Bam, I Nippled Your Anime Guy

I'm convinced sharing a bed with Satan, Belphie or Mammon is a similar experience to sharing a bed with my cat. You go to bed with him right next to you tucked into your arm all cute and shit. Then you wake up diagonally and he's somehow sideways in the middle of the fucking bed

*solmare voice* and we will create a character that is so divorced single mother coded

forever gorgeous. feat. gojo satoru

synopsis: comparison is the thief of joy — in which you feel insecure, but luckily you have the prettiest man to ever exist to comfort you

content: gojo x reader, angst w comfort, face dysmorphia, insecurities, fem!reader, comparisons to others, crying, mental health issues, and self-hatred

a/n: this may be self indulgent...anyways, i just wanted to let you all know that you're fucking beautiful in your own special way. everyone is different and that's what makes us gorgeous. you don't need to compare yourself to other people because you were born with features made just for you. i know it's useless when someone tells you "you're pretty so you don't have to be insecure" because that changes nothing, but it is possible to learn to love yourself for who you are. i love you ❤︎

you stand in front of the mirror, your gaze locked on the reflection staring back at you. every line, every shadow, every imperfection catches your eye. you lean in closer, inspecting the fine lines etched across your forehead, the dark circles haunting your eyes, the uneven texture of your skin. each flaw, no matter how small, feels magnified under the harsh light, glaring at you, accusing you.

your fingers trace the contours of your face, searching for something familiar, something you can still recognize as yourself. but the more you look, the more alien this face becomes. you notice the dullness in your eyes, the way your lips seem to have lost their fullness, how your once-bright complexion has faded to a pallor. you pick at the imperfections, the scars, the blemishes, as if by doing so you could somehow erase them, erase the person you've become, or the person you've always been.

but it never works. the more you scrutinize, the more you find to despise. it's as if the mirror is a portal to another world, a world where you’re distorted and twisted, where every flaw is exaggerated, every imperfection a glaring fault. you feel trapped, caught in an endless loop of self-criticism and loathing. the person in the mirror is a stranger, someone you can’t relate to, someone you’re ashamed of.

you step back, but the image remains imprinted in your mind, haunting you. you don’t recognize yourself anymore, and the thought terrifies you. the person you used to be is slipping away, and all that’s left is this reflection, this version of you that you can’t stand to look at.

it's tearing you apart, this obsession, this constant need to pick yourself apart piece by piece. but you can’t stop. you don’t know how to stop. so you stand there, day after day, searching for the person you once were, and hating the person you’ve become.

you feel the tears welling up, a slow, inevitable tide that you can’t hold back. standing there, staring into the mirror, you’re overwhelmed by a crushing sense of despair. it's not just the reflection that you can’t stand—it’s the thought of anyone else seeing it, of anyone else having to look at you the way you’re forced to now. the idea of their eyes tracing the same flaws that you obsess over, the same imperfections that you magnify in your mind, is too much to bear.

you breath catches in your throat as the first tear slips down your cheek, and then another. the tears blur your vision, but it doesn’t soften the image in the mirror. if anything, the distortion makes it worse, turning your reflection into something even more grotesque in your mind. you press your hands against your face, trying to hide from the world, but mostly from yourself.

it breaks your heart, this self-loathing. because deep down, you know it’s not supposed to be this way. you know it's not something you can change, it's just something you have to learn to live with and that makes it even more unbearable. the thought that this pain is, in some twisted way, your own doing, or at least your own responsibility to fix, weighs on you like a leaden cloak. you know you could learn to love yourself if you wanted to, but the sheer weight of that knowledge only adds to the hurt, making the tears come faster, harder. you don't want to love yourself, not this version of you at least. you don't think you deserve it.

you sob quietly, the sound almost foreign to your ears, like it’s coming from someone else. but it’s you—it’s all you. you're trapped in this body, this mind, this reflection that you can’t escape. and the pain isn’t just in how you look; it’s in how you feel about it, in the heartbreak of knowing that you’ve become someone you don’t want to be, someone you’re afraid to let others see.

the tears keep coming, and you let them, because at least in crying, you can release some of the pressure building inside. but it doesn’t bring relief, only more heartache, as you stand there, unable to face yourself, unable to bear the thought that anyone else might have to as well.

you don’t hear him at first. you're too lost in your thoughts, too caught up in the tears that won’t stop falling. but then, suddenly, you sense him—gojo, walking into the room with that easy smile he always wears, the one that usually makes your heart skip a beat. he's about to say something, maybe a joke or a playful comment, but then he sees you.

his smile falters, replaced by a look of concern so deep it cuts through your haze of self-loathing. “hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft and full of worry as he moves closer to you. the sight of him, the sound of his voice, only makes the tears come faster, and you turn away, desperate to hide from him, to keep him from seeing you like this.

but he’s already seen. “what happened, baby?” he asks again, his tone more urgent as he reaches for you. the touch of his hand on your shoulder sends a fresh wave of pain through you, not because it hurts, but because you know he’s looking at you—really looking at you. the thought of him seeing you the way you see yourself, seeing all the flaws you can’t stand, makes your chest tighten with panic.

“please, don’t,” you manage to choke out, trying to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let you go. he's persistent, as he always is, and his arms wrap around you, holding you close despite your attempts to escape. “hey, it’s okay. whatever it is, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady, soothing, but all it does is make the tears fall harder because nothing about this is okay.

you can’t stand it, the idea of him having to see you like this, broken and falling apart over something you know you shouldn’t let consume you. you struggle weakly against him, but he holds you tighter, refusing to let you go. “i'm here,” he says softly, his voice right next to your ear now, and despite everything, despite how much you hate yourself in this moment, a part of you can’t help but cling to him, needing his strength.

he doesn’t ask again what’s wrong; he just holds you, letting you cry into his chest, his hand gently stroking your hair. you're overwhelmed by the kindness in his touch, the way he’s there for you even when you feel so unworthy of it. It’s almost too much to bear, this tenderness from him, but you let yourself sink into it because there’s nowhere else to go. his arms are a refuge from the storm inside you, and even though you don’t understand how he can still want to be with you after seeing you like this, you’re grateful for his warmth, for the way he loves you even when you can’t love yourself.

a few minutes pass, the silence between you filled only with the sound of your quiet sobs and the steady rhythm of his breathing. gojo doesn’t say anything; he just holds you close, his arms strong and reassuring around you. you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and calm, a contrast to the turmoil inside you. the warmth of his embrace slowly starts to ease the tension in your body, his presence a balm against the rawness of your emotions.

you can sense his patience, the way he’s waiting for you, not pushing, just being there. it's that patience, that unwavering support, that finally makes you feel safe enough to speak. you pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and you see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s completely focused on you, ready to listen.

“i just… i don’t know how to explain it,” you begin, your voice shaky, but he nods encouragingly, his thumb gently brushing away the tears still lingering on your cheek. “i hate myself. every day i wake up and i hate myself. i hate the way i look so much that it hurts...it's like i don't even know who i'm looking at and it doesn't help that i have to see it everyday. it's not something i can run from, it's apart of me forever and i hate it.”

he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to correct you or tell you that you’re wrong. he just listens, his blue eyes never leaving yours, his expression so attentive, so full of empathy, that it almost hurts. you take a shaky breath and continue, the words spilling out now, all the fears and insecurities you’ve been bottling up inside. “and i've tried so hard to love myself and find beauty in what i see, but i can't. nothing about me is pretty. i sit in the mirror for hours trying to convince myself that any part of me is worth looking at. there has to be something about me that isn't ugly, but there isn't. and i hate going out because if i see it, then everyone does. i have to go out surrounded by people who are normal, people who are naturally beautiful and i have to spend hours putting on makeup just to feel presentable...even that doesn't work anymore.”

as you talk, his arms tighten around you just a little, as if he’s trying to shield you from the pain of your own words. he doesn’t say anything yet, just lets you keep talking, letting out everything you’ve been holding back. there's a comfort in being able to voice these thoughts, to share them with someone who cares, someone who won’t judge you for them.

“i just don't understand why me,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “why do i have to look like this, why are you with me, just why me. and i'm scared...that maybe i'll always feel like this and that maybe you'll see me the way i see myself.”

for a moment, there’s only silence, the weight of your confession hanging in the air between you. but then he tilts your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. his expression is soft, tender, but there’s also a seriousness in his eyes, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise.

