Evie's Mojo Dojo Casa House

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

is there plans for any Ino content? >^v^>

id love to write for him but i love him so much idk if i cud do him justice .. but ill give it a go just for u ..

omg haiii!!!

I am over 5'5/ I wear glasses or contacts / I have blonde hair / I often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose to tight clothing /I have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or had braces / i have freckles / I paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don't often smile / Resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / I know more than one language / I can cook or bake / I like writing / I like to read / i can multitask / I've never dated anyone / I have a best friend I've known for over 5 years / i am an only child

ok tagss ermmm @bluukive @your-sleeparalysisdem0n

@mypoptartburnt @loveyislost @selfish-machinesz

tag game 🤭

rules: color the sentence that's true about you

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

this is a whole lot of yellow lmfao

no pressure tags: @marthawrites @schniiipsel @aemonddtargaryen @aemondsbabe @adragonprinceswhore @arcielee @black-dread @lovelykhaleesiii @aemondsbabygirl @valeskafics @connorsui

⟶ "i'm so hungry i could eat ___" trend with satoru

⟶ who wants to send me requests ("meeee! ☝️" you all say in unison)

cw:: crack, not proofread, i wrote this in 10 minutes half an hour before my shift, then finished in the 5 minutes before i go to bed, reader wears glasses, gn!reader, astoundingly short seriously its 348 words

You stretch out, reaching your arms above your head and arching your back slightly. You groan in relief, before settling your head back into Satoru’s lap.

All your students are out on missions, but the intimidating stack of paperwork on almost every surface of your office meant you couldn't take the day off. And although he whined and moaned seeing you get dressed for work, your fiancé still dragged himself to Jujutsu Tech with you. Someday you'll have to address his attachment issues, but not today.

“I’m starving,” you mumble. You'd taken a much-needed break from filing papers and reports to lay in Satoru’s lap, but before long, another need popped up.

“Yeah? What d’you wanna eat, cutie?” Satoru grins, booping your nose, before sliding your glasses slightly further up your nose.

“Mmm… I dunno,” you groan. “I'm so hungry, I could eat Yaga-sensei.”

…

Satoru pauses, his hand hovering above your face. “Huh?”

You're fighting back a grin at the confusion on his pretty features. “I said, 'I'm so hungry, I could eat Yaga-sensei.’”

“Ugh,” Satoru groans. “What does that mean?”

You feign confusion at the way he grimaces, blinking up at him. “What? It's like… a thing people say.”

“Do you wanna have sex with Yaga?”

That got you. You burst out laughing, slapping his side as you cackle. “What the hell?”

He blinks at you, before a splitting grin breaks out on his face, and he playfully shoves your shoulder. “Oh my god, what's wrong with you? 'I could eat Yaga-sensei’? Seriously?”

“Haven't you seen the trend?” You're pulling out your phone, struggling to type on Tiktok, your giggling causing your thumbs to shake. But you manage, and you're shoving the first video you see in his face.

He blinks owlishly at the video, before giggling along with you. “That's so stupid.”

“It's funny!” you argue. “But I am actually hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He's gathering you into his arms, standing up with you in a bridal carry. (“I'm practicing,” is what he'd say if you asked.) “Let's get you some real food. Before you fuck our boss.”

⟶ the 4 times teen!satoru tried to break down the walls to your heart, and the 1 time he did.

cw:: fem!reader, not proofread due to lazy xP, reader dgaf, fluff/crack, 2.1k words, i can't write long works, mild blood/injury (nosebleed, broken ankle)

Satoru Gojo has no shortage of confidence. Quips that have men clapping him on the shoulder, flirts that have girls weak in the knees. He is a boy who exudes cockiness, but for some reason that he just can't understand, it all melts away in your presence, giving way to trembling hands and a red face.

You are several grades below him. Grade Three, specifically. And it's not like you're model pretty. Sure, his eyes are always fixed on your legs or your neck or your eyes or your lips or your hair, but he's definitely prettier, he's certain.

