Thew1zzywiz - The_W1zZy_

Weirdly Healing Things to Do When You’re Feeling Creatively Burned Out...

Write a fake 5-star Goodreads review of your WIP—as if you didn’t write it. Go ahead. Pretend you're a giddy reader who just discovered this masterpiece. Bonus: add emojis, chaotic metaphors, and all-caps screaming. It’s self-indulgent. It’s delusional. It’s delicious.

Give your main character a Pinterest board titled “Mentally Unstable but Aesthetic.” Include outfits, quotes, memes, cursed objects, and that one painting that haunts their dreams. This is not about logic. This is about ✨vibes.✨

Make a “deleted scenes” folder and write something that would never make it into the book. A crackfic. A “what if they were roommates” AU. The group chat from hell. This is your WIP’s blooper reel. Let it be silly, chaotic, or wildly off-brand.

Interview your villain like you’re Oprah. Ask the hard-hitting questions. “When did you know you were the drama?” “Do you regret the murder, or just the way you did it?” Bonus points if they lie to your face.

Host a fake awards show for your characters. Categories like “Most Likely to Die for Vibes,” “Worst Emotional Regulation,” “Himbo Energy Supreme,” or “Best Use of a Dramatic Exit.” Write their acceptance speeches. Yes, this counts as writing.

Write a breakup letter… to your inner critic. Be petty. Be dramatic. “Dear Self-Doubt, this isn’t working for me anymore. You bring nothing to the table but anxiety and bad vibes.” Rip it up. Burn it. Tape it to your mirror. Your call.

Create a “writing comfort kit” like you’re a cozy witch. A candle that smells like your WIP. A tea that your characters would drink. A playlist labeled “for writing when I’m one rejection email away from giving up.” This is a ritual now.

Design a fake movie poster or book cover like your story is already famous. Add star ratings, critic quotes, and some pretentious tagline like “One soul. One destiny. No chill.”

Write a scene you’re not ready to write—but just a rough, messy outline version. Not the polished thing. Just the raw emotion. The shape of it. Like sketching the bones of a future punch to the gut. You don’t have to make it perfect. Just open the door.

Let your story be bad on purpose for a day. Like, aggressively bad. Give everyone ridiculous names. Add an evil talking cat. Write a fight scene with laser swords and emotional damage. Just remind yourself that stories are meant to be played with, not feared.

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFwkJSAm/

Gojo's blue shirt from the baseball game episode got me on my KNEES!!!, now imagine the reader's reaction to Satoru wearing casual outfits like the one from the baseball game or the official art where his collarbones were showing. I feel like she would secretly check him out🤭

you’re so right!! bc when he’s not dressed in all black jujutsu uniform and blindfold—he’s hot😗 and she’s so checking him out whenever they’re on a date and gojo is always catching her too—

“hmm? miss, i have a wife, you know, please stop staring at me~”

“…i am your wife, dumbass.”

“ooh! so it’s the wife staring~ which part does she like the best?”

“…none.”

“wha?! no! pick one, pick one!”

“….shut up. and don’t expose your collarbone too much. others stare too.”

“ooooh! no worries, no worries! i’ll let you place hickeys there later tonight!!”

…he’s saying that in public, and it makes an elderly couple next to you throw a scandalous look like 😧

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater. 

it was nothing but a lucky draw, really. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching on to the chair in the very back, right by the window, right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes. 

so there you sit. a warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap, on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, spinning like a planet in orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones covering your ears, safe and snug, muffling all noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. meeting his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one one of the heavy ear cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper. 

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more. 

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats. 

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street. 

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams. 

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod. 

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him. 

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing. 

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour. 

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions. that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world. 

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?” 

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to the situation he finds himself in. a chameleon.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering. ”i’ll try. thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw. 

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence. 

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers. 

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing. 

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again. 

”… i can buy some for you, though.” 

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out. 

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does. 

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks. 

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be. 

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so. 

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway. 

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him. 

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down. 

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side. 

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.  

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter. 

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay. 

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing. 

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders. 

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe. 

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks. 

as if sensing your thoughts, geto laughs, soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

(spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in. 

but you aren’t worried.)