“first, thank you for sharing all of this with me. i know it wasn't easy,” he says quietly, his voice steady but full of feeling. “second, i see you, all of you, and i love every bit. it breaks my heart hearing you talk about yourself like this, my love, because you've always been so damn beautiful to me. i'm sure even if i saw you the way you see yourself, i'd love you the same, if not more. i just wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

he pauses, letting his words sink in, and then he adds, “i know you don't believe me and that's something we'll work on together because i will forever be by your side. but i do want you to know that you are forever gorgeous to me. and not just to me, to anyone with working eyes and everyone who loves you. beauty is never just what you see in the looks of someone, but in what you see when you look deeper beyond the surface. from the inside, out, you are beautiful. every piece of you, i love endlessly and nothing will ever change that. ”

you can see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he’s willing to stand by you, no matter what. it's a comfort you didn’t know you needed, but now that it’s there, it feels like a lifeline, something to hold onto in the darkness. you feel a small sense of relief, a lightness in your chest that wasn’t there before, and you realize that, for the first time in a long while, you’re not carrying this burden alone.

🐈‍⬛🤍

last week to get Gracie 🖤

✎ curiosity

- gojo satoru x reader

when gojo is found out by his own son during your nighttime activities

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact! crack, fluff, dad!gojo

note: based on a fun suggestion by anon! and it’s been sooo long in my drafts🤧 anyways gojo in phantom parade game is so otome-coded, look at his innocent face!—that's how he's going to be while explaining this to his son

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Nghh—Satoru... ah!" you mewled, breathless, right after the third time he made you cum on his fingers alone.

Gods, even with one kid already running around, Satoru never stopped acting like he desired you like when you were still newlyweds. The glint in his eyes never dulled—always smirking at you as if you were the prey, as he licked his fingers with a wicked smile.

"Ah, sweets, are you ready to take me in now?" he cooed in your ear. Really, he was at his limit, seeing how he brought pleasure to you as you writhed under him made him this close to becoming undone too.

With your nod of approval, he wasted no time. He gripped your hips, and swiftly slid his thick cock between your folds. As he sank into you—making himself fit, you accidentally let out a loud moan.

“So pretty,” Satoru groaned through clenched teeth, marveling at your scrunched face, feeling how your legs wrapped around his waist in compliance. “Still so tight for me...”

And the way you squeezed your eyes shut right before he started to pound into you made him finally lose it, as he hotly grunted in that raw, almost feral voice—

“All mine.”

With each thrust, you quite literally squealed. Seems like you were sensitive at this time of the month, because your senses were heightened and you couldn't help the nasty moans leaving your lips. The sensation of him repeatedly slamming his hips against you turned you into a crying mess, and had you totally forgetting that your toddler was sleeping just next door.

And when his climax exploded within you with one last powerful thrust, his hot cum spurting hard, stuffing you to the brim and painting your womb white— you clawed at him, tugged him closer to your breasts as a mix of scream and moan of his name escaped your lips, trembling at the depth to which he was burying himself inside you.

You were panting, totally spent, sensing the familiar way of his cum trickling down your thighs. And at that moment, you could have sworn you heard the patter of footsteps nearby. Before you could fully register it, Satoru hastily pulled the blanket to cover you both.

Suddenly, your bedroom's door swung open, revealing your precious boy standing there, visibly sleepy but worried. "Mama?"

You muttered your son's name weakly, disoriented, and it only served to worry him further. His little eyes widened, and he took a step—

"No, no, kiddo!" Satoru urged in a panic. "Stay there! Don't move!"

His son eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing? Why are you crushing mama?"

"I—" Satoru collected himself, and put on the most innocent smile. "I'm... helping mama to sleep, you see."

You went pale, now that you realized the situation you were in. Your son had just seen you and your husband in the middle of the act. You were silently grateful for Satoru's quick thinking for covering both of you to spare your son from the indecency.

"Helping?" your son gaped in disbelief. "But she was just crying!"

"Yeah, she cried because she couldn't sleep," Satoru blurted, still smiling benevolently like he hadn't nothing wrong. You felt the urge to facepalm at his terrible excuse and the irony of the situation—how close he was to collapsing beside you, and that he hadn't even pulled out of you yet.

Your intelligent boy wasn't easily convinced, that was what you would expect of him.

"How's you hovering over her will help her sleep?"

“With this position, she'll sleep more comfortably, you know,” he asserted confidently, prompting a subtle twitch in your eye. He turned to you, a stupid grin on his face. “And who knows, it might also help to make your sibling. Isn’t it true, dear?”

