Anaidulce - She/her

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

LIES, LIES, LIES — #RYOMENSUKUNA

sypnosis: sukuna never expected you to break up with him out of nowhere. you blocked him through everything. now he stalks you on your social media, starting to wear less and going out with people he never met before.

#content: ryomen sukuna x fem! reader. 2.5k words. petty sukuna. mature language. heavy making out. he used to be a fuq boy. this was supposed to be a drabble but oh well. wrote this while listening to telekinesis, marvins room, ball w/o you, and hotline bling. not edited too lazyyyy ehh

ryomen sukuna is so petty. and anxious. sukuna's anxious now that you are no longer his. for him, you are. you'll always be his. but not for you, no. not after you broke up with him out of nowhere. is this his karma for breaking too many hearts before?

he never posts about him going to parties or having fun in general. but these nights, he does. he shows everything in his instagram story because there's a chance you're watching him.

he wants you to watch him have fun without you. he'll do just fine without you. don't blame the man for acting petty, you broke his heart after all. but what sukuna did not know is that you were doing the same thing.

you blocked him the day you broke up with him. on all your social media. so on the same day, he made a burner account. how long has it been? you broke up with him — 5 weeks ago, he tried going after you the first two weeks, but it didn't work. he hasn't seen you in 3 weeks now. he checks it every hour of the day. he just wants to see. one thing about you is that he knows you don't post. so when he saw the colored circle around your picture he immediately clicked it.

it was a video of you. you wore his favorite dress. that short red sparkly dress. it was his favorite color, you knew that. you were holding a liquor in your left hand while singing along with the background music.

what's the title again? — ah. best i ever had. fuck, you really were the best he ever had. you're all he ever wanted. before, he'll be the only one to see this. again, you never post pictures or videos. instead, you send them to sukuna. you claim that he's the only one who should see them anyway. but now that situation has changed, you're showing that beautiful face to everyone. not just him.

the next slide is a picture of you and your friends — who are these people? he knows all your friends. new people? he doesn't know what's happening in your life now.

how the fuck did you even get to where you started?

where were you? at a party? friend's party? club? does it even matter, at the end of the day you were having fun. now, he's more uneasy than ever. you wouldn't sleep with anyone, right? you know better. you should. you could sleep with half of the world, you still wouldn't forget him. you'll always know him. you don't need anyone else.

he shouldn't text you. you wouldn't want that. no he won't text you. he'll get over it.

he’s not texting you.

sukuna what the fuck did i do wrong baby

sukuna answer

sukuna where are u

you ???

sukuna let's talk

sukuna we need it

you we ??? u mean u need it lol

sukuna i miss u

sukuna please let's talk

you fine, pick me up

you [xxx-xxx]

you found him waiting for you just outside your friend's house. he looks good. so much for a guy who's miserable without you. did he lie about that too? that he's miserable without you? he looks just fine. he was wearing a black compression shirt. he was at a party before this, you know that. you stalked his socials after all. who was he trying to impress? who did he fuck this time?

"you look grumpy." you plastered a smile on your face greeting him, "let's go there, it's quieter and it has uhm — privacy." you pointed at the empty dark garden. sukuna did not answer he only followed you, both of his hands tucked in his pockets. what time was it? — 11:05 at night. sukuna didn't look drunk. or high. he usually does when he goes to a party.

"what?" he starts, "what?" you asked back. he should talked. he was the one who rushed here. he was the one who bought you here when you should be having fun inside.

"you dressed up well." you feel his eyes on you. his observing you. you quickly look away. avoiding eye contact. you feel shy. you haven't seen him in almost three weeks. he hadn't stared at you like this in weeks. it's not like he has a chance.

"just talk about what you wanna talk about," you stated. you want this to be over with. because if this will continue, you know damn well, you'll be swayed.

"why?" he asked. that's all he wants to ask. a simple why. he just wants to know. he looks at you, his eyes never leave you. his not begging you with his words. it's those eyes that are begging you to speak up.

you loved sukuna. no, you love him. you spent the past weeks without him thinking about all his lies and cover-ups — all the things they said about him. you're insecure. maybe that's why. maybe being with sukuna is harming the insecurity more. because the more you're with him, the more louder you hear the voices of others insulting you.

you recall that first woman's voice, what exactly did she say again — "sukuna. your boyfriend. how long do you think he plans to keep you as his plaything?" then another one, "sukuna's funny. he really tries so hard to keep the girl by his side like he won't leave her when he gets bored." this one you overheard on the way to the bathroom. "you think sukuna loves that girl?" this one you also overhead, it was a full conversation bashing you, "probably not, his favorite one, maybe? we all know he never sticks to one."

he never sticks to one. sukuna gets bored easily. plaything. of course you try not to listen to them. they're not sukuna, but, they keep replaying, it's not like it's all a lie. before — sukuna had his way around girls like this. he is not the type to call a woman back the next morning after hanging out with them the whole night. he never likes commitment, the only commitment that he has ever done before you is his tattoos.

these thoughts eat you up. you broke up with him after a week of contemplating. you did it through a phone call. you might sound like an asshole but it was a decision for the sake of yourself. you hanged up before he can even speak.

but it didn't really stop there — he showed up to your work the next day. you pushed him away. then he shows up to your class. outside the building. again, you pushed him away. every time he comes he brings food, flowers, bears, and gifts. you claimed that he just wasted money. he was persistent.

he continued for two weeks. after that, he stopped showing up. you wondered if he was tired. he must've been.

you stalked him using your burner account that night he stopped coming. he was at a party. having fun. you also watch the stories of his close friends. just to get a glimpse of him more — he really was having fun. you swipe to the next post, it's a group picture. his arms around another woman. he has that cocky fucking smile on his face.

sukuna was back to being who he was before you. that night you cried your way to sleep. — did you even sleep? how can you sleep when he's out with other girls?

you stayed a mess for days. this night, your friend begged you to attend her birthday party. you decided to go. you needed it anyway. a night away from sukuna.

it was really supposed to be a night without sukuna. but you can't seem to — escape him.