Goji casually sucking his girl's tits while they're lazing on the couch 🫠 he's just a little bit obsessed with them and has to either be touching or kissing them at all times

I swear by boob lover Gojo. He's so needy and gentle, love our man. ty for the prompt, anon <3

reader(f) x bf!gojo

It had to be a Sunday where the both of you had no plans but to decay in the house.

You admitted your laziness at dawn in regards to cleaning the house, claiming it was 'clean e'nuff.' Satoru could only laugh at you, watching you waddle over to the bathroom to wake yourself up. These days were lovely, truly, since the both of you can spend time with one another without having to go outside or engage in consistent conversation. Comfortable silence was a fan favorite in your household.

Adjusting the large, black sweatshirt you stole from Satoru, you make your way towards the sofa. Satoru watched you from the kitchen, amused at watching you swipe the remote control and put on some sitcoms on the tele. "I'll order us some breakfast, m'love," your other half hums from the counter, "I'll get you your usual."

"Thank youuu," you drag from the couch, grabbing all the pillows you could to support your torso while you distracted yourself with the tv. Satoru promptly places the order and quickly saunters over to you, making himself comfy in between your legs. He, too, was in all lazy attire, with a contrasting white sweat set.

He faced you while getting adjust, his platinum locks getting messy in front of his face. You felt his stare, and his movement as his head got closer and closer to your chest. But this was such a Satoru thing that it was just normal to you. You finally felt hands snake around the sides of your body, the callouses on his fingers lifting goosebumps from the skin of your stomach.

His forearms push up the sweatshirt a bit, allowing him to put his head into it. You let out a few giggles but continue watching your show mindlessly. His hands finally reached the under crevice of your mounds, and your breath quickly hitched. As much as you say you're used to it, it always feels so good whenever Satoru loved on your chest.

Most of his hand caressed the sides of your tits while his thumbs lightly rubbed against your sternum. His cold hands were taken by the warmth of your underboob, the part of which Satoru started to kiss. You lift the sweatshirt a bit to give him better access, and emit a few moans when you felt his tongue tease the lining of your right boob.

Satoru's hot breathe made your buds harden immediately, your pelvis beginning to thrust up on his own. He was getting you in the mood and he knew it. He snickered beneath your sweatshirt, "what's wrong, y/n?"

"...Nothing," you murmur, shaking a bit from the sensation of Satoru's love on your chest.

Letting out another laugh, Satoru kisses his way towards your right tit, his lips peppering kisses around your nipple. For your left, his hand begins to gently squeeze it, with his fingers flicking your nipple every few moments. His hands were clamp and so cold, his hand cupping your boob and tugging it upward before letting it droop down again, and repeat.

"Nn-anh..." moans escape your lips, your sudden inability to keep your legs still. You kept bucking up against him, unable to still yourself from the feeling of a pool forming between your thighs.

"Can't keep still huh?" Satoru teases your squirming.

You respond with moans and a string of soft cursing. His tongue finds its way to your nipple, twirling around it as his hot breath worsened your libido. Your eyes were now on Satoru's head tented under your sweatshirt, completely forgetting about the tv.

Your lover finally wraps his lips around your nude-colored bud, with his tongue flicking your nipple in his mouse. You could feel his teeth begin to graze your nipple, but not quite giving it a nibble. He bobs his head as he sucks your nipple up before letting it go, obsessed with the way it bounces back down until it stills.

"They're so perfect," he whispers, his left hand beginning to twist your other nipple between his middle and thumb. "You're so perfect," he groans, his mouth widening to take more of your chest. Voices emanating from the tv were completely clouded by your own moans and the thought of fucking your boyfriend.

He then wraps his hand around your right tit, concentrating your mound and your nipple. He begins to attack it more aggressively, you could feel his saliva beginning to coat most of it. He gently (but impatiently) tugged at your nipple, sucking it to keep it in his mouth without having to let it go.

"God, I can't get enough of you," Satoru mutters, unable to control himself. His twisting of your left nipple becomes stronger, causing you to arch your back from the fine line between pain and pleasure. You yank off your sweatshirt completely from over his head, revealing your handsome boyfriend with your whole boob practically in his mouth.

His eyes flicker up, keeping eye contact with you as his velvet rose lips caging your nipple while his indecent tongue lapped around it. The sounds of his sucking and hummed moans make you bite your bottom lip, trying your best to cum right then and there. You'd be damned if you came before Satoru fucks the daylights out of you.

