🩷

now i really wanna have (his) babies

Oooo Kenji Sato x a curvy girlfriend please? I wanna see how emi and kenji are upset and “arguing” who’s turn to cuddle the reader while she and professor Sato are eating snacks

heree youu go, hon. sorry abt the wait. enjoyy<33

She's mine

kenji sato x curvy!fem!reader

this contains: fluff, cuddling, silly banters.

summary: kenji amd emi quarrel for your attention.

masterlist !

"you think they'd stop this nonsense anytime soon?" professor sato asked you, pushing the box of donuts towards you.

you picked one with the strawberry filling, "highly unlikely," you bit into it, watching the drama unfold in front of you with professor sato.

kenji and emi arguing by the workplace, voices raised and hands moving around exaggeratedly.

kenji's finger was pointed directly at emi as she adamantly flailed her arms in response. her face was drawn down in distress, clearly feeling frustrated and unheeded by his stern demeanor.

"you had her last week!" kenji argued, "now, it's my turn,"

emi squealed in protest, flopping down on the ground with a cry.

"oh really? you think you can have her by throwing a fit?! not gonna happen, princess,"

you rolled your eyes at the scene, lips tugging upwards in amusement.

"no can do, missy!" kenji hollered at the kaiju baby, "she's mine. i got her first! you came around like what, a few weeks ago?" he pretended to think, "get in line, young woman!" he jabbed a thumb behind his back.

growling in frustration, emi sent a ray of sound waves his way. kenji barely dodged it at the nick of time, gaping up at emi. at the nerve to do so.

"this is so stupid," you face-palmed, sliding off the chair from professor sato's side and headed towards the children's quarrel.

"okay kids," you got in between them, speaking sternly, "mommy's here. behave yourself-" you yelped when you were pulled into kenji's arms, made to stand in front of him.

emi pouted, making grabby hands at you, cooing in need.

kenji pulled you into him in such a way your back was flush with his chest, "i don't even need to argue or explain myself to you whatsoever, emi," his palms splayed on your love handles, holding you possessively, "she's mine," he kissed your neck possessively, making your squirm in place, his fingers curling on your soft skin of your stomach.

emi's cheeks wobbled her and shoulders sagged in defeat, assuming you had picked him over her.

her cheeks wobbled and emi wailed loudly, kicking her legs on front of her.

he scoffed at her, "you think she's gonna coddle you- honey, don't coddle her," kenji uttered to you when you slipped out of his arms and headed towards emi.

you strode towards her, climbing the high-rise stool and sat cross-legged on it, "my poor baby, c'mere," you cooed at her, stretching your arms put in front of you, "s'okay, my love,"

"i thought i was your love," kenji mumbled lowly, ducking his head. but you heard it.

you shot him a stern glare that spoke 'not now, kenji,"

your boyfriend groaned loudly, stomping over to his father's side and sat on your seat. he grabbed a donut, stuffing his face to cope up with the annoyance that was bubbling in him.

"shh, shh, i'm right here," you hands spread on her cheeks when she leaned towards you. you pressed a loud smooch to her orange beak, making her sobs stop instantly.

kenji rolled his eyes, "cheap trick-ow!"

professor sato hit his son at the back of his son with his cane, "get it together!"

you had cuddled emi to sleep, her arm slung over your lap. you brushed your palms on her round cheeks to ease her into sleep.

you carefully slipped out, heading towards the corner of the basement where kenji was making his daily coffee.

he heard you approach and looked at you over his shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief, "can i have you to myself now?"

you gave him a nose-scrunched smile, arms held wide for him.

kenji rushed into your awaiting arms, pulling you into him. his face burying into the crook of your neck, "finally, all mine,"

you slipped your hands into the hair at the back of his neck, "you need to grow up,"

you stilled when you felt him kiss your jaw, muttering desperately, "missed you so much, baby. you have no idea," he huffed into your chest like a needy child, clinging onto you.

he sat on the couch behind, pulling you on his lap. his hands were at the back of your thighs, making you straddle him.

his fingers squeezed your thighs, as though to make sure you were actually with him

"kenji...?" you rested your hands on his shoulders, your tone questioning.

"shush, sweetheart," kenji silenced you with a kiss to your lips. your chest against his, both hearts beating in sync, "you're not going anywhere. and m'not gonna lose you to a kaiju baby, for god sakes,"

STILES STILINSKI looking attractive as hell in red

my new year's gift ✨️

gojo is sure that he’s going to die today.

you’re gonna kill him, tsumiki’s gonna kill him. hell, megumi’s probably gonna kill him too.

once gojo finds him, that is.

the task had been simple: go to the mall and get a picture with the mall santa. easy. fool-proof. but he’d turned his back for thirty seconds to look at a nice shirt in a display, and now the brat’s nowhere to be seen.

he’d always been thankful that the seven year-old was relatively independent. it meant less work for him. but now it’s been fifteen minutes, he hasn’t seen that sea-urchin hair anywhere, and gojo’s now feeling the panic of a single, overworked parent in a mop commercial.

he shouldn’t have let you talk him out of the backpack leash. “it’s impossible to lose him now, he’s seven,” you’d said.

well, it was possible. bet you’re gonna feel real stupid when he says ‘i told you so.’