"you and i." you start quietly finding the clear and right words to use, "we don't work."

he scoffs, "how the fuck do ya know that?"

he's always been a hard person to talk to, he's hard-headed. "because you're you. and i'm well — me."

sukuna knows you too well. he can tell that you're nervous. why are you nervous? you must be lying. he observes you — again. you're fidgeting. no. you're not lying but you're not telling him everything either.

"you haven't answered that question yet."

your eyes that are fixed on the ground glare at him, "i just answered, you have a hard time understanding."

he hums clearly not impressed, "why? tell me. then i'll decide if we break up or not."

"that's not up to you to decide, you know, you're being unreasonable again."

"talk 'bout being unreasonable, eh? who broke the relationship without one proper reason? it's clearly not me, baby."

he's frustrating. sukuna will always be frustrating.

"they —" you start. you can't help but pout, you don't wanna cry tonight. not with this pretty makeup on. but you're sensitive. you don't want to talk about this. you don't want to remember what they all said. you really did love him after all. you can only hold so much.

he noticed, he's observant. he takes a step closer to you, "hey — fuck — are you crying? don't . . baby . . hey it's okay you can tell me, okay?" he holds one of your hands and he wipes the little tears that are rolling down your eyes.

he knew it. there's something. something is bothering you. something you're not telling him. he wishes that he can kiss those tears away. he wishes that after this you'd come with him home. who dares to make his baby cry anyway?

"uhm . . they've been talking," you sniffle, "a lot about us — our relationship — me. saying a lot of mean things. and i don't like being treated like that suku. i hate it so much. they always say that — you're not really serious and that you'll fuck me over." you stop for a second taking a look at his face — is he mad? he looks glazed. his holding your hands tighter now. " . . and it's not like i don't trust you . . you know — it's just that i don't wanna constantly deal with them because i'm so fucking tired."

"then don't listen." sukuna calmly says. that's new. you expect him to react . . mad, annoyed, or hostile even. that's more likely his personality. but sukuna cares about your sensitivity. it wouldn't be a good decision for him to scream at you and scold you. he simply cares. "don't fucking listen (Y/N)"

sukuna understands now. for you, he does. he might be a asshole sometimes but he can be a decent guy if you need him to be.

"it's not your fault, baby, i'm not blaming you, i'll never do that. nothing is your fault."

he finally let go of your hand shortly and then pulled you into a hug, a tight one. ryomen sukuna is yearning for you. he lets out a sigh of relief. it's gonna be fine now. he'll fix everything. "don't listen to the lies, i swear, they're all lies." he continues, "they're not me, dumb, that's what they are."

"it's not even just that — you. you're such an asshole. you replaced me too fast!"

"when the fuck did i? woman."

"you keep partying with another woman. i saw everything, you know." you state grumbling at the pink-haired man, he chuckles, sneering "stalker."

it was all worth it. him being petty is worth it.

"you fucked that girl that you met at the party?" you asked hopeful for a no.

"hmm i'm no cheater, baby." he says proudly, "you know that better than anyone. i posted that for you to see. wanted to act petty, you know."

it was silence after that. you want to kiss him. the brooding vibe that occupied the space earlier is gone. the feeling is familiar now. it smells like sukuna now. maybe it's his expensive high-end perfume or maybe it's just him urging you to come back home to him.

"i only want the best for you. i promise. i'll do anything for you. can you just come back to me please? it's all me, just don't go." sukuna's truthful, "don't walk away, okay? we'll be just fine. i don't wanna lose this with you. listen to me once and not them. everyone thinks that they know us, they know nothing."

it's hard to believe that before this sukuna was that asshole who fuck and go. it's hard to believe that before you sukuna did not know how to love. how can you ever leave him when he loves you like this? this man who literally carries your groceries, he took the time to memorize you, all of you. he never left.

maybe that's why you had to give up so fast. because how deeply can you fall in love with him? you don't think can handle the pain of the things they said happening.

but after everything, he tells you that it's not your fault.

"kiss me, please."

it didn't even take a second for him to move, he let go of the hug and held your neck. he started slowly. it's like your lips are made for each other. how can they move so perfectly? you close your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

you opened your mouth letting his tongue in. his tasting you. he hadn't done this in weeks. he pulls your waist closer as he moves forward. he bites the bottom of your lip causing you to let out a moan only for him to push his tongue back in tasting every corner of your mouth.

he's craving for it. his hands traveled down your back to your ass as he rests his hands then gripping your butt cheeks. "miss you so much. you have no idea. all i can think about is your face, cunt, and your ass. i swear."

"sukuna, not here." you pull him away before he can do anything more, "let's go home first." you continue.

he smiles, cheekily, he won you at the end of the day. "ya fucked anyone when i wasn't around? your ass better makes sure no one touched you while you're wearing my dress. wearing my dress in front of these men with micro-sized dicks."

he knows though, even if you don't answer, he knows already. he knows that you wouldn't touch anyone other than him.

"oh, by the way, how do you plan on making up with me? you did break my heart. should i tie you up and blindfold you?" he stops, "or no, should i make you ride me till the morning? that sounds better does it?" he continues, "strip tease sounds nice though. face sitting also is nice, we don't do that often."

this man is a menace. his making a decision like his life depended on it.

"ahh fuck it." he grins, "doll face, i've made up my mind. let's do all of them hmm."

⌗ two slow dancers ₊ ˖ ་. gojo satoru x fem reader (1.2k)

genre . . angst, rejection, reader just wants to be loved, gojo's kinda a dick, mitski did this to me summary . . why can't he love you? what have you done wrong? note . . i'm thinking abt the guy who didn't want me rn sorry

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur, your voice nothing above a faint whisper. Fear of judgment is laced within it, something you can’t help but wish you could get rid of. “It’s going to sound ridiculous, and if you think so you can just ignore me.” He’s going to ignore me.