Satoru lets go of your tit with a pop! and looks down to admire your tits in the light. "Babe..." you let out with a raspy voice. Your moans roughened your voice as your chest heaved hopelessly for more air. "T-take it easy, will ya?"

He raises one of his eyebrows, a sinister smile painting his lips. "You know me, pretty girl. I can't help myself when it comes to your twin beauties."

He brings both of his hands to the sides of your boobs, and squeezes them towards each other. Your nipples almost touched one another with how close they were. With your nipples now close, Satoru licks his lips hungrily before taking them both in his mouth. You twitch under him, unable to stay still again as you felt his tongue dance between the two buds. He took them at the corners of his lips and sucked them up, letting them go just to do it again.

He teased the in between of your mounds, sticking his tongue in the tight crevice they created. He would trail kisses there, and around both of your nipples before giving each nipple their kisses. "Your turn," he whispers to your left boob, squeeze it lightly with one hand while the other begins to rub your right nipple aggressively in the tips of his fingers.

"T-'Toru, I-I'm close," you admit embarrassingly, your hands cupping your cheeks as you continue to thrust up under his weight. "P-please--!"

"Please hold it, beautiful," Satoru requests softly. His crystal blue eyes lock in with yours, lust and hunger welled up in them. His lips were open agape, his lips shiny from his own play. "I want you to cum around my dick."

You shake your head but do your best to hold it in. But you felt your pussy pulse, your body completely warm and in heat. Satoru returns to kneading them, but he keeps sucking and tugging more aggressively on your nipple. For him, it was saccharine sweet like a lollipop. His addiction to your tits was dangerous, as he sometimes doesn't know when to stop.

"Shit-- Satoru, wait!" You plead, your hands finding their way on his head. Your fingers tug desperately at his soft, white locks. But this only entices him to go harder, your nipple beginning to burn between the jaggedness of his teeth. "Sa--to--!"

Before he could continue, the doorbell rang, with the delivery man hollering outside your door. Satoru lets go of your chest, his eyes pained before rushing over to the door. You rush to pull down your sweatshirt and hold your face, attempting to calm you down as your sweet lover comes back in with breakfast and an adoring smile.

ah it’s finally here. the fushigojo shibuya arc warnings: just a dash of angst, pregnancy, jjk manga spoilers

then.

megumi’s been in his room since you’d returned from the hospital. which was, at this point, six hours ago.

you and gojo had been sitting on the floor outside his bedroom door for five.

“what do we say to him?” you ask, resting your head on your husband’s shoulder. “what can we do to make this a little bit better?”

“i don’t know,” he answers quietly, taking your hand into both of his. “there’s…no parenting book or article about how to comfort your kid after his sister’s been cursed.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling through the deep ache in your chest. it’d been difficult to see her like that. your tsumiki, sweet, kind, and caring, laying lifeless in that bed.

“at the hospital he told me they’d had a fight the day before. that he’d said something mean. it was the last thing he said to her.”

“tsumiki wouldn’t hold it against him,” gojo says. “she knows what he’s like. knows it was probably from a place of care.”

it’d also been hard to see megumi sitting at her bedside, face stony as he clutched his sister's hand. “doesn’t mean he feels any less awful about it.”

“yeah,” gojo sighs, letting his head fall back against the door. you suppose he might know what that’s like.

“what do we do, satoru?” you ask, tears brimming your eyes. “we still don’t know how—”

“hey, it’s okay.” it comes out a little unsteady, as he himself isn't convinced of it, but he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer as the last few hours finally catch up to you. you’re exhausted, distraught, and hurting. “we can figure that out tomorrow, but for now we’ve gotta focus on him.”

all you can manage is a small nod as he wipes the tears from your cheeks and helps you up, the two of you pushing open the door.

megumi's sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, shoulders trembling slightly. he doesn't have to lift his head for the both of you to know his cheeks are stained with tears.

something painful grips your heart at the realization that you've never seen him cry before. not when he was 6 and you took him to the doctor to get his first shot. not when he was 8 and fell out of the tree at the park across from your apartment and broke his arm. not when he was 11 and lost his first science fair.

but his sorrow flows freely now, proof of a sibling who was well-loved and sorely missed. you slowly sink to your knees in front of him, pulling him into a hug and letting his tears soak your shirt.

now.

you're not sure how to feel as you stare at those two pink lines.

for the most part, you're elated. because this is good...right? a baby was good news. it'd relieve some of the pressure the two of you had been under from the gojo clan, which was a plus.

but you'd be lying if you said you didn't have...a feeling. you tap the test against the palm of your hand, lips pursed as you reach for your phone to call gojo.

but the front door opens before you can tap his contact, and megumi walks in.