You're not even nice to him. A biting remark here, a blatant dismissal there, and he finds himself wailing into his pillow, a half-sympathetic Suguru watching on in mild pity.

“Just start small. Say you like her hair. Or her shoes,” he says, looking down at Satoru, who's sprawled out on his dorm room floor.

Satoru sniffles, lifting his head. “You really think it'll work?”

“Dunno. But it's worth a try.”

“I like your shoes, Y/N!”

You look up from your flip-phone in surprise. Paired together on a mission, the two of you had, up until now, been sitting in silence on a train. You follow his line of sight to your new converse, laced up tight. Perfectly clean and perfectly you.

“Thanks. My mom just sent them for me,” you mumble, looking the exact opposite way of him. God forbid he sees the way your cheeks tinge very slightly pink. You'd hate for him to know the effect even a passing compliment from him clearly has on you.

He grins in self-satisfaction. He knew it was a good idea to trust Suguru! And now, like clockwork, you'll be falling at his feet in three… two… one…

“There’s seaweed in your teeth.”

Stupid Suguru!

Satoru blushes furiously, turns the other way, and starts furiously sucking at his teeth to remove the offending plant. Suguru had pawned off his seaweed snack to him earlier, and now he has to reap the consequences. Another romantic failure, and this time it wasn’t even his fault.

Still red, eyes pricking with embarrassed tears, he looks back over at you. But, much to his dismay, you've returned your attention to your phone, tapping away.

He'll get ‘em next time.

”Holy shit, Gojo!”

But not this time, apparently.

His eyes widen as he sees you staggering back, and he jogs up to lean over you.

“You okay…?”

Stupid question. Because you look up at him, blood pouring from your nose, a devastating mixture of humiliation and resentment and raw pain glinting in your eyes, as you wipe your bloodied nose on your white shirt and drag your bloodied hand over your skirt.

“No, I’m not fucking okay! You always do this, stupid!” You throw one more scornful look over your shoulder, before marching back towards the school, blood still streaming down your pretty face.

For a split second, he's torn between giving you space and running after you. He picks the latter, naturally, and is quickly stumbling after you with all the grace of a newborn fawn, yelling for you to wait, just a second!

You don't, of course, and it takes him catching up to you and slowing to match the pace of your furious stomps for him to be within your earshot.

“Come on, you know I didn't mean to—”

“You literally always do this. You beg me to come train with you, for reasons beyond my understanding considering you’re, like, three grades above me, and then every time it ends with me having to take myself to the stupid nurse’s office ‘cause you can't control yourself ever, so just leave me alone.”

He frowns, guilt tearing at his heart. “Y/N, please, just let me say sorry—”

At that, you whirl around, facing him dead on. Red mars your lower face, still steadily dripping down and collecting on your well-bitten lips, and it takes a world of strength for Satoru to tear his eyes away from your mouth and up to your own gaze boring into him.

He almost hopes for a second you won't speak. Hopes you'll just turn around and continue walking in silence, not looking at him over your shoulder but at least letting him stay with you.

Alas, he is not such a lucky man.

“I don't need you to say sorry,” you mutter, before turning on your heel and marching back into the building, leaving him standing alone on the smooth stone pathway.

He wipes flour from his eyes, sneezing once, twice, thrice.

You sigh. “I thought you said you were good at baking. You called yourself ‘wifey material’.” You’re not faring much better than him, wiping egg from your cheek with a frown.

“Hey! Even a perfect clock is wrong twice a day.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

He sighs, casting his eyes over what used to be the kitchen. Several bags of flour were tipped over, so much egg where egg should not be, milk steadily dripping onto the tiled floor. The two of you look like toddlers who'd broken into the pantry, covered head to toe in staple ingredients.

“Well if I can't cook… and you can't cook… who's going to make us sweet treats?” he laments.

You imperceptibly sigh, almost feeling bad for him. “We can go to the store, if you want,” you murmur, uprighting the carton of milk. You avoid making eye contact with the incredulous look he’s giving you, but can you blame him? It's been months of knowing you, and this is the first time you've proposed hanging out together without him asking first.