However, Gojo sits up straighter. His eyes are intending to focus on you. “Nothing you say is ridiculous. I’m always here to listen.” You want to believe him so badly. There’s nothing else in the world that you wish for. All you need is a confession, him reciprocating the depth of your feelings, but you know that’s impossible. If he felt the same, he wouldn’t have started seeing that girl; no matter the fact that she’s wonderful for him, amazing, and kind. If she’s so amazing, what are you doing wrong? What is it about her that you can’t compare to? You know you’d be perfect for Gojo. He’s your best friend. He’s the person who knows you better than anyone, so why is it that he doesn’t love you the same way you love him? It doesn’t make sense. 

What are you doing wrong?

“...am I difficult to love?” You feel like you already know the answer. It’s a pointless question that’s been eating you up inside for years, ever since you first met and he instantly treated you as a friend when you wanted to be loved by him. “I know it’s silly, but I feel so helpless.”

Without realizing it, your words flow from your lips like a river streaming downhill. Not even the largest dam could hold in your insecurities. “I try so hard, everyday to be kind and patient and perfect; but no one seems to notice. Is there something that everyone else has that I don’t? What am I missing that makes me invisible? Why do I feel so stuck while the world keeps moving and progressing and making changes that I can’t keep up with? Why don’t you love me?”

There it is. 

There’s the question that you’ve swallowed down for the past ten years of knowing Gojo Satoru…and somehow…

…it seems that he already knows the answer. 

“I do love you.”

In half a second, your heart beats faster. It swells with an overwhelming pink feeling that practically causes it to burst. You almost see stars. In your imagination you’re flying through the night sky, weaving constellations together as you hold Gojo’s hand and ask him what he’s wishing on that shooting star, oh so close to you. So close, yet so far. So far, that it never reaches you; because nothing is ever as it seems. It isn’t a wish racing your way, it’s a meteorite. A meteor thats target is the home in your heart that you’ve made so lovingly for your best friend. The flaming rock finds your weakest point and begins to wither it away into nothing but hopeless shreds of dreams. In a half a second, you were on the top of the world. In a half a second, your world was destroyed. 

“I just don’t love you in the way you want me to.”

You’re a fool. You knew this was coming.

“I can’t imagine my life without you.” Shut up. Why can’t he just shut up? You don’t need these filler words, these empty statements that he’s only saying to make you feel better about your worthless self. “You’re such an important part of my everyday.” Shut up!

It’s so hard to hold in the tears. Your dam already burst— but instead of a river, it seems that you’ve got an ocean of feelings. This ocean is polluted, though. It’s littered in trash and oil, after years of wanting something that was never yours. Other men have thrown their waste in your waters and Gojo’s always been the one to clean it up. He’s always made you laugh…made you smile…made you believe that everything is going to be okay as long as you trust him. Now, you’ve made the mistake of trusting him with your heart; when he’s never cared if it shatters. 

“Please don’t say those things to me.” It’s pathetic, the whimper shaking from the tip of your tongue. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Gojo isn’t even replying to you. He’s simply staring with the most pitiful look in his eyes, as if you’re a dying animal that he’s just shot with a rifle. How do you make him stop looking at you like that? You’re better than this! Just suck it up and smile!

Somehow, you find yourself laughing. “Don’t worry about it, Satoru. I’ll be fine, it’s just a silly little crush.” You’re lying. 

It’s so obvious you’re lying. 

He’s never been a crush. If he was a fleeting crush, then you wouldn’t spend your nights thinking of how you made him smile earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know his favorite place, song, and movie at the top of your head. You wouldn’t imagine his face whenever you picture your wedding day— at the end of the aisle, smiling at you with tears in his eyes. If he was just a little crush, it wouldn’t feel like your entire world is ending. 

“I know you’ve liked me, it’s a little obvious.” He shrugs. “I just assumed you’d get over it?” 

He knew? He’s known all this time?

There’s a war raging between your heart and your mind. It’s a battlefield with logic on one side and love on the other. The rational part of you knows that he can’t help his feelings. He can’t force himself to reciprocate something that he’s never felt before. That’s unfair to him, and you can’t make him love you…

…but the other half of you can’t accept that. 

After all these years of waiting for him. Years and years of watching your closest friends find love, be loved, and experience all of the firsts that you’ve always wanted to experience with him by your side. He doesn’t love you. You’ve known Gojo Satoru since you were ten years old. You’re twenty now and still so delusional that you believe he can feel the same way. Why can’t he, though? Gojo knows you from front to back. If there’s anyone in the world who could write an encyclopedia titled with your name, it’s him; and he still doesn’t love you. You’re the person who’s been there for him through countless breakups and temper tantrums. You’re the one who he trusts most in this world, yet he will never…ever…want you back. 

Someone is writing the story of the world. Someone is tying the strings of fate, the line of destiny, or whatever you want to call it; and that someone isn’t on your side. They never have been and they never will be…

…at least not in the case of Gojo Satoru. 

“I’ll try my best.” A phony smile graces your face and you’re now realizing that he’s never once called you beautiful. Yet, you still want him. Perhaps it’s human nature to wish for the things that are terrible for you. “You don’t have to worry about me, Satoru. I’ll be fine.”

Yeah, maybe in ten years. 

“I’ll be able to forget about this.”

You don’t think you will.

“I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

Your feelings are an inconvenience.

“It’s nothing.”

It was love.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

This is SO COOL wtf

They didn't even tease the illustration first and displayed the grayscale prototype like they usually do? Literally just: "Hi you can order Idia now! You have 3 months to scrounge up an insane amount of cash to get him!"

Wtaf bless you Idia girlies. Good luck.

✎ attraction

- gojo satoru x reader

to think it started with your crush on his best friend...

genre: high school!gojo being a menace, jealous!gojo but he doesn’t realize it? enemies to lovers, fluff, gojo begins pining on you

note: thank you anon who asks for gojo falling in love with a first year! i added some spice though haha

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Back in 2006—

There was this tiny weeny part of Gojo that was like... questioning, how did his best friend Geto Suguru catch your eye, whereas he didn’t? Like, at all?

"I want Geto."

"Hah?" Gojo arched a righteous brow, swiftly turning your way—feeling the stings of irritation gnawing at him. "What?"