“hey!” you grin, fumbling to hide the test behind your back. “what are you doing here?”

megumi stares at you in that awfully analytical way he’d picked up from your husband. “gojo sent me to find you.”

your smile quickly disappears. “why?”

“he said something’s happening in shibuya. i think he might need help.” then, after a moment, “what are you holding?”

you can’t lie to megumi, you’ve never been able to. so you sigh, pulling the test from behind your back. “i think i’m pregnant.”

his brows raise in surprise, but he quickly smooths his expression over. “does he know?”

“no, i just found out,” you tell him, grabbing your coat. “do you think he’ll be excited? can you act surprised when i tell him? so he thinks he’s the first—”

“you shouldn’t come.”

it’s your turn to stare at him in disbelief. “you just said that you think he needs help—”

megumi grimaces and tries again. “but with your condition—”

“get in the car, megumi,” you snap, grabbing your keys. “we’re going to shibuya.”

--

shibuya is a disaster.

it's frantic, messy. you're overwhelmed. you need to throw up. you can't find gojo.

you're holding onto megumi as to not lose track of him, gripping the sleeve of his shirt as you run around the station looking for that telltale shock of white hair.

and when you finally see it, he's not alone.

it all comes back in flashes, once treasured memories that only bring pain as you stare at the man you thought was dead. "is that—”

megumi's yelling, but gojo doesn't seem to hear him. he's frozen in place, staring at the man who was once his best friend.

that's when it happens. it snaps gojo out of his state of shock, and you can only look on in horror as he's gripped by something you'd only read about in books but never seen yourself.

you're fighting to pull air into your lungs now. you know what's happening. you're stumbling forward, reaching for him, but megumi grabs you around the waist and hauls you backwards.

"no! satoru!"

it's after his name is ripped from your chest that he sees you. it hurts, the naked fear in his eyes when he looks at you and megumi and shouts something you can't hear over the roar in your ears. you desperately pull at the threads of your cursed energy, the shadows around you swirling in response as if they too are reaching for him.

but you're too late.

you're too stunned to speak, clinging to megumi as he drags you back and away.

he doesn't stop until the two of you into the shadows of a secluded corner, both of you slumping against the wall. megumi says your name a few times, but you can't hear him over the train of thoughts racing through your head.

it's when he finally croaks, "mom," shaking you, that you look up into the concerned face of your megumi. the only person you have left. "you need to go. if...if that was their plan all along, then chances are you're in danger too."

you shake your head. "i'm not leaving you here."

"i can't lose you," he whispers, and your heart breaks when the tears he's been holding back form in the corners of his eyes. "please."

he pulls you into a tight embrace, his hands desperately gripping the back of your shirt as he lets you lean into him.

"it's going to be okay. we're going to be okay," you tell him, and though he nods against your shoulder, you know he's just as unsure as you are.

I don't even do outlines anymore, but this still happens. Planning means nothing; never has.

The Shape of Ideas

husband!gojosatoru who loves to stare at you in the eyes because despite dating for 4 years and being married for 5, he knows it still has you squirming in your place.

but who can blame you? his eyes just didnt seem human! they were so prettily blue and so enchanting, it felt like it was unnatural to have a god like him gazing upon a mortal like you.

husband!gojosatoru who also gets shy when you stare at back him too long because he thinks you’re just too perfect. what if those pretty eyes of yours get tired? he squishes your cheeks together, telling you to look elsewhere cus he might just start acting up the longer you stare.

“baby, close your eyes!”

“but i thought you liked staring?”

“only when it’s meeeeeee” your husband would whine, covering your eyes with his hand because he’d be too embarrassed if you see his cheeks dusted with the cutest shade of pink when he’s the one who’s been trying to make you blush.