Satoru nudged your side, willing you to agree with him. You were in utter shock and shot him a dark glare, before looking at your distraught son in a flurry. “Y-yeah… I’m fine, baby. Go back to your room now.”

“You're not hurting, Mama?” the little boy asked you worriedly. Thank heavens he was more focused on you rather than Satoru's little comment.

“No. Your papa is just… trying to help. I’m okay, yeah?”

“If you say so…” your son pouted reluctantly. He shifted his gaze on his father and 'hmph'-ed in accusation. “You’re weird.”

"Hey!" Satoru exclaimed, comically offended. "What are you doing here, anyway? Can't you sleep?"

“I heard noises... and now I want to go to the bathroom…”

Your husband grunted. "Fine, I'll come with you. Just wait a moment and close the door, please?"

Your son threw one last concerned glance at you before shutting the door. Both of you let out collective sighs of relief.

“I swear, he’s such a brat. He used to be so lovable too,” Satoru grumbled under his breath, finally slipping out of you and rolled to your side. He playfully tapped your lower belly and winked. “I hope it’s a daughter next. She will surely be daddy's girl.”

Your body was still shivering as a result of your high earlier, and yet you still managed to side-eye him, hissing, “I'm going to kill you, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wha—”

“Sleep more comfortably? A sibling?”

“Well, can’t we just say that we’re going to give him—”

“Satoru, don’t you put more weird ideas in our son’s head.”

“But—!”

“The moment you do, and if I catch you, I swear to God, I'm banishing you from our bed.”

Epilogue

“Uncle Nanami… does sleeping in certain position will give me a sibling?”

Nanami almost choked on his own words. “What?”

On this rather fine day, he had agreed to help you keep an eye on your child, as both you and Satoru went on separate missions.

He might not be able to stand his senior, but Nanami couldn’t deny that he had a soft spot for the toddler even if he was a carbon copy of his father, as the boy was sweet and overall more like you in nature.

Your son blinked at him curiously. “Papa said not to tell this to mama, but when I asked, he was actually trying to give me a brother or sister to play with when he squished mama on the bed the other day.”

Nanami felt a vein about to burst at the very implication. In hindsight, he shouldn’t be surprised at Gojo Satoru’s unrefined parenting skills but then again, anything that annoying clown did always managed to surprise him one way or another. He let out a long sigh.

“Kid, forget what your father said.”

“Huh? Is that not true then?”

“Report this to your mother, yeah? Ask her too, she will have better answers for you.”

girl dad nanami!!! ft. baby nobara :3

how would reader and gojo react to megumi bringing a girl home?

the fushigojos are back baby!! thank you anon 💙

“i’m kind of busy right now, gojo,” you grunt, dodging a swing of the curse’s limb and silently thanking nanami for the bluetooth piece he’d given you on christmas. it was almost like he’d known something like this would happen.

“but, babe, it’s an emergency!”

“is this a ‘somebody is bleeding or missing a limb’ emergency?” you ask, your sword piercing the body of the second curse of the evening, effectively exorcising it. “or another ‘megumi doesn’t like avicii’ kind of emergency?”

“none of the above!” he insists in your earpiece. “it’s even worse than megumi’s lack of musical taste!”

“oh, what could possibly be worse than that?” you ask dryly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes and take your gaze off the curses closing in on you.

“he just called and asked if a friend could come over after school!”

that actually gives you pause. “wait— like a human friend? cause i told him last time that actual dogs that our landlord can see and hear aren’t allowed in the apartment.”

“yeah, a human friend! now don’t you understand why i’m freaking out?” he’s only gotten more dramatic with your own shock at the predicament. “we know tsumiki’s friends, sure, but we’ve never met one of megumi’s! mostly cause he doesn’t have any, so what do we do?”

you swing at a lunging curse with one arm as you check your watch, grimacing when you see it reads 3:25pm. megumi gets out of school in five minutes, and it only takes him ten to walk home. no way you’ll make it before then.

“just put some snacks on the table,” you instruct. “all of megumi’s favourites and a handful of the candy from that jar you keep at the back of the top shelf. don’t do anything else until i get back.”

“okay! so that means you’re coming home soon though— hey, wait a minute! how did you know about my candy stash? i put it on the top because—”

“because you think none of us can reach it,” you finish, actually rolling your eyes this time. “i’ll refill your jar like tsumiki and i always do, just put some out in case megumi’s friend doesn’t like veggie trays and candied ginger.”