You shot him a look. “I said, you suck and I’m lamenting that I’m paired with you instead of Geto for this mission.”

Once upon a time, you did hate him for obvious reasons as other people do. He was obnoxious, boastful and overall grating on your nerves.

Well, actually, “hate” would be too strong of a word, so probably “dislike greatly” it is.

“Ehh, Suguru? With you?” Gojo glanced at you, purposefully scrunching his face into a mocking sneer. “No way. Absolutely not. Incompatible. I won’t give him my blessings.”

“Who are you to grant blessings?” you hissed with a bulging vein of frustration. “And no, it's not what you think! I—” you wanted to kick yourself for stumbling over your words, “—I just respect him in a way an underclassman would!”

Gojo let out a strained laugh.

To him, you were this cute little junior who looked funny when mad. Riling you up was on his daily to-do list, and poking fun at your obvious crush on his best friend was supposed to double the fun, until it made him wonder despite himself... just what exactly did Suguru have that he apparently lacked, leading you to always follow him with your eyes, whereas you spared him with nothing but glares and sharp retorts?

You didn’t exactly hide your feelings. Whenever Geto was nearby or greeted you in the mornings, you'd blush like a tomato. It was silly, because Gojo was sure his best friend’s type wasn’t a girl as skittish as you—surely, it must be someone as vivacious as Inoue Waka.

He knew you were doomed to fail.

"I suggest you go pick up some slack," he teased. "Better if you don't become a dead weight while assisting him in missions, no?"

He knows. Really.

"...do you know that there are only three things I can't stand here?"

"And those are?"

But...

"Your stupid glasses, your Limitless—and you."

He was still irked, regardless.

"Well, poor you, then," he shrugged, shit-eating grin on his face. This time he pushed his luck. "Do you know that you're nowhere nearing Suguru's type?"

Scratch that. You hate him. You turned to him with a reddened face, and it wasn't because you were blushing.

"I'm going by myself!" you declared, seething. "I couldn't care less about what you're about to do—I'm finishing this and going home!"

With that, you you marched towards the haunted house, paying no heed to his taunts behind you.

You felt a wave of embarrassment washing over. Gojo always messed with you and normally you would chalk it up as one of his shits—but this time, you didn't appreciate how he touched on that sore spot of your not-so-hidden infatuation with Geto. So what if you weren't his ideal type? He didn't have to be mean!

But soon you regretted leaving his side, as a monstrous cursed spirit quickly chased you out.

Gojo was still outside, bidding his time. He merely huffed when he heard you screaming in fear.

He was ready with a jab. "Well, well... Look who's running back into my arms—"

But his smirk quickly fell when he saw the cursed entity was apparently way beyond your level. You ran out—no, by some idiotic impulse of survival, you actually leapt out of the third-story window and almost fell flat on your face and broke your bones, but before then, he sprung to action, catching you, wrapping one arm on your waist.

You were grateful you that you weren't doomed—until you felt yourself dangling mid air in his hold... like a cat.

"Gojo!" you wailed. "I'm going to fa—!"

Oh, but Gojo was convinced that this was his moment to shine. He directed a smirk your way as the bright blue mass in his hand totally caught your attention. With one swift flick of his hand, he muttered the mantra for Blue, and exorcised the cursed spirit in one go.

He marveled at his own show of power—and hoping that somehow, you would too. Then, he placed his hand under your knees, repositioning you in a princess-carry, and the way your gentle curves nestled snugly in his arms sparked some intriguing thoughts in him.

Your wide, crystal-clear eyes gazed at him with such wonder. Red tinted your cheeks. The corners of his mouth curved into a winning smile.

It was at that exact moment when he realized it: he wants you. This funny girl who often made his day, he wanted you to look at his way too.

...but goddamnit, you like Suguru.

"Well, not that scary now with me around, isn’t it?" he boldly announced, and your amazed expression immediately turned into a cute frown.

"Thanks," you blurted, still with rosy cheeks and looked frazzled, but then you realized the state you were in his arms. "But—put me down!"

"Ehhh, I will if your feet can reach the ground!"

Who cares if you like Suguru? As he burst into snickers and you screamed at his face, Gojo Satoru decided then and there—in that summer of 2006—that he would make it his mission to win you over. To make you his.

And years later, not only he achieved that but also so much more—a ring on your finger serving as the testament to his success.

Epilogue

"Yaga-sensei," Geto sighed wearily. "Can I be paired with Shoko, please?"

"Geto-san, wait, please—" you frantically tried to explain, glaring at Gojo in the process. "I'll do my best so—"

"You're such a bother, even Suguru doesn't want to go on missions with you," the white-haired clown remarked with an evil grin. "Right, Suguru?"

"No, Satoru—"

"Well, but if it's me, I'll gladly mentor and teach you though~"

"I don't want you! You're so insufferably annoying!"

"Yaga-sensei, can I please get paired with someone else—"

✎ forever

- gojo satoru x reader

the three times he asked you to marry him

genre: slightly suggestive, fluff/comfort, silly and lovesick gojo, wedding proposals, mild angst, mentions of injury and protective gojo

note: i was inspired by some fics with this kind of trope and i can totally see gojo asking you to marry him while he's dead drunk—

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

"Why don't we get married?"

The first time Satoru brought this up was right after you both had exhausted yourselves in an intense, passionate lovemaking session.

His bare skin was against yours, and the intimacy of it almost made you want to go along with his suggestion, until you grasped the profound meaning behind his words.

"Satoru," you breathed out, still breathless as you came down from your high. "Are you seriously asking me that now?"

A dopey smile was on his face. "Yeah, is there a problem with it?"

You blinked. The nerve of this clown-head—

"Not even a proper proposal? Or a ring?" you scowled. "Considering your usual flair, this is a rather lackluster attempt at a proposal."

Of course, you weren't a material girl, but considering his big ego and tendency to go overboard, you just had to call him out.

"Hmm? So if there's a grand proposal and I bought you a ring, then you'll say yes?"

There was practically a twinkle in those bright eyes of his now, and you were a bit caught off guard because well, so he is for real?

You’d be lying if you said that the thought of marrying him hadn’t crossed your mind. But to be frank, Gojo Satoru didn't strike you as someone who was interested in anything as cliché as marriage and everything that comes with it.

Which brought you back to this point—you had absolutely no idea what possessed him to bring up this question.

"Hah," you let out a sardonic laugh. "Not that easy. I'll think about it."

When he let out a “Ehhh?”, and started sulking, you were quite sure, and dismissed the question as one of his passing whims.

The second time he posed the question, he was a babbling, slurring mess of alcohol and hiccups.

"Can't we—hic—" His face was flushed, and he was pitifully wobbling on his feet. "—just get married—hic—already?"

This time you scoffed, partly out of disdain, crossing your arms in front of you. Satoru seemed to pick up on your unfavorable reaction and attempted to convince you. "I'm being—"

"No," you sternly interrupted, supporting him as he struggled to stay on his feet. You shot an unapologetic look at the other patrons in the bar who were watching you both with disapproving frowns. "Satoru, we're going home."

"I'm—hic—asking you to marry me!"

"I said no."

"Why?!"

You sighed. "You're dead drunk."

"What will—hic—make you say yes?"

You let out another sigh. It already took a great deal of patience to deal with his immaturity as his girlfriend, and you could only imagine how much more challenging it would be as his wife.

"I'm so heartbroken," he whined, crocodile tears pooling in his eyes as he peered at you like a kicked puppy. "I got rejected twice already... How could you reject me twice?"

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics.

"Marry me."

The third time around, he was neither bringing it up on a whim or drunk, also he wasn't quite asking—his tone was almost pleading.

And you just woke up from your comatose state after a mission gone wrong, still in your bloodied uniform, eyes barely adjusting to the bright room.

Satoru let out a grunt, clasping your fingers in his warm, reassuring grip. It was evident how deeply distressed he was from the furrowed brow and the quiver in his lips as he looked down at you, as well as the gentle way he was stroking your hair.

At this moment, you wanted to cry. The fact that he was so genuinely concerned for you filled you with warmth and emotion.

. . .

He saw it happen right before him—the crimson blood flowing out of your wound like waterfall. He had screamed at you to breathe and not let go of his hand. The moment he felt your head lolled back in his arms and you lost your grip on him, he could swear his own heart had stopped too.

He had never been more grateful that you—his best friend, love of his life, the only one he had left—awoke from that horrifying ordeal. Seeing you stained red by your own blood had undoubtedly distorted his point of view, but his desire to marry you, as what he had been suggesting as of late, clearly was not just a mere passing thought.

Because he is acutely aware of how cruel this world is. This damned world has always taken everything that's important to him, and before they can snatch you away too, he will claim you as his first.

"Marry me," he repeated, his voice now sounding more hoarse, not as confident as it had been the first time.

As you gazed into his beautiful eyes, it occurred to your hazy mind that you very nearly died. That you were that close to not seeing him ever again. You had been apprehensive with how he had phrased his proposals so far, and you didn't want your marriage to be a split-second decision forced by some sort of looming omen.

And yet, falling in love with Gojo Satoru had never been the easiest, but you did anyway. He still held onto your hand, patiently awaiting your response—

—but suddenly, like a sharp whiplash effect, what shocked you was that who you saw then wasn't your boyfriend.

But rather, the man with the mantle of the strongest sorcerer alive.

You could lose him just as much as he could lose you. Sooner or later, who knows? His title is both a blessing and a curse. Up until now, it has been a blessing, but who can say when it might suddenly turn into a curse that tears him away from you?

. . .

This time, you didn't snort or doubt his intention. Instead, you smiled, embracing the profound flutter in your chest as you were being proposed.

"Okay," you whispered, voice dry. "Yes… I'll marry you, Satoru."

📂 𝐑𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

↳ 📂 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Post-divorce, Exes-to-Lovers, Miguel being a bitch in the beginning but slowly softening up, mentions of flings.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In your complex web of your shared history, you and Miguel, your ex-husband and co-worker, struggle to communicate without clashing your professional and personal lives. However, an unexpected moment sparks a longing between the two of you. Despite the tension, a shared moment reveals unspoken desires and deep secrets.

You felt your mouth and throat becoming increasingly dry as each second passed and you couldn’t moisten it no matter how many times you swallowed. Your eyes have been burning since this morning from staring at the screen for so long but you had to get the reports done by the end of the day. You watched Miguel, your colleague and ex, with his sharp gaze fixated on the proposal titled ‘Enhanced Genetic Therapy for Tissue Regeneration’ you’ve just submitted to him, scrutinising every word written inside the file. His office and lab was located in the heart of Alchemax’s research facility, a place where genetic breakthroughs were made. But now the once-familiar corridors and labs became a bore to your awkward encounters and tense silence since your divorce. Despite the passing of time, working with Miguel had never grown any easier.

Time felt slower as you waited for him to finish reading. Minutes felt like hours and the silence that surrounded you was almost suffocating. Finally, just when you thought you weren't going to hold back any longer, he spoke up, voice controlled and assertive which cut through the stiffness in the room.

“You know this quality of work is inadequate from you.” He chided, dumping the file back in front of you dismissively. His words reverberated in your ribcage and made your skin crawl. If you weren’t in a professional setting right now, you would’ve thrown every curse word at him and telling him how you’ve worked tooth and nail all day on the reports only for him to have the audacity to just dismiss it like it was nothing. But instead you gulped, shoving the vulgar words down your throat and reached for the files on the desk. He still held his gaze as he waited for a response from you.

“Sorry…” you sighed, holding the files against your chest. “It'll be better next time.” Your tone had a hint of bitterness to it that you couldn’t hide from him. For a fleeting moment, you glimpsed something in his gaze - a flicker of what used to be. But it quickly disappeared and was replaced with his usual mask of professionalism. Miguel had always been assertive, even during your marriage. It was hard to tell if he was using that assertiveness as a reason to be firm with you now, or if he was still bitter about the divorce. With a brief nod, you turned and left the room. As you were reaching for the exit you caught a snarky remark from him, it was quiet but you still heard it perfectly.