His eyes light up, sparkling with glee. “Sure! The store! I’ll pay!”

“Okay. Sure.” You unloop the apron from around your neck, taking his too, and hang them up. “Let's go.”

The walk to the store is pleasant. You can't help but admire the koi fish swimming through the clear-water streams, and Satoru can't help but admire you.

The warmer weather has pushed your white shirt cuffs up your arms, and unbuttoned your top button, and he can't help but trail his eyes over the few square inches of your exposed skin. So soft, and so pretty.

“Pardon?” You’re looking at him now, pushing your glasses up to your forehead and leaving tiny indents on your nose. He’d kill to kiss them away.

“Do you mean to be saying all this out loud?” And now the sun-driven flush on your cheeks climbs higher, teasing the fat under your eyes, sinking lower and falling beneath your jawline, and oh how he’d love to be the one who makes you blush, and be the only man privy to your flusteredness—

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Your rapid clicks before his face grounds him again, and with a squeak he realises how long he's been carelessly speaking his private thoughts aloud. He pouts and swats your hand away, redirecting his gaze to the right, looking away from you.

“What? Wasn’t talking about you. Just… Uh…”

In his embarrassment, he fails to notice the way you're fanning yourself, desperately trying to bring your heated cheeks to a regular temperature.

“Just… reciting poetry…”

“You may enter now.”

The nurse is barely able to finish her sentence before Satoru bursts through the doors of the ward. You’ve sat up in bed, a tiny little scowl marring your perfect features, eyes stubbornly refusing to even glance at the cast around your ankle.

“You scared me!” he whines, dropping into the plastic chair beside your bed and dragging his hands down his face. “I thought I lost you, Y/N!”

“It’s just a broken ankle,” you mutter, swatting half-heartedly at him.

“I mean, honestly, tripping down the stairs? What a lame way to die!” he laments, batting his stupidly long eyelashes at you. It takes everything in you not to snigger.

“What's a good way to die?”

“Oh, you know, getting struck by lightning, killed by a wild rhino, after killing five billion curses… But—” he pouts at you for distracting him, “—that’s not the point! You need to be more careful!”

“Aw.” You smile ever so slightly, your eyes crinkling when you look at him. “Well, you can sign my cast.”

“Really?” He immediately drops his pout, his eyes sparkling as he fumbles for the marker you're offering him. He shoots up and out of his chair, stumbling towards the end of the bed, and giggles like a schoolboy. “The first one?”

“Sure,” you hum, watching the way he delicately cradles your ankle in his hand.

He squeals, and immediately starts doodling his name along your cast. He can't help but draw hearts around his words, but you can't bring yourself to say anything when he looks so pleased with himself.

He pulls away, petting your ankle before he sets it gently back on the bed.

“Tech is sooo boring without you. All techniques, missions that!” He sits down on the bed next to you, as you gently push yourself into a sitting position, careful not to aggravate your foot.

“Yeah? Anything fun happen in the last two days?” You ask, poking his shoulder.

“Nooo…” he sighs. “Everyone loves me too much. No variety.”

“You’re in love with yourself.”

“Well, who isn't?”

You snort. “Right.”

He grins at you. The breeze from the open window gently tousles your hair, your features bare from makeup and freshly washed. You glow under the sun, and he sighs, smiling.

“Hey, when you're back—” he starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Alright, that's enough.” The nurse enters the room, armed with a syringe. “She needs to rest.”

He sighs once more, shoulders deflating, then stands from the bed. “See you.”

You wave. “Later.”

It came as a surprise to few that you made Grade 1 so quickly. A meteoric rise in skill, resultant of over a year of hard work, practice day in, day out. You’ve found yourself scrubbing away calluses every evening, taking less and less time for yourself, but treating less and less wounds.

It was a bone-deep satisfaction when you received the news. A several second long sigh of relief, a weight floating up, up, and away.

“Woooooooo!”