“wait, you guys steal from it too—”

you yank your bluetooth out before he can finish complaining.

-

you finally check your phone as you drag yourself up the stairs of your apartment. it’d been buzzing insistently as you’d finished up your mission, gone to the school to report back to yaga, and grabbed some take out on the way home.

[83 texts from satoru gojo]

[22 missed calls from satoru gojo]

sighing, you hit clear all and shove your phone into your pocket, exchanging it for your keys and jamming them into the lock.

when you get the door open, the first thing you register is how unnaturally quiet it is. it’s so quiet that all you can hear is the hum of the air conditioning. the last time it was this quiet was after suguru—

you set the takeout bag on the counter, the crinkle of the plastic bag suddenly the loudest sound you’ve ever heard as you peer over the counter at the scene in the living room.

gojo’s seated in the arm chair, manspreading, of course, elbows planted on his knees as he stares over the rim of his shades at megumi and who you assume is his friend. when you said not to do anything else, you didn’t think he’d take you seriously (mostly because gojo rarely listens to you at all)

“hi,” you say, taking a step into the living room. “it’s nice to meet you, i’m megumi’s other guard—”

it’s a girl.

gojo makes an exasperated noise, and megumi rolls his eyes. “wait,” you pause, tilting your head at the girl sitting beside him. “aren’t you the one shoko’s mentoring? i didn’t know you went to the same school as megumi.”

she opens her mouth to reply, but your red-faced megumi stops her. “we’re just here to work on a science project,” he explains. “gojo-sensei isn’t letting us go.”

“why not?” you question, averting your gaze to your boyfriend, who jumps out of his seat and pulls you towards your bedroom, telling the kids not to move a muscle and that his six-eyes see everything.

“because we haven’t had the talk with megumi yet,” he reasons urgently. “we can’t leave him alone with a girl. what if he doesn’t know what to do?”

you draw back to stare at him in confusion. “know what to do— satoru, do you even know what the talk is?”

he just blinks at you. “the sex talk. how to have sex.”

oh, to be the strongest sorcerer alive, whose education growing up was limited to cursed technique application and nothing further.

“it’s about how and when to do it safely,” you correct with a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “and he’s only 14. we agreed to give it to him when he turned 16.”

it’s almost amusing seeing him so worried, eyes darting from you to the door as if he could look through it. “so we’re just going to let him go into his room with a girl? don’t you remember the first time i got you alone in my room—”

“first of all we were 19 when that happened, and second of all i did all the work because,” you poke a finger at the centre of his chest, “you were some touch-starved virgin who lasted less than two minutes.”

“hey!” he whines, batting your hand away. “you agreed never to bring that up again, and we’re talking about megumi right now!”

“just have them work on their project at the dining table,” you shrug. “and she’s basically shoko’s student, remember? she’s not going to make a move on him or anything.”

his frown just deepens. “but what if—”

“no.”

“or maybe—”

“no, satoru.”

he slumps in defeat, grumbling as you twist the doorknob open and pull him outside with you to explain the set-up to the kids.

you have to yank gojo into the kitchen with you to stop him from hovering as they settle at the dining table, pulling out textbooks and sheets of paper.

“see,” you tell him. “completely innocent. i’m glad he’s finally made a friend.”

and she comes back, too. sometimes with shoko, sometimes without. you don’t even end up giving him the talk early, because once gojo’s warmed up to the idea of megumi having a friend?

he breaks out the photo albums.

“and this is the time megumi tried to cut his own hair because he didn’t like the undercut i might have messed up! he had to wear his hair down for a while and looked like a coconut!”

he doesn’t know when to shut up.

“megumi! here’s your laundry! only three pairs of underwear this week? how many days in a row do you wear them? ha! kinda gross, dude.”

and he doesn’t have a filter.

“did you know megumi’s scared of cats? once when he was in third grade he was chased home by a tabby and i think it scarred him for life. good thing you don’t have any cat shikigami.”

you learn, quickly, that sometimes he’s his own brand of contraception.

satoru who is in heaven with the way you ride him!!!

cw: fem!reader, p in v, creampie, riding gojo satoru, cervix bumping! mdni!

౨ৎ

"fuuuuuck." his head was being thrown back into a plush pillow as his long, slender fingers gripped harshly onto your hips. a groan getting ripped from his throat as his watery blue eyes watched the way your tits jiggled with each bounce you made on his cock.