“Yeah… sure it will.” He muttered before turning his back towards you, now completely blocking you off from his peripheral vision. The weight of the encounter still lingered as you made your way back to your own cubicle. To make matters worse, your work space was not too far from Miguel’s, so he had the perfect view of you and could watch you whenever he wanted. Even as you would have your back towards him, his piercing stare was still palpable, like blades on your bare skin. As you reached your workspace, you slumped down on your chair and set down the file on the desk. You turned on your computer monitor and opened up the documents again, your eyes stinging from the screen. As you focused on perfecting your papers, the familiar measured footsteps with confident stride drew closer towards your cubicle. You turned to see Miguel, leaning on the frame of your cubicle with two mugs in his hand.

“I got your coffee too.” He simply stated as he placed the mug on your desk.

“Huh? Oh…Thanks.” The gesture caught you off guard, especially when he was scolding you for your work just a few moments ago. Nevertheless you took the mug. You took a few sips from the hot beverage and felt the warmth down your throat. Drinking coffee on an empty stomach was probably not the best idea. You could feel the liquid settling in the lower pit of your stomach with the bitter taste on your tongue but that wasn’t your main concern. Your eyes were still sore and dry making you rub them repeatedly. It didn’t help that you were developing a headache too from the prolonged screen time. Miguel was still standing on the edge of your cubicle, watching as you tried to sooth your dry eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, the coldness in his tone wasn’t there this time.

“Fine-” you replied, your tone was abrupt as you turned back to your work again, hoping he’d get the hint. You weren’t in the mood to hear anymore criticism from him.

“You’re not fine…don’t lie to me.” He leaned on the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, his mug still in one of his hands. His eyes were now drawn to your monitor screen, reading over and analysing the open document.

“Maybe not. Why does it matter?” You mumbled, still not facing him as you talked and hoping he would leave you alone. You really didn’t want to deal with him in your work space especially with the throbbing headache you had. Even the fluorescent lighting felt like it was screaming at you.

“‘Why?’” He sighed and you knew he was pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance like he always did. “Because we work at the same place and see each other every day. Plus, what’s wrong with checking up on my colleagues?”

“I thought by now you would at least try to ignore my presence or pretend I’m not here.”

“Do you really think I could ignore you when you’re only a few cubicles away from me? C’mon now.”

“I could.” That was a damn lie. Everyday you could always feel his presence like a dark shadow of your history looming over you. The tangled mess of your past was impossible to escape. As much as you wanted to move on, it seemed that your past will forever haunt your professional lives.

“Do you know what your problem is?” You didn’t question him further but could hear him stepping fully inside you the cubicle now as he spoke. You knew he was going to answer his own question anyways. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, listening intently to your interaction and recognising the gravity of the situation. “You expect too much, especially from me.”

“Sorry?!” Your voice almost came out as a screech as you finally turned your chair to face him, you scrunch your face in both shock and disgust. It was ironic hearing that from him of all people. But if this was how he felt about you, you suspected that was the reason why he had ridiculously high expectations of you. His eyes fell on you again, amused by your sudden change of tone.

“You expect me to ignore you completely. You want me to forget about you and treat you with disdain and hatred.” He let out a dark chuckle and took a sip from his coffee before he spoke again. “That was never going to happen.” He looked back at the screen again but you held your gaze at him, now feeling a little perplexing. You never said anything about hatred - sure you ended your marriage on a bad note but there was no point hating each other. You rather treat each other as colleagues with no history between the two of you just to keep things civil.

“Not hatred, I never said anything about that. Just act like our marriage never happened.” You told him, making him chuckle again, his tone was starting to sound a little condescending and you were now realising how unreasonable your expectations were.

“I can’t just forget we were once married….we were together for five years.”

“Yeah and then we got a divorce after. Who’s fault was that?” The last sentence came out more hostile than you intended but you still hoped you got your message across.

“Mine.” He stated, his voice low and tinged with regret. It was a single syllable but it still shook the stillness in the air, like a boulder being dropped in a stagnant pond and sending ripples of emotions that melted away the tension in the room. “…mine for not being the man you deserved.” He continued.

“At least you’re self aware.” You said dismissively, hoping that was the end of the conversation. You didn’t want to revisit your broken marriage, especially with your headache throbbing more now.

“Mhm...doesn't make it hurt any less though.” He mumbled as he took another sip from his mug, hoping you didn’t hear.

“What was that?” He didn’t repeat himself but his silence and the falter in his expression behind the mug spoke volume.

Your eyes met his and for a moment, a rush of memories unraveled in your mind. You remembered the man you fell in love with, the one who captivated your heart and vowed to protect you till his last breath. But somewhere along the way of your marriage, his unwavering commitment to his job overshadowed your relationship. Your marriage was on its last legs before it crumbled. A pang of sadness washed over you as you wondered how things would’ve been different if he struck a better balance between his career and your relationship. That little bit of love you still harbored for him made you ache for what could have been.

“It does hurt sometimes, you know.” You admitted, averting your gaze away in shame.

“Hm?” He hummed inquisitively, tilting his head in curiosity at what you’ve just said before continuing. “It must be hard for you…”

There was a hint of regret that settled in your mind. It was minimal but just enough to make you wonder that, just maybe, you had been too hasty in making the final decision.

“Look, I know the main reason for our divorce was because I didn’t feel valued and you were more focused on work but…sometimes I feel like I was a little hard on you and I didn’t give you a chance to redeem yourself. Sorry that sounds pathetic…” As you spoke to admit your feeling, it felt like you were reopening a jaded door that was long closed.

“Do you want to hear something more pathetic?” Miguel asked, walking up to you and crouching down so he could look up at you, all while you remained seated on the chair. The change of position made your heart stutter and the air in the cubicle seemed to be amplified now. “The reason I was so focused on work was because I was scared to lose you. I thought if you saw who I truly was, you’d leave me. And focusing more on work, I thought it was a way of protecting myself from that.”