As confetti hits your face, you mentally scold yourself for believing you could ever have just a few minutes of peace.

“Grade 1! Wooooooo!” Satoru sweeps you up into a bone crushing hug, his party popper abandoned on the floor.

Your facial muscles betray you and you smile. Your voice box betrays you too, and you start to laugh as he spins you around.

“I know! It’s crazy!” Who said that? Not you.

“I bought you a caaaake!” He sets you down on the ground, grabbing your hand and dragging you back towards his dorm room.

“For you or for me?”

“For you, but if you don't like it, I’ll have no choice but to eat it.”

“A necessary sacrifice, I’m sure.”

“Exactly!” He pushes you into his room and flicks on the light switch. It illuminates a banner he’d put up, reading “GRADE 1 PARTYYYYY”.

You chuckle again, flopping down on his bed. “What would you have done if I hadn't gotten it?”

He smirks as he retrieves the three-tier Victoria sponge from his mini-fridge. “Wouldn’t’ve taken you to my room.”

You huff out a laugh. “I see.”

He joins you on the bed, sitting cross legged and setting down the cake. “No cutlery.” He grabs a fistful of cake, grinning as he pushes it to your lips. “Open wiiide!”

And as every neuron fires at once, screaming at you to swat his hand away, or pull back, or even just roll your eyes and pretend to be uninterested, you open your mouth and allow him to push a handful of cake into your mouth.

Cream smears along your cheeks, jam along your lips, and you watch him with fond eyes as he finishes off the handful.

And in that moment, you realise how effectively he's worked his way into your heart, taking residence in your arteries and synchronising your best with his own.

He looks back at you, adoration swimming in his crystalline gaze, swallowing down the cake.

“I'm really proud of you,” he says, sincerity in every word, every syllable.

You mirror his smile, reaching out to wipe cream from his chin. “Thank you, Satoru.”

As your skin makes contact with his own, he melts under your touch. He realises how swiftly he's fallen in love with you, barely a year going by before you’ve had him at your feet.

He prays a silent prayer that you will let him share the rest with you.

“The cake?” You say, wiping your hand on a napkin. He realises that, again, he’s expressed his secret thoughts aloud. Oh, well. They're for you, anyway.

“Yeah. The cake.”

⟶ satoru and his jealous!wife

cw:: not proofread, fem!reader, foul language, fluff and crack ;P

It's only natural that women hit on Satoru.

He's a gorgeous man. The way he tilts down his head ever so slightly to peer at whoever he's talking to, who could blame the girls who's hearts he sends a-fluttering?

You could.

Perhaps if they'd cared to cast their eyes downwards, they'd see a wedding band on his left ring finger. Perhaps, if they weren't so laser-focused on his groin, they'd see the fiancée already sitting at a table, a ticking in her jaw as she watches women flirting with her man.

Eventually, and not a moment too soon, he collects your food and returns to you.

“Here you go, sweets! Dig in,” he beams, snapping apart a set of chopsticks and handing them to you. You don't take them, tapping your nails on the table and staring at him.

“You really took your time, didn't you?” you say, eyeing him shrewdly.

He grins even wider, failing to detect your irritation, instead picking up a nigiri and pressing it to your lips.

“Busy, huh?” He smiles as you take the sushi into your mouth, helping himself to your nigiri too.

You hum noncommittally.

For a few minutes, you eat together quietly. He picks up a piece of sushi between his chopsticks, he feeds it to you with a cheesy grin, then he feeds himself.

“So cute,” he teases, giggling as you roll your eyes.

But the way his eyes sparkle only for you does wonders for your temper, and you can't help but feel a little silly that you'd gotten so wound up over women he wouldn't ever consider entertaining.

That is, until one of them has the nerve, the gall to tap him on the shoulder.

“Um— my friend wanted your number,” she squeaks out. Surely far too old to be running errands for her peers like this, but you press your lips together and let Satoru speak. Some thoughts aren't to be shared aloud.