"m' i doing good?" your sweet voice was whimpering out to him; dizzying him as your sweeter cunt was swallowing his cock to the brim, heavy tip bumping up against your cervix. satoru's dick was practically drenched with a mixture of your slick and his precum, all the way down to his balls that would twitch, begging to be drained.

"it's great. so so so good. you're doing so good." satoru's groans were almost pathetic as his fingers were imprinting soft red crevices onto your hips. you felt so fucking good around him, gooey and steaming cunt giving his dick such a nice and tight hug :(( !!

if there was any time he could just drop and die, he wouldn't complain if it was in this moment. the way you were gripping him, pussy getting tighter when you'd bounce straight down onto him; a nasty wet slap noise accompanying the action each time, he already felt like he died and went to heaven with how amazing it felt. he was infatuated with the fact you were holding on this long for him, wanting him to cum first.

"ahh- shit shit." there he went, whimpering again as he started to lift his ass up from the bed to buck his cock into you even deeper than both of you imagined. you spoiling him with the satisfaction and pleasure of you bouncing on his dick like a cum-hungry bunny is close to ending with you getting spoiled back; with his cum being shot deep into your weeping pussy! <3

then and now — gojo satoru

synopsis. only satoru gojo would be jealous of himself.

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, mentions of pregnancy, time travel inaccuracies probably, not proofread :x

you’re not quite sure how you ended up here.

one minute, you were curled up in bed, fighting a wave of nausea courtesy of the growing child of the strongest inside of you. the next, you were wandering toward the kitchen, wondering what was taking your husband so long to bring you the damn breakfast he promised — only to find him standing rigid in front of the stove, staring down…

himself.

you blink.

twice.

“satoru, what’s taking so long—”

your voice dies in your throat the second your eyes land on him. no — not him, but a younger, wide-eyed, hopelessly awe-struck version of him. standing in your kitchen, mouth parted, face pale, and gaze locked entirely on you.

you freeze.

he stares.

you stare back.

and then—oh no—he starts to smile. bright. dopey. disbelieving. there might actually be drool.

the younger gojo looks at you like you’re made of stars and everything he’s ever wanted in life, and you’re only in your husband’s oversized tee shirt. 

he looks like he’s about to fall in love with you on the spot.

then comes your gojo.

he appears behind you like summoned by jealousy itself, pressing flush against your back, arms encircling you. his chin hooks over your shoulder as he narrows his eyes at his teenage self with all the warning.

“oi,” your husband growls low, “eyes off my wife, you brat.”

the trance breaks instantly.

“what the hell—she’s my wife too!” younger gojo snaps, voice cracking in disbelief.

“like hell she is,” your husband shoots back, his hand sliding possessively down to cradle the swell of your belly. “i put a baby in her.”

you choke on air.

teen gojo’s eyes drop down—

—and bug out.the younger gojo is practically gaping, his eyes wide in disbelief, as he stares between you and your husband. "y-you let this man impregnate you?!" he blurts out, the crudeness making you flush with heat.

you feel the immediate rush of embarrassment. “i—how— satoru, explain.”

both of them whip their heads around at the mention of his name, as if they were no more than dogs waiting for a command.

your husband rubs your back, “i guess my younger self must have managed to travel to the future.”

you’re gaping at the two men.

the younger version of him is practically wagging his tail, a wide grin tugging at his lips like he’s just won first place in something that actually mattered. he looks completely lost in his own world to understand his future self’s subtle jab, and you could swear you hear him whispering under his breath, breathless and giddy—“i did it, i did it, i did it.”

“ah,” you slowly try to rationalize. “satoru, i know this might seem strange, but—”

“no, no,” your husband cuts you off with a tight squeeze around your waist, leaning slightly into you. “i’m satoru. he’s just gojo.” his tone makes it clear who he thinks should have the honor of the name, but his attention never leaves his younger self, and the muscles in his jaw are flexing.

the younger gojo squints, confused, then his face contorts with a mix of irritation and amusement. “since when did i become so uptight?”

your husband snorts. "yeah, well, you have a lot of growing up to do."

the younger gojo mutters, crossing his arms and leaning back, his posture almost defensive. "i get it. you put on the blindfold and suddenly you're mr. 'i've got it all figured out.'"

the tension in the room thickens, palpable between the two men.