“Miggy…” your voice softened as you placed your hand on his shoulder, something you never thought you’d see yourself do again. You couldn’t help but notice the sudden change of his demeanor after you uttered that endearing nickname. For a moment, you saw the hint of nostalgia in his gaze that unlocked a hidden compartment in your shared history. “I married you for a reason. Before things were complicated between us, I was head over heels for you. I knew you meant well but I wish you told me about this earlier.” You said, making him sigh quietly and nodded in agreement.

“I’m sorry, you deserve better. The worst part is that I was so afraid to lose you yet I ended up losing you anyway because I was so focused on my damn work.” It was your turn to let out a somber sigh. “But…I do hope you’re doing well now. Are you?” He looked up at you, his brown eyes glistening with a hint of crimson under the lighting and waiting for your response.

“You could say that. But I do miss you before you were so engrossed in your work.” You chuckled as if that wasn’t obvious by now after you just admitted your deeper feelings.

“I miss us too. But I guessed you moved on…do you have anyone now?”

“Nothing but flings here and there.” You admitted sheepishly. You caught the slight twitch in Miguel’s jaw after hearing you say that. You could've sworn you saw specks of red in his iris overshadowed the warm brown hue. The sight sent a cold shiver up your spine. “They were just to get my mind off of things. But everytime I would end up missing your touch even more.” You added quickly. It wasn’t a lie. All those one-night stands were nothing other than stress relievers and it would never be as sensual and passionate as what you experienced with Miguel. You heard him chuckle in amusement.

“They couldn’t compare, huh?” He teased, a smirk tugged on his lips. “I’ve missed your touch too…when I think of you being with someone else, it hurts like hell.” There was pain wovened in his voice as he said that last sentence but you couldn’t blame him when you felt the same.

“Me too…I’d get a little jealous thinking that you’d treat another woman better, the way I desperately wanted to be treated.” You gulped. The image of Miguel making another woman happy made you chest clench even though you fully knew you shouldn’t feel like this when you were the one that initiated the divorce.

“Treat another woman better?” Miguel echoed in solemn. “You have no idea how much I regret treating you the way I did. It haunts me to this day.” From the look of his eyes, you knew he was being sincere and you could feel the raw emotions emanating from him. You remembered the moments you felt neglected and unappreciated but now after hearing Miguel’s confession, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had felt just as lost as you did.

“So… what do you want to do now?” You asked, the question hung in the air between the two of you. The query was loaded with possibilities that could redefine your future together.

“Now? Well…I really wish I knew but I know I don’t want to move on from this. I want to try again with you.” Miguel's gaze was now fixated on yours, desperately trying to read your face.

“How about we start with this.” You smiled, wheeling your chair a little closer towards him. “Are you free Friday night?” Miguel’s eyes blinked rapidly in surprise, clearly not expecting things to move this fast.

“Oh uhm yeah…wanna grab dinner maybe?” Your heart was pounding in your chest in euphoria and you couldn’t help the grin that grew on your lips.

“Yeah I’d love that.”

“Great, I’ll find us a place then and I’ll let you know the details.” Miguel beamed as he got up from his knees.

“Perfect. I can't wait.” You wheeled your chair back as you spoke.

“Me neither, hermosa...”

God, you missed that smile.

Reblog >> Like

{{Part 2}}

"MY TYPE IS..." with TWISTED WONDERLAND

synopsis: you respond to a "what's your type?" question with his name. how does he react?

characters: riddle, trey, cater, ace, & deuce x gn! painfully blunt! reader

includes: cursing, non-explicit makeout mention,

heartslabyul(here), savanaclaw+octavinelle, scarabia+pomefiore, ignihyde+disomania.

grim, as always, was nagging you with questions in front of your crush and group of friends. they're all left to their own devices until grim asks, "what's your type?" and the attention of your crush falls on you for your answer.

riddle rosehearts, dorm leader of heartslabyul.

"my ideal type? well, he's red-haired, with grey eyes, whose short and just happens to be the dorm leader of heartslabyul!"

the "ideal crush" in question was as red as his hair. he almost spits his tea out.

you practically confessed to riddle! or at least told him he's the type you're looking for.

riddle looks at you like you've gone mad, not even realizing he's been actively staring at you.

"[name], are you serious?" he questions, calming himself down. you look at him confused.

"why wouldn't i be serious? was my clear description of you, riddle rosehearts, my crush, not enough?"

he still looks at you confused. riddle fully understands, it's just.. you're being so straightforward about it! he can't handle how blunt you're being with your advances.

you sigh, "since you still aren't understanding, i like you riddle. is that clear enough?"

"no, i am not as red as my hair! ugh, yes, [name]. i understood just well. it just took me a while to get used to how blunt you were. but, i guess i could say you're my ideal type too. and i guess i like you too."

trey clover, vice dorm leader of heartslabyul.

"my type's obviously a green-haired, amber-eyes, glasses-wearing, hot baker with a clover on his cheek."

doth trey's ears deceive him? you obviously just described him. he has green hair, yellow eyes, glasses, and a clover on his cheek. plus, he's a baker!

trey doesn't even realize he's stared at you, the tart he made long forgotten on his plate.

you stare at him like you didn't just say he was your type. "um, [name]?" "yeah?"

trey looks at you, takes a deep breath and asks, "do you like me?"

"of course i do, silly! i wouldn't have described you as my type if i didn't."

trey takes a deep breath once again. thank the great seven.

"oh thank goodness. i liked you too but i didn't really know how to approach it. i was gonna make you a (favorite dessert) with "will you be mine?" on it, but i guess i don't have to anymore. oh? i should still do it? well, i guess you'll just have to come over to heartslabyul tonight for a surprise, dear."

cater diamond, heartslabyul third year.

"do you even have eyes? my type is this really cute guy with orange hair, green eyes, a red diamond on his face, a heartslabyul third year and magicam influencer! aka, the hottest guy in the world!"

he squeals. cater lets out a loud, high-pitched, squeal that would be associated with preppy high school girls in movies. people would have noticed if it wasn't for the already loud cafeteria.

he moves to the seat next to you, holding you by your waist.

