Woktyy - ⋆⠀⨟ 𝕵 𝑨 𝐙 𝑰 𝐑 𝐀 𝐇 . . . Δ‎ „

Satoru has the most endearing habit of “borrowing” your chapstick, your lip tint, whatever you happen to be wearing on your lips that day. He doesn’t care about the color or the flavor; he just loves the way it keeps his lips soft. But, of course, Satoru being Satoru, he has his own special way of "applying" it.

Instead of using it himself, he prefers to steal it straight from your lips, pressing soft, fleeting kisses against them whenever he gets the chance. A quick peck when you’re focused on something, a much more affectionate one when he’s feeling extra needy - you don't mind a bit of tongue, do you? Each time, he hums in thought, rolling his lips together as if trying to guess the flavor.

"Mm… strawberry?" He grins. "No, wait - cherry. Ah, I see. Trying to be extra sweet today, huh?"

You can't help the giggles that bubble up, your cheeks warm from smiling too much. You swat at him lightly, but he only laughs, pulling you into a snug embrace, holding you captive for more stolen kisses. Adoring the way you get flustered, cherishing every moment - because to him, any excuse to kiss you again and again is a perfect one.

"so pretty, 'toru."

he's like putty in your hands. eyes drooped low as he gazes up at you, he mumbles something unintelligible through cheeks squished by the hands that cup his hands. he wouldn't dare move to make himself coherent, though. moving any of the long limbs wrapped around your like a koala would be more offending than his students calling him old.

(you've seen plenty of that firsthand.)

but here, in the comfort of your shared space, he's not a teacher. he's not a sorcerer, or the shoulders that carry jujutsu excellence, or the strongest. here, with the window cracked just a bit to let in the night breeze and the blankets fresh out of the dryer warm on his skin... he's just 'toru. hopelessly loved by you to the furthest corner of his domain and beyond.

you can't help but smile as he drifts further and further into sleep in your hands, lids falling closed for a brief second before fluttering halfway open again. it's almost like a little game at this point. how long will he last this time?

and as if on cue, you mumble with him—"'m not tired, just restin' my eyes."

you giggle when he looks up to glare at you halfheartedly, expression already slipping into fondness as you stroke your thumbs against his cheeks in calming circles. you watch in real time as he sags into open adoration. your certain he can hear your heart fluttering around inside your ribcage.

"my heart," he manages to sigh between drawn out yawns. "everything i do is for you. because of you. and the kids, and.."

"if i could turn your brain off for the next few hours, i would," you muse in return, smiling when he gives you a knowing look. pale eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones before he burrows his face into your neck. you move easily, petting through his hair. "but you're appreciated, 'ru."

your voice lowers to a whisper. "if not by anyone, then by me. always going to be in your corner. always."

he doesn't respond. not verbally, anyway. but as his shoulders finally give way to exhaustion and his body leans against yours, the ghost of a kiss brushed against your jawline is as much as a thank you as it would have been shouted from the top of the world.

i love his backshots. 😛

satoru finds him curled up on the couch.

it’s late—later than he meant for it to be. the mission dragged on for longer than expected, and by the time he slipped through the door, the clock on the microwave was blinking an accusing 12:47 a.m.

you’re already asleep, probably having given up hours ago and trusted that he’d come back to you in one piece. but megumi…

megumi is in the living room, half-covered with the blanket you keep folded over the back of the couch. his head is tipped to the side in that awkward, cricked-neck position kids always end up in when they fall asleep somewhere they didn’t mean to.

there’s a book on his lap, one of those thick ones satoru keeps pretending to understand when megumi talks to you and him about it. his thumb is still tucked inside it, like he meant to keep reading, and just didn’t make it.

on the coffee table is a note.

it’s written in megumi’s handwriting, stiff and slanting and way too neat.

we kept dinner in the fridge. i saved you the last roll.

underneath it, scrawled smaller: you said you’d be back before midnight. i waited.

satoru stands there for a moment, and stares at it. then he slowly walks over, crouching beside the couch and brushing a hand over megumi’s hair. it’s longer now. softer than it used to be when he was smaller.

the little boy doesn’t wake. he just sighs quietly and shifts, like he can feel satoru’s hand even in his sleep. 

“hey,” satoru murmurs, barely more than a whisper. “sorry, kid. i tried.”

no answer, of course.

so satoru leans forward and presses a kiss to megumi’s temple, then another to the top of his head. it’s the kind of affection that used to feel foreign but now fits him like second nature. he tucks the blanket around him better, careful not to wake him.

he’ll carry him to bed in a minute. for now, he lets himself sit beside megumi on the floor, back against the couch, eyes closed and heart warm.

⇢ a/n: no one look at me i’m in my dadjo feels. expect more domestic family fluff from me.

If anyone thinks that gojo is a god complex character pls block me.

hc that gojo satoru is a TERRIBLE cook but when it comes to baking?? bro could open a dessert shop.

"Satoru, what the fuck did you do now?" You mumble, trudging into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you're rudely awoken by the smell of something burning.

"I dont know, babe, I was trynna make scrambled eggs and then the eggs just didnt.... scramble," he whines, a pout on his lips as he turns around to face you, spatula in hand. Or what was left of the spatula... because this man had somehow managed to melt it.

"Toru. Is the spatula melted."

"....No?" he trails off, as you both stare at the clearly misshapen plastic horror that he's holding.

You just sigh, throwing your head back in exasperation. "How the fuck did you even manage that?"

"Girl, I dont know! I followed the tutorial step by step, I SWEAR!" He exclaims, eyes wide as he points frantically to his phone, currently propped up on the kettle, open to a Youtube video on how to make scrambled eggs.

"I'm crying - THERE'S NO WAY you needed a tutorial for scrambled eggs. And you still managed to fuck it up. Oh my god, this is too good." Your laughter is nothing short of diabolical, while he just stands there with the biggest pout on his face.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT?? The eggs just stopped egging, I'm telling you."

You just stare at him, deadpan. "I'm banning you from cooking. Officially. For the rest of our lives. I'm declaring this a Satoru Gojo-free kitchen,"

"HUH?? But babeeeee, what if I wanna make you breakfast in bedddd." Sigh. What a whiny bitch.

"You can order it. I don't trust your culinary skills."

Before he could protest, the sound of a timer rings out, and Satoru visibly perks up, rushing towards the oven. "Yesss, they're ready. Fucking finallyyy!!" He all but shouts in victory.

Your mouth drops open in absolute shock when he pulls out a tray of the most perfect, golden-brown croissants you've ever seen, flaky layers stacked with precision. You stare at him like he just grew a second head. "B-but you... eggs - not scrambled. Plastic melted... What the fuck." You splutter head darting back and forth between the disaster on the stove and the miracle in Satoru's hands.

"How do you suck at cooking the most basic thing, but you can bake like a fucking Parisian pattisier?"

Your menace of a boyfriend just shrugs, placing a croissant on a plate and handing it to you like he didn't just give you whiplash. "Croissant?"

(You devoured more than half of the tray.)

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ミ★ notes from star: comments and reblogs always appreciated!

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take the blue line