He chuckles. “Well, I’m actually here with my wife.” He gestures to you, glancing over with hearts in his eyes. “But I’m sure your friend will find someone better than me!”

“Perhaps in a high school?” You smile coldly, visibly seething behind a veneer of friendliness. “After all, you're far too old to be running errands for your peers like this.” Oops, you shared your thought aloud.

The woman scoffs, rolling her eyes and turning to return to where her friends said expectantly. “Bitch,” she mutters.

You shoot up, the dishes rattling on the table, ready to chase after her, all too willing to make her regret hitting on a clearly married man. But Satoru catches your wrist and tugs you back to the table, his lips twitching in amusement.

“Is my sweet, baby, darling wife… jealous?” he simpers, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands.

“No,” you spit, far too quickly to be genuine. Of course, he doesn't buy it.

He coos, leaning across the table and grabbing your cheeks. “So cute! My wife is so so cute!”

“Fuck off.” You swat at his hands and he pulls back, picking up a chopstick and tracing your lips with the wooden utensil.

“Baby, don't worry. You make every other woman look like chopped liver,” he grins. sliding his glasses down his nose so you can look in his eyes. “Don’t be jealous, sweetie pie.”

You scoff, picking up the other set of chopsticks, snapping them apart to continue eating your lunch.

“I wasn't jealous. I was just annoyed that she didn't understand that you're clearly married.”

“Right. Sure, cutie,” he says, giving you a shit-eating grin before returning to feeding you the nigiri. “Whatever you say.”

tags:: @candy-s72

@shiu_kong

@kento_nanami

@hiromi_higuruma

⟶ reader is mildly injured. satoru does not act accordingly

cw:: fluff/crack, gn!reader? (satoru calls em "princess") reader wears glasses, reader is injured (duh), just a really wee drabble to make myself feel better (eye hurt my feet), reader is a little mean

Tears prick at his bright blue eyes, threatening to spill over his red cheeks, pretty pink lips twisted in pain.

Funnily enough, it's not him who's in pain. It's you.

You, who is eyeing him with barely hidden disdain, feet propped up on the coffee table and a book in your hands. You tilt down your glasses to glare at him.

“What on earth are you moaning about?”

At that, your fiancé burst into tears, wriggling towards you and wrapping you in a suffocating hug, “Baby, I can't bear to see you in pain!” He buries his face in your neck, soaking your sweater as he wails in agony by proxy.

See, in a recent mission, you’d lost your shoes mid-fight. Rather than falling back, you'd continued through the pain, far too stubborn to even consider stopping to find your footwear. This resulted in the soles of your feet being torn to shreds, battered and bloodied.

(“I did win, though,” you said to Shoko as she wrapped up your feet in bandages.)

However, resultant of your injuries, Yaga has commanded you to stay home. And throughout the work day, Satoru was in pieces thinking of you. What if you're walking around? What if you've tripped over? What if, and God forbid, you left the apartment?

So to come home and see you cozied up on the couch, safe and sound, was too much for him. He ripped his blindfold off, pounced on you, and nuzzled right into your neck.

“That tickles. Please get off,” you mutter, trying to shove his head away.

He whines, only tightening his arms around you, knocking your book out of your hands and onto the floor. “I was worried sick! What if my sweet angel baby princess was walking around? My poor heart couldn't handle it!”

“Seek psychiatric help,” you say, rolling your eyes and pushing your glasses up to your head. Despite yourself, you can't help shifting on the couch to wrap both your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his white hair.

He sighs in satisfaction, feeling your arms around him. “Baby, being with you is enough to keep me sane.”

“Well, clearly not.”

He ignores your jabs, pressing his face right into the crook of your neck with a pleased little giggle, as though he really is trying to merge his own skin with yours.

“I'll start carrying you everywhere I go over my shoulder.”

“You will not.”

“Booo. You're mean.”

⟶ satoru is a stinking glasses thief

cw:: just fluff/crack, reader is sick of him (affectionately), gn!reader

It’s 12PM when you realise you haven't seen your glasses all day.