"[name], do you really like me?" the smile on his face blinds you, but you can see he has a hint of worry in his green eyes. imagine how disappointed he'd be if you were to like some other heartslabyul guy that looked exactly like him.

you lean in, hooking a arm around his neck and using your hand to push his head into your lips. your lips kiss him and you can taste his lime tart and cherry chapstick.

"is.. is that enough to prove to you that i love you?" you pant after the kiss, looking at cater's reddened face.

"haha! that was more than enough, but how about you prove to me how much you love me a bit more, cutie?"

(you guys make out and have to be forcefully separated becuase the friend group does NOT approve of the pda.)

ace trappola, heartslabyul first year.

"okay, so he's a fucking pain in the ass and a stupid idiot but i love him, y'know? his orange-red hair and the stupid heart on his face and that silly grin his makes when he does something dumb like breaking riddles rules or messes up a potion or something.. he may be a fucking dumbass but he's a dumbass i have a crush on."

first of all, ouch.

he's not a pain in the ass or a stupid idiot! and his heart isn't stupid and his grin isn't silly- wait, did you say you have a crush on him?

ace is flattered, but that would never ever stop him from being a little shit about it.

i mean, you called him a stupid idiot you love, right? so that means that he can be a dumbass and you'll still forgive him, right? of course you will, he thinks.

"[nickname]~ you have a crush on me? aww, you're too cute! of course you'd like me, i'm hot, i have a cute grin,-- what! i'm not an idiot!"

deuce spade, heartslabyul first year.

"what a silly question! anyways, my type is tall, blue-haired, and a real cutie! he has this cute little spade on his face but hes kinda dumb. i love it about him though! the pout on his face he gets when he's confused is adorable!"

queue cute, confused deuce.

"aw look, he's doing the little confusion pout right now! ah, i have the biggest crush on him!" you gush, and the color drains from his face before it comes back as a vibrant red blush.

he bangs his head on the table, making a cute whimpering noise.

when he finally looks up, still blushing, he's met with your smile and almost topples over. you're gonna give him a heart attack!

"don't embarrass me like that! ugh, but since we're on the matter, y-yeah i like you, too."

#Nanami: i'm not the step father i'm the father that stepped up

yes, i have a girlfriend, and yes, she's real!

PAIRING: gamer!gojo x reader.

SYNOPSIS: what happens when your gamer boyfriend brings you on-screen?

CONTENTS: fem!reader. use of she/her pronouns + reader is referred to as gojo's girlfriend. toji slander bcs he deserves it. really short LMAO. you guys rly thought i'd have enough motivation to write a whole oneshot on gamer!gojo (you thought wrong).

"oh, please," satoru laughs, leaning back and grinning at the screen in front of him. he tosses his hair, but it falls back into his eyes just seconds later. "no way you guys all thought i would lose that one. c'mon, have some faith in me!"

you watch satoru reply to the hundreds of comments lighting up the side of his monitor, smiling endearingly at the way he laughs at some and practically chortles at others.

it was only after the two of you started dating that satoru disclosed his streaming hobby, and to your surprise, he was pretty popular. thousands of people tuned in to watch him play some game or another every night, and well, it paid better than you'd expect.

satoru whistles, hands resting comfortably behind his head as a particular question catches his attention. "ah, do i have a girlfriend?" he muses, grinning as he shoots a quick side-glance at you. "yeah," he continues, snorting when what looks like a flurry of no fucking way's flood the chat.

he clicks his tongue disappointedly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "what, did all eight thousand of you think i couldn't pull? thanks a lot," satoru deadpans, waving his hand and sighing dramatically. "i don't know what any of you mean. i'm a catch!"

you snicker at that, and your laughter only increases when satoru turns and gapes at you. he juts his bottom lip out, face sinking into an adorable pout at he crosses his arms. "even my own girlfriend's laughing at me," he mumbles petulantly. "hmph!"

satoru sticks his tongue out at you childishly, and you blow a kiss back. he pretends to faint before turning back to his monitor, quickly skimming the comments before he gasps. "what do you mean, she probably doesn't exist?!" he sputters, clutching his heart exaggeratedly.

the look on his face is priceless — imagine getting told by thousands of people that one, they think you can't pull, and two, that they don't even believe your significant other exists. naturally, satoru reacts as dramatically as ever. he pretends to ignore everyone in the comments before calling them out individually.

"oh, i see you, toji... fishy-guru," satoru gripes, wagging his finger at his screen. "my girlfriend exists and she's mine! don't even think about it." he pauses, squinting at the chat before correcting himself with an eyeroll. "fushiguro. whatever. either way, she's real and she's all mine."

satoru swivels his chair to face you, making an incredulous face as he gestures to the screen. "can you believe this?" he grumbles, ocean-blue eyes focused on you. "these guys don't think you're real."

you shrug, toying with the corner of his sheets as you smile back at satoru. he's so childish, but that's just one of the many things you adore about him. sure, he's an annoying brat, but at least he's a total sweetheart too.

your boyfriend extends his hand, beckoning you to come over to him. "c'mon, darling," he cooes, scrunching up his nose at you. "wanna help me prove these losers wrong?" satoru mouths please, and the puppy eyes he gives you are cute enough to convince you.

so you hop off his bed, running a hand through your hair as you stroll over to where he sits in front of his monitor. beaming like a kid on his birthday, satoru takes your hand and twines his fingers with yours.

smiling smugly, satoru pulls you on screen and into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. you watch the chat erupt with she's real's and how did he pull a girl like her's and smile, flicking satoru's forehead affectionately.

he ignores the thousands of dumbstruck users in his comments and holds you close to his chest, adjusting his grip on your waist to make his lap as comfortable as possible for you. satoru's adoring eyes are fixed on you, only you, even as his chat explodes.

suguru-geto: haha i already knew

toji-fushiguro: how the fuck did a loser like him pull her?

yuuji-itad0ri: gojo has a girlfriend??? what did i miss??

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the writing motivation came out of nowhere whaat