You still have value, even if you can’t be productive in the way you or others want. Your value is not dependent on the things you can and can’t do. You are still worthy, and you are enough

you always do your skincare routine with satoru.

what started as a simple morning-and-night habit has turned into a ritual — your little moment of peace before the chaos of the day (or bedtime mischief).

at least it’s supposed to be peaceful.

but with satoru? skincare becomes an exercise in patience. because the sheet masks mean one terrifying thing: no kisses for twenty whole minutes. a personal tragedy for your husband.

you’re gently trying to smooth the mask over his face, but he keeps scrunching his nose like a toddler.

“satoru”, you scold, biting back a smile. “hold still or it’s going to wrinkle”

“but it’s cold”, he whines, leaning back like the mask physically offended him. “why is it always cold? isn’t skincare supposed to feel loving?”

you chuckle as you place your own mask on, then sit beside him. now you both look like two hydrated ghosts.

a quiet moment passes.

your eyes meet.

and of course, you can see the mischief brewing behind his lashes.

“don’t”, you warn, but it’s too late.

he leans in, lips pressing softly against yours — slow, delicate, like any movement might make the masks slip.

“i’m not moving”, he insists in a whisper, lips still pressed against yours. “this is a technical kiss. totally mask-safe. dermatologist-approved”

you snort. there’s really no winning against him when he’s like this.

but honestly, you don’t want to. he’s adorable.

you stay like that for a moment — frozen in a very delicate, very silly standoff.

then he whispers again. “how much longer? i want to kiss you properly”

you check your phone. “nine more minutes”

“nine?!”, he groans dramatically and flops back like he’s been shot, muttering about being kiss deprived and emotionally undernourished. “i might not make it”

“you’ll live”, you chuckle.

“will i? will i really? because i can feel my soul leaving my body”

you pat his hair. “if you survive, i’ll kiss you all day”

that gets him. he peeks up with a smirk.

“now that sounds like the miraculous recovery that stuns the entire medical staff”

Gojo + Bite-sized kiddos 🐯🐺🐱

bite sized gojo x fairy!reader

satoru gojo was obsessed with you.

who wouldn't be?

wings fluttering, wide-eyed as you floated down onto the palm of his hand, peering up at him with the same curious stare that stole his heart half a year ago.

"baked ya somethin'," he grinned, gesturing towards the plate of cookies he'd set out on the patio table. a soft breeze floated by, wisps of your hair hiding your pretty face before you brushed it aside with a giggle.

"toru," your soft voice twinkled, stars glittering in your eyes, skin shimming as you flew off his him to break a tiny piece off the smallest one. "you didn't have to."

and if you were his size? or if he was yours?

he would be carrying you up the stairs inside to strip that sheer dress off of you and kissing every inch of your body until he got sick of hearing you say his name.

so never.

your existence was a fantasy in itself.

his very own fairy.

one that could probably fit in his mouth.

you showed up in his (poorly-maintained) garden one afternoon, frowning at his wilted white roses and examining the withered petals before you went even paler at the sight of him watching you.

with every flower he planted, each new decoration he added, you warmed up to him the tiniest bit more. offerings he was happy to give. and hey, so what if he happened to have the finest yard in the neighborhood now too?

"you like it?" he hm-ed, reaching over to graze over your lips with the very tip of his fingers after you took the first taste.

"it's wonderful," you giggled, your much smaller hand reaching out to touch his own. "but I don't have much time today."

you never did.

not when it required sneaking away from the rest of your fairy friends or wherever you were really from to see him for just a few minutes.

they didn't like humans much, he gathered. didn't like you interacting with him either.

"I missed you," he murmured, wishing for once you were his size so he could hug you without accidentally suffocating you.

"I know."

the whisper of a kiss you pressed to his cheek was all he had to keep his thoughts occupied until the next time he saw you.

which he hadn't thought would be on his welcome mat in the middle of the night - human sized.

he froze on the doorstep, staring blankly at the scrapes on your arms and your tattered dress. your cheeks flushed, looking up at him and letting out an awkward life. "just a cat fight."

he might've believed that when you were still small enough that a single swipe of a paw could've sent you flying.

"what happened?" he gritted his teeth, choking down the lump in his throat and helping you inside.

"they kicked me out," you murmured. you didn't have to say it. he knew just from the way your stare flicked to the floor. you were banished just for the crime of being around him.

his mouth parted, about to protest, when he noticed it.

your wings had been clipped.

and really, would it be considered murder if he, uh, took care of whatever fairy had done that to you?

You’re almost convinced that Suguru doesn’t know how to swim. Every time you end up at the beach, or sprawled out at Satoru’s obnoxiously large pool, Suguru always plays the same game: sitting at the edge, sleeves rolled up, long legs dangling lazily into the water while you and Satoru splash around playing mermaids or whatever game he's came up with.

It’s not fair, really, he looks too good like that. Sunlight catching the sleek shine of his hair, the lazy smirk that curves his mouth as he watches you with this slow, indulgent sort of gaze. Acting as if that's enough for him, just watching the person he loves more than anything have the time of their lives.

And maybe that’s what finally pushes you to swim over, determined and dripping, reaching for his rough, calloused hand with a teasing glint in your eye. "Come in," you giggle, tugging at him. "Don't be shy!"

Suguru just laughs, a low, rich, utterly unbothered sound and leans down enough to let you tug at his wrist, but not enough to move. "Careful, love. You're going to hurt yourself," he croons, thumb stroking over your knuckles looking at your smile with half-lidded eyes full of affection.

You pout, huffing as you tug harder, water sloshing around you. "You don't know how to swim, do you? Su-gu-ru," you tease, drawing out his name, flashing him the brightest, most wicked little smile.

And that’s when it happens.

He giggles. A soft, boyish giggle - not the polished, low chuckