Me When Y/n Is Acting Like A Little Fucking Child For Male Validation

"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.

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.)

── .✦ main masterlist || jjk masterlist

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

If you notice me reblogging

a repost

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please let me know, you’re not rude or annoying and I actually do give a fuck and I will correct my mistake, thank you

Woman to woman, I tell you this because I care about you:

• Get your degree, get your bag and be your own man. Be independent.

• Don't get married or move in with someone until your brain is fully developed (age 25)

• Be obsessed with improving yourself every single day. You can create your own dream life.

• Don't get pregnant unless you're emotionally, physically and financially ready.

• Be surrounded by people that make you wiser, happier and prettier.

• You are still young in your 20's, 30's, 40's and more.

• A relationship is partnership: Make sure he helps you too

• Always take care of your appearance

I’m being forced to watch soul eater against my will (not really, I love my gf (also it’s really good so far so I don’t care))

Inspired by "Obsession" fanfic by EvolvingCatFish

Sui-Feng ; Bleach ☆ MegaHouse

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.

the nurse doesn't even get a full sentence out before you hear it—the loud, unmistakable, drawn out moan from behind the curtain.

"uuuuuuughghhghhhhhh."

you blink.

"that yours?" she asks, arching an eyebrow, holding back a smile.

you sigh. "unfortunately, yes."

she laughs softly and pulls the curtain back.

and there he is.

gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, your very dramatic boyfriend, currently conked out in the reclining recovery chair like a ragdoll someone left in the sun for too long. his blindfold is gone (carefully folded on the side table, somehow), his mouth is half open, one of his arms is hanging off the chair like he's mid-shakespearean death scene and one leg is swinging mindlessly like he's in the middle of an interpretive dance.

"ughhhhhhhhhh," he groans again, eyes fluttering, unfocused. "where am i. is this the void? the infinite void? am i in the purgatory between dimensions?"

"you had a wisdom tooth removed," you say, walking up to him with your arms crossed.

satoru's head rolls toward the sound of your voice. it takes him a solid five seconds to gain his bearings and settle his gaze on you.

and then—his whole body jerks.

"oh my god," he gasps, pointing a floppy, trembling finger at you. "you're the taco bell goddess."

you blink again, taken aback. the anesthesia is really doing a number on him. it's entertaining. "i'm sorry, what now?"

"i knew you were real," he whispers reverently, nodding to himself. "you came to me in a dream once. you had like, this glowing chalupa aura and you whispered 'live mas' into my soul."

you stare. "what—what the hell are you talking about?"

"don't play coy, my divine temptress of the drive-thru," he says, hand clutching his chest like he's about to write an epic soliloquy in your name. "you bring hot sauce and justice to this cruel, flavorless world."

"okay," you say slowly, looking around for the nurse, "how much anesthesia did they give you?"

"enough to see the truth," he says dramatically.

you laugh so hard you have to grab the side of his chair for support.

satoru squints at you. "wait—wait, no. are you—are you even the taco bell goddess? or are you some kind of fraud, preying on innocent taco followers?"

"i'm your girlfriend," you reply, still wheezing. "you live with me."

his sky blue eyes go comically wide. "you mean i bagged the taco bell goddess and i live with her?"

you pinch the bridge of your nose to calm yourself. "you need water and maybe an exorcism."

he doesn't hear you. of course he doesn't. he's busy throwing up both hands like he's just won an oscar.

"somebody better put me in a commercial," he says proudly. "'cause i'm livin' mas, baby."

you're practically crying with laughter now, and you don't seem to be stopping soon.

"you're a disaster," you choke out.

he grabs your hand and holds it reverently. "disaster, or super cool legend?"

you lean in and kiss his forehead, lips twitching. "definitely a disaster."

satoru beams. "you kissed me! i'm telling everyone. you kissed me first. that's legally binding."

"we've been dating for two years."

"two years?!" his jaw drops. "that's like—" he counts on his fingers "—more than ten kisses!"

you have to bite your lip before you start cracking up again. then, his eyes impossibly wide, he pats around on his lap like he's looking for something. "where's my phone. i gotta tweet this."

"you're not tweeting while high."

"but the world needs to know i'm in love with a celestial being."

"absolutely not."

"okay, but hear me out," he says, slumping deeper into the chair with a dopey grin. "what if we got married. right now. here. in the dentist's office. we've got witnesses. we've got—" he frowns at the table next to him "—fluoride."

you're really trying your best to not lose it. "you want to get married surrounded by cotton swabs and expired magazines?"

he reaches for your face with both hands like he's about to cradle something precious. except one hand flops uselessly against your cheek.

"you're all i need," he slurs.

you smile, warmth creeping up your neck. "oh my god."

"wait, wait. do i have a ring?" he pats his pockets in slow motion. "we can use a paperclip. i'll macgyver it."

"i'm confiscating your paperclips."

he groans. "you never let me have any fun."

you take his hand, kiss the knuckles. "oh, toru. you're a full-time menace, so i have to be the responsible one."

his eyes flutter, a soft, sleepy smile on his lips now. "but you love me."

you sigh, brushing his hair back gently. "i do. against my better judgement."

he grins. "ha. got 'em."

you let your forehead rest against his.

the strongest sorcerer alive. in love. loopy. wearing a bib that says 'tooth be told' with a cartoon molar giving a thumbs-up.

and somehow, impossibly, still the love of your life.

you whisper, "when you're coherent again, i'm going to tell you everything you said. never letting you live this down."

his eyes crack open. "noooo."

"yes."

"i'll sue."

"i dare you."

and he giggles. giggles. like a chaotic little gremlin in your arms.

you hold him close, his fingers twined in yours, as the strongest sorcerer in the world melts into a puddle of affectionate nonsense on anesthetic. and you think, grinning—

god, i love this ridiculous man.