if you find comfort in physical touch, he lets you cling to him for as long as you need. he pulls you to himself, cuddling you along with kisses and playing with your hair

⟢ he becomes a very polite but firm wall between you and the rest of the world. if friends text or family calls, he handles it and takes the guilt of disappearing off your shoulders

⟢ if he has to go to a mission when you're having a bad day he gets a little worried

"call me if you need to hear my voice or the room feels too big or... anything. i'll stay on the line."

"i'll be back before you know it, text me how you're doing, yeah?"

˚*ੈ weekends with him are slow

⟢ weekends with yuta are intentionally slow. gicem how chaotic his professional life is, he treats the two days off as a sacred bubble for the two of you. he isn't one for packed itineraries or loud social gatherings; he wants to reclaim the time he loses to the rest of the world

⟢ saturday is no-alarm day, he still wakes up before you but stays tucked behind you, tracing mindless patterns on your arm or the back of your hand, just enjoying the fact that he doesn't have to be anywhere

⟢ since he likes to take care of things, saturday mornings usually involve him making a proper breakfast for the two of you. he is the type to get very focused on the details—making sure the coffee is exactly how you like it or perfecting the fold of an omelet

⟢ if you have things to do during the day, saturday is his support day. he sets up a workspace for you, bring you snacks without you asking, and then sit nearby with a book. he loves the parallel play of being productive in the same room

⟢ saturday nights are for the movies or shows you’ve been meaning to catch up on. yuta is a great person to watch things with because he gets genuinely invested. if you’re watching something like love, death + robots, he wants to talk about the animation or the 'what if' scenarios afterward

⟢ since he is very big on vibes, by 7:00 pm the big lights are off, the candles or warm lamps are on, and the house feels completely separate from the outside world

⟢ sunday is the day for doing nothing. if you want to stay in your pajamas until 4:00 pm he’s right there with you. he makes it feel okay to be unproductive

⟢ you find find him doing the quiet chores—folding the laundry while watching a youtube video, or organizing the bookshelf. he finds these repetitive tasks grounding

⟢ if you join him, it usually turns into a chat session where he opens up more than he does during the busy work week

⟢ in the evening, he has a routine of getting ready for the coming week. though it's not work prep; it’s making sure you are set up. he checks if you have clean clothes, if the fridge is stocked for your lunches, and if you’re feeling mentally ready for monday

˚*ੈ other yuta-ish things he does that are gentle and loving

⟢ since he spent so much time being isolated, he overcompensates now by being an incredible listener. when you speak, he isn't just waiting for his turn to talk; he watches you with a soft, steady intensity that makes you feel like the only person in the room

⟢ he has a reflexive apology setting. he apologizes for taking up too much space on the couch, for the tea being too hot, or even for you tripping over something he didn't even put there

⟢ when he is relaxed at home, he has a bit of a comfortable slouch—very 'tired student' energy.

⟢ but the second he feels you are in distress or there’s a problem to solve, his posture shifts instantly. his shoulders square, his chin lifts, and the special grade presence comes out even if he’s just going to the kitchen over a weird noise

⟢ his personal belongings are usually very tidy but he has a high tolerance for your mess. he won't nag you to clean; he just silently picks up your discarded socks or organize your scattered script pages into a neat pile while you’re in the shower

⟢ he has a subtle routine of checking the locks and the windows before going to bed. it's not paranoia; it’s a deeply ingrained protective instinct. he only truly relaxes once he knows the perimeter of your safe space is secure

⟢ he checks in often, not in an annoying way but a genuine one. he's hyper aware of your comfort level

"are you sure you're warm enough?"

"do you wanna eat a bit more?"

⟢ he struggles with overly complicated smart-home tech or trendy apps. he prefers physical things like paper books

-your house keys are covered in countless keyrings that he picked up for you on all his missions. whenever you need to get them out to unlock the door it makes the loundest jingling sound ever with the sheer amount of keychains clanking off each other.

suguru geto

-will sew/patch up any wear and tear in your clothes if you want to keep wearing them

-if he notices that a specific skincare/makeup product you have is running low, he'll buy you a new one without having to be asked. its always the biggest version of the product too

-if you enjoy playing multiplayer games (roblox, minecraft, fortnite, literally ANYTHING) he will download them just to play with you, sometimes he doesn't really know what he's doing so he just lets you take the lead and learns from you as you play together

toji fushiguro

-will watch your favourite shows/movies so that you always have someone to talk to about your interests. he acts like he didn't enjoy them, saying things like "that character was a bitch, 'dont know why you like him so much" but deep down he did like the show enough to watch the entire thing for you

-memorises your orders at different cafes/fast food places, and will pick up your go-to order on the way home

-if he hears gossip at work, he knows you'll want to hear more details than just the surface level information when he tells you later that night, so he purposely asks more questions purely just to tell you as much as he can find out as possible once he's home.

yuta okkotsu

-cuts fruit for you, bringing you the cutest fruit platters to snack on while you relax together

-whenever he asks for your advice on something, he always completely follows your advice completely, with full trust in your ideas and opinion.

-has a pinterest board of photos that remind him of you; cute scenes pretty album covers, stuffed animals, pretty food and drinks, couple photos, EVERYTHING. he take you on dates inspired by the photos, try to recreate cute couple photos, take candids of you, try to make you food or drink inspired by what he's seen online, find clothes and jewellery to buy you that fit your vibe, it's like a moodboard for your relationship.

megumi fushiguro

-makes shared playlists with you, and if you ever recommend him a particular music artist he will listen to them on repeat for days before reporting back to you with his opinions on different songs, aswell as telling you his personal favourite song by them !!

-will bring you home small trinkets that he saw whilst out and about that he thought you'd like

-keeps on top of what couple trends are floating about online, if he sees you looking at some new kind of boo basket or gift boxes trending on tiktok, he'll have one for you only a couple days later

kento nanami

-spent hours learning how to tie, straighten, and braid hair, so that if you're ever running late in the morning he can do your hair whilst you eat breakfast or do your makeup

-plans days out or dates for the two of you to go on. you don't need to lift a finger, he has an entire day plan with no empty spaces and everything booked based on what you've been craving recently, how the weather is supposed to be, and if you will need some time to explore the area around you or chill at times.

-has a photo of you and him together in his wallet and on his home screen on his phone.

choso kamo

-if you ever order drinks together at a cafe and end up not liking the taste of the drink you got, he will always swap with you and give you his, no matter how much he loved his own drink, even if he doesn't like yours either he'll still drink it :( the sacrifice is worth it to him

-his handwriting is naturally pretty messy, but whenever he's writing birthday cards/shopping lists/ or even just random notes meant for you to read, he will purposely write slower and as neatly as possible, even trying to draw a little heart at the end of his message sometimes

-if you ever compliment his jewellery he will genuinely just give it to you and let you keep it, no matter how special it was to him. if you feel too guilty about keeping it, he offers that you can share it and each wear it whenever it goes well with your outfit.