(stupid, amongst other things. anger might win out if gojo comes home alone, without even the picture with the knock-off santa.)

he slides his shades down every time a group of kids passes by, because maybe megumi’s made a friend and run off with another group of fellow delinquents? he hopes that’s the case.

a quick check to his watch confirms gojo’s now been searching for twenty minutes, and he’s really kinda worried. what if something had happened? he’s ready to call the police, the DA, maybe even nanamin—

“excuse me, sir?”

he whirls around to see a mall cop behind him, an almost laughable attempt of a stern look on his face and powdered sugar caught in his moustache. not exactly who he’d turn to right now, but he has a badge and probably has access to the intercom system.

“yeah?”

“we’ve been getting reports of a tall man with sunglasses staring at children. you’re going to need to come with me,” he says, almost boredly. there’s a pair of handcuffs hanging from his belt that gojo could crumble into pieces with a flick of his wrist.

yet he blinks, brain short-circuiting as he processes rent-a-cop’s words. what?

“staring at children— i’ll have you know i’m a teacher!” kinda. “and that if anyone’s child is in danger, it’s probably mine!”

“sir,” he sighs, “could you just come with me?”

“my kid is missing,” he insists. “could you just help me out before literally everyone i know chews me out and i’m responsible for losing one of the greatest things to come out of his shit family?”

this man looks like he could honestly care less, but heaves a great sigh and turns around, gesturing for him to follow.

gojo trails after him, eyes still roving around for any sign of megumi until they get to what he assumes is a very sad, not very secure mall jail.

and sitting there in a little room with a flimsy lock, is fushiguro megumi.

“holy— holy shit!” he laughs, with relief, with amusement, he doesn’t know. he pounds on the glass, watching the kid’s eyes widen slightly. “that’s my kid! megumi!! what the hell did you do?”

“he got into a fight with the mall santa and kicked an elf in the family jewels,” the cop at the desk answered. “we called his guardian.”

gojo stares at him, brows furrowed. his phone hadn’t rung once! “but i’m his guar—”

“satoru.”

uh oh.

“hey!” he grins, whirling around to greet you with a nervous laugh and a kiss to the lips that you don’t reciprocate. “babe! what are you doing here?”

“i’m here to bail megumi out of mall jail,” you answer flatly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “i asked you to do one thing for tsumiki. you just had to get a cute picture of her brother with santa claus. how are you going to tell her that he’s been banned from the mall until next year?”

the cop opens the door to let the little delinquent out.

megumi digs into his pants pocket, holding a crumpled photo out to you. “i went and got the picture when he left to look at clothes.”

the sorcerer withers under your glare as you take the photo, smoothing it out as best you can to take a look.

“megumi, this is a picture of you punching santa in the face.”

-

“hey, gojo-sensei, what’s this?” itadori asks, fishing a creased piece of paper from his wallet.

“i thought i told you to get my frozen yogurt stamp card,” he chuckles.

“you kept that?” megumi asks, staring at him in the rear view mirror.

“he made copies and sent it out as a christmas card,” you laugh from the passenger seat. “‘merry christmas from the fushigojos’”

“oh my god,” megumi groans. “you guys are so embarrassing.”

“we had to bail you out of jail.”

“fushiguro went to jail?” nobara gasps. “why didn’t you tell us this? you never tell us anything!”

“it was at a mall.”

“you were in a room that locked from the outside,” gojo quips. “sounds like jail to me.”

“let’s not forget the reason why he was there,” you grumble. “negligence.”

“you’re the one who said we didn’t need the backpack leash! i told you so.”

istg I wish I could keep gojos face on the final slide as my fuckin wallpaper🤣🤣🤣

tbh I don't really like miyo's persona; I get that she was abused in her home and grew up in a very submissive state. but that's exactly what I don't like! why would she bow down to them, why didn't she fight back(doesn't matter if she doesn't have the gifts). THATS JUST MY OPINION, DON'T COME FOR ME!

but I do like the anime, it's very pretty to watch. I do feel bad for miyo but im happy that she's found happiness in her marriage with kiyoka.

🌸 My Happy Marriage illustrations by Tsukiho Tsukioka 🌸

THIS IS FXCKIN ART!

Jujutsu Kaisen | Shibuya Incident Arc Opening

this and Sugar Plums, my delicate love for bucky barnes has been reinforced

Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

warnings: Fluff & Angst | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CA:TWS | PTSD mentions | Mention of medical treatments | Recovery | Brief talk of nightmares

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

my baby boi 🩷

uuuhhhhhmmmmMMMMM….

——

“Hey?”

“Hi.”

Interrupting his cooking, your hands come up to gently slot Choso’s face, smiling lovingly up at him while you angle him to face you. His chopping fingers still as you divert his attention, and he gives you a small smile and let his eyes wander your face. “Whatcha doin’?”

You raise on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss to his lips, “mwah.”

“Mwah,” he echos, his eyes dancing over your face affectionately.

“One more-“ you raise on your toes again to plop another kiss on his lips, “mwah!”

“Mwah.”

“Okay,” you hum, kissing his cheek and patting his back lovingly, “you can go back to cooking. Let me know when you need me.”

“I always need you,” he calls.

You just really like kissing Choso. You knew you liked it from the second you’d kissed him for the first time, unable to stop thinking about him and how right kissing him felt, you love kissing him like breathing and it feels just as comforting.

You kiss him anywhere and everywhere, grateful for the man you call your boyfriend and his chivalry of never letting you go too long without a kiss, or letting you kiss him whenever or wherever you see fit.

Like how the other day, driving home, he paid no mind as you grabbed his hand gently from the wheel, planting tiny kisses on the pads of his fingers and knuckles before letting it go back to its perch on the wheel.

Or, when you’re cuddling, and you slowly start kissing the sharpness of his jawline, not to mark it up, but sheerly because it’s the perfect area to sponge sticky kisses on, and he wraps his arms around you, as if to shield the action from the sunlight pouring in the windows.

Or, when you'd been rough housing for who knows how long, and once you rolled on top of him victoriously, you were able to pin his hands next to his head and pepper kisses over his scrunched face.

"It tickles," he complained.

You shrugged and smiled mischievously down at him, "that's punishment for losing."

You both know his words are empty, and he loves kissing you as much as he loves receiving them.

More than anything, your need to kiss Choso is nothing short of an obsession, compulsory and tkes over your mind and soul where you can't even begin to process going on with your day until the fixation is settled.

Not that either of you have ever complained.

—-

Taggin 🥺🩷 @reverie-starlight @wolffmaiden @thoreeo @aliensknowmyillusions @tutuwusworld @lavishcherie @sassycheesecake @cheolattes @rrairey @dira333 @unknownspecies

🤌🤌🤌

1am thoughts, thinking about Gojo introducing kid Megumi to his newborn baby and Megumi being protective of them and even calling them his little sister/brother at one point and gojo is running LAPS he's just overwhelmed and happy over a small yet powerful phrase.

to protect — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this is so cute i am gonna cry also megumi is like 11-12 here

you’re finally back home, after a long day at the hospital. you’re finally engulfed in the comfort of your bed while your husband is still sat up with his little girl bundled in his arms.

he hasn’t let go of her since you have been discharged.

“’toru, honey, you have to sleep soon; you can hold her tomorrow,” you sleepily murmur to your husband.

he nods and whispers, “I know. It’s just I—I can’t believe it’s real,” he kisses her forehead softly, “that she is finally here, our little princess.”

a tired smile makes its way to your lips. you hum in understanding, gently caressing his cheek. he sighs happily, before looking at you, “but you, missy, actually need to rest. you’ve had a long day.”

you frown and he chuckles, and his hand moves to stroke your hair, “rest, pretty. you were a champion today,” you move to nuzzle closer to his side and your arm wraps around his torso.

and so his little girl is comfortably nestled in one of his arms, while the other is wrapped around you so his hand can pet your head lovingly.

satoru truly feels like he is holding the world in his hands right now.

suddenly, the door slowly creaks open and a very familiar face peaks from it. satoru chuckles, “come in, megumi; they’re both asleep anyway.”

the boy carefully pads his way to gojo.

he is so used to seeing him being all goofy and unserious, so it catches him a bit off-guard how serene and quiet he is being right now. megumi looks at the sleeping baby then whispers, “what’s her name?”

“d/n,” satoru answers fondly.

megumi nods then observes her for a small while, “she really is a perfect mix between the both of you.”

a soft and quiet laugh escapes satoru’s lips, “you’re right,” he looks up at megumi with a grin, “you wanna hold her?”

the boy is taken back and his expression betrays him as nervousness takes over his face. his eyes don’t leave the girl and his gaze is more than troubled, “…what if I hurt her?”

satoru shakes his head, “you scared? she is my daughter; she is the strongest baby ever,” he grins, “no one can hurt her.”

megumi rolls his eyes, but quickly directs his focus to the little girl. he takes a moment, before he extends his arms. satoru gently places her in his arms. megumi’s hold on her is protective, and he doesn’t look as awkward as satoru thought he would.

actually, he is quite the natural.

he gently rocks her, and he can’t help but smile at her sleeping face. megumi whispers to her, “hi there.”

she coos at him, and starts swaying his arms around. she slowly opens her eyes, and a tiny smile appears on her chubby face. megumi’s eyes widen a little, and he immediately looks at gojo, “she is smiling.”

satoru laughs, “she is a very smiley baby, but i think she likes you a lot. she only smiled at y/n and me,” he feels you stir a bit in your sleep.

he pulls you closer and rubs your shoulder then he giggles at how quickly you fall back asleep. while satoru is occupied by you, megumi is staring in awe at little miss gojo.

later, satoru wakes up in the middle of the night to check on his little girl in the adjacent room. he groggily gets up, after kissing your forehead. he walks there, and when he finally reaches the room, he notices the lights are already on, and the door is left a bit open.

he peaks a little into the room, and sees megumi standing by the crib. he is fondly looking at d/n, and gently petting her head. he is whispering something to her, but satoru is still able to hear it all the same.

“don’t grow up to be annoying like your dad, please.”

satoru scowls, and contemplates bursting into the room, and bullying the hell out of megumi. however, he ultimately decides against it. he doesn’t end up regretting the decision.

megumi gently boops her nose, “you’re like a little sister to me now, so I promise to protect you.”

she squeals and makes grabby hands at him, and he chuckles, “you believe me, huh?”

satoru slowly backs away from the door and walks away. when he is a safe distance from the door, he starts running and bursts into your shared room.

he dramatically falls to the ground, “that was… the cutest thing ever! after d/n and y/n’s smiles, of course.”

he stands up, proudly. his heart is at ease as he now knows that there is yet another person to look after his baby girl, if something happens. a content grin is on his face as he enjoys the silence and comfort. it’s short lived, as always.

a pillow is thrown at his face, and he stumbles to the ground.

“that’s for waking me up, satoru!”

“noooo, baby, I am sorry!”

“uh—,” megumi awkwardly stands at the door, holding d/n up, “guys, she pooped.”

satoru grins, and excitedly stands up—with a camera that he got out of nowhere to take photos of her—he coos, “aww! your first shit, pretty girl? what a good girl!”

megumi places her on the changing table beside your bed. the smell of her great ‘achievement’ fills the door, and he takes the chance of gojo being distracted to run out of the room, before another nuclear explosion drops.

the girl is gleefully clapping upon seeing her dad, and he reciprocates the smile tenfold. he gently holds her feet and sways them slightly, “such a big girl, already pooping!”

“want daddy to change your diapers for you?” he coos and the girl just puts her thumb in her mouth and starts kicking her feet. he chuckles and slowly opens the diaper. he is met with the vilest smell, and he can’t believe his sweet daughter can produce such smells.

however, he quickly composes himself, and tries to make his way through the travail of changing the diaper. he proves to be too weak because he, after a moment, looks at you, “uh, babe, teamwork makes the dream work?”

you groan, falling back to the bed.

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yes baby, pls become real 😩

LOVE, GIVE ME YOUR HAND

cont. gojo x reader, fluff. pda pda pda. mentions of love and sweetheart. established relationship!au, they’re on a train. he asked for her hand (literally or in marriage?). intentional lowercase.

a/n. i was screaming the entire time i wrote this. ahhhhhh

amidst the bustling crowd on the crowded train to kyoto, you and gojo found yourselves standing side by side, the hum of conversations and the rhythmic sway of the train creating a soothing atmosphere.

his fingers lightly brushed against your waist, pulling you even closer to him amidst the press of the crowd. gojo, listening to music with one of his earbuds, turned to you, his sapphire blue eyes glowing with a beautiful intensity. he flashed a mischievous grin, his hand slipping down to find yours.

“love," he whispered, his voice a low, inviting murmur, "can you give me your hand?"

confused, you extended your right hand to him, the back of your hand facing upwards. as he held your hand, his thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, his touch sending tingles up your arm.

a frown was evident on your face as you tried to depict his next moves, but you gave no extra thought to his question, thinking it was just one of his other shenanigans.

but gojo's other hand gently cupped your chin, tilting it upwards.

your eyes widen in surprise as his face inched closer, and before you can fully comprehend what's happening, his lips met yours in a tender, unexpected kiss. his lips were warm and tender, pressing against yours with a delicate urgency.

the world around you seems to fade away, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the sweetness of the stolen kiss. when he finally pulls away, you're left breathless and bewildered.

“um? didn't you ask for my hand?" you stammered, your face flushed with a pleasant surprise.

“oh, i will, sweetheart,” he whispered by your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin, his eyes glistening with love as he looked into your very own.

“soon, my love.”

gojo become real pls