Squinty-eyed, you trudge into the bedroom, trying to discern a pair of frames from the clutter and blurriness that greets you.

“Babe, you haven't seen my glasses have you?” you ask, searching through the bedside table before standing up and looking at him. You sigh.

“Nevermind. Found them,” you say, reaching out to pluck them off of his face. Satoru swats your hand away, grinning impishly.

“I look hot, right?” he grins (you think. it could be him baring his teeth in pain. It's blurry), taking your hand and pulling you down to the bed.

“I don't know. I can't see.”

“I always think you look super hot. So, what's the verdict? Do I look as good as you? Better?” He tugs you towards him, looping an arm around your shoulders and tilting your head up to his with a crooked finger.

“I dunno. Give me my glasses back and I'll let you know.”

He frowns, the cogs visibly turning in his head. “But then you won't see me wearing them..!”

You finally manage to wrangle your glasses off of him, sliding them back onto your face, blinking as your eyes readjust to the new focus. His little pout begs for your attention in ultra definition, and you can't help but pull his lip down, letting it bounce back up.

He sighs again, pulling you into his lap and poking you in the side. “You need to buy spares so you can see how hot I look in your glasses, okay?”

You roll your eyes. “I had spares. You sat on them—”

“Potato, potahto! You know, I always have to straighten your glasses after we make out sloppy style. You don't wanna straighten mine?” He bats his eyelashes at you, pressing his face right up to yours so you can get a good view of the way crocodile tears spring to his big blue eyes.

“I think I can live without.” You press a playful kiss to his lips.

“But you shouldn't.” He presses another kiss to your lips, then another, then another. “But I’ll forgive you if you promise to buy another pair, okay?”

You snort at his audacity, pinching his nose. “Fuck no. You broke them, you can replace them.”

He whines loudly, throwing himself back on the bed and starfishing. He remains that way for a full four seconds (new record) before springing back up.

“Okay!” He presses yet another kiss to your lips, before scooping you up and taking you to the living room, wrapped around him in a princess carry. “I'll order.”

You hum, readjusting your glasses. You scoff when you notice the visible finger marks on the lenses. “You touched the lense with your sweaty hands. Disgusting.”

“Oh, that's why your lenses were so blurry.”

⟶ satoru is into cougars

⟶ erm hi again. OKOK i know it's been a month but im a working woman so forgive me. ill probably update my smaus at some point .. maybe .....

cw :: fluff/crack, astoundingly short, not proofread, wife!reader

“I’m into cougars."

It's so tempting to ignore Satoru. He's draped over your tummy, looking up at you with that little grin that tells you he's about to say something stupid, arms working around your waist causing your back to arch slightly uncomfortably against the couch.

It’s so tempting to ignore him, but when his big blue eyes are staring up at you like that, you can't help but want to respond with something equally stupid.

“Go marry one then,” you murmur, returning your focus to the TV.

Satoru hums, resting his head against your abdomen, lithe fingers now tapping against your sides. “I already did.” He is hardly able to stop his face from twitching into a shit-eating grin.

And you already know where this is going. You sigh, and don't deign him with a response.

He huffs. “I said, I already did.”

“I heard you.”

He nearly whines. A grown man nearly whines, looking up at you with frustration. “I said, I already did!”

You don't want to respond. But you feel the way his fingers trace against your ticklish sides in warning.

“... Satoru, I'm one week older than you.”

He laughs, scooping you up and pressing wet kisses to your face. “That's six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds! My old lady!”

Faced with his onslaught, you’re groaning and trying to pry him off of you. Alas, his arms are wrapped around you like a vice, and with the way he's giggling and grinning you'd feel the slightest bit bad ruining his fun.

Maybe you're losing your touch.

“Musta married some other bitch before me,” you say, rolling your eyes. This is one of Satoru’s favourite bits, much to your chagrin.

He lays back down on the couch, laying you over him this time, your head against his chest and his hands pressed against your back.

“You know you're the only one for me, babe,” he grins. “My hot, older woman.”