"yeah," the older gojo retorts, voice steady but tinged with a bit of pride. "and i also got the girl of my dreams."

the younger gojo’s eyes narrow, his voice rising, "she’s my dream girl too!"

the older gojo shifts, locking his gaze on his younger self. his expression hardens, becoming a little sharper. "she’s my wife. not yours."

you sigh, exasperated, stepping between them. “oh, for heaven’s sake. you’re both the same person. you’re arguing with yourself.”

younger gojo leans forward slightly, eyes fixed on you. “i could love you just as much as he does, you know.”

your husband scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “please. you don’t even know what to do with her yet.”

“try me.”

“enough!” you snap, your glare cutting through the air like a blade. there’s no mistaking the warning in your eyes, a silent promise that things are about to escalate if they don’t stop.

both satorus fall silent in an instant as they both straighten at your words.

“me and the baby are starving,” you declare, your tone laced with a hint of challenge. “and if neither of you plans on helping, i guess i’ll have to do it myself.”

the younger satoru’s eyes flicker to your growing belly, then back to you.

in an instant, they’re both at your side, moving in synchrony like two halves of a whole, each hand hovering near you, as if they could protect you from something, but you know the truth. it’s not about protection. it’s about proximity—about the excuse to touch you.

“you know,” the younger satoru murmurs, a playful glint in his eyes, “you’re even more beautiful now. who would've thought you could get hotter?”

your breath catches at the unexpected compliment, and before you can stop it, your cheeks flush, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the heat of the room. “t-thank you,” you mutter, not quite looking at him, trying to hide the effect his words have on you.

your husband, who’s been standing just behind you, makes no attempt to hide his irritation. his gaze sharpens, but his voice remains smooth, controlled—too controlled. “it’s no surprise, of course,” he says, his hand sliding around your waist in a possessive gesture, pulling you a little closer, a subtle but undeniable claim. “you’ve always been breathtaking. she’s glowing, don’t you think?”

you feel his lips brush against your temple as he says it, and though his words are directed at the younger satoru, they’re meant for you—just the two of you, wrapped in this small, intimate moment. his grip tightens ever so slightly, a silent declaration of ownership that you can feel in your bones.

“thank you, dear,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but there’s a flicker in your chest that betrays you—something more than just appreciation for the compliment.

as you open the fridge, you don’t notice the younger gojo’s subtle frown at the pet name, nor the way your husband’s chest puffs just a little, satisfaction practically radiating off him. but you do feel it. the electricity. the unspoken challenge. and you can’t help but wonder which of them will break first.

the clink of chopsticks and the sound of your satisfied hums fill the room as the three of you eat breakfast, the tension at the table simmering beneath the surface. the younger gojo eyes the older version of himself from across the table, suspicion flickering behind his sharp gaze.

he sets his bowl down slowly.

“so tell me,” he says finally, chopsticks tapping against ceramic. “how’d you do it?”

the older gojo raises a brow. “do what?”

younger gojo tilts his head pointedly in your direction. “get her. my [name] doesn’t want to do anything with me.”

your husband doesn’t miss a beat. he smirks, annoyingly smug, and drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like a trophy. “i charmed the living daylights out of her. obviously.”

you give him a flat look. 

your husband ignores you. “she thought i was endearing.”

“i thought you were desperate,” you add with a sly smile.

he turns toward you, hand over his heart like he’s been shot. “desperation? is that what we’re calling devotion now?”

“you were on both knees when you proposed,” you point out, smug.

“i really wanted you to say yes,” he mutters, now clearly sulking. he stabs at his food like it personally offended him.

across the table, the younger gojo leans in, chin propped in one hand as he watches the two of you. there's something soft in his eyes now, envy tempered with awe. 

“don’t listen to him,” you say with a playful smile, your gaze softening as you turn to your husband. “i only gave you a chance when i realized how big your heart is. how much you really care. your dedication to reshaping jujutsu society—that’s what made me see you weren’t just a nuisance.”

both gojo's eyes widen in shock, clearly not expecting that.

your husband, though, pouts, his usual smugness replaced with playful mock hurt.

“aww~” he whines, a teasing lilt to his voice. “i think you’ve got a little crush on me!”

you narrow your eyes, a warning simmering beneath your words. “satoru, i’m about to bite your head off.”

he grins, leaning in with that signature mischief. “don’t threaten me with a good time.”

the younger gojo’s eyes dart between the two of you. perhaps his future wasn’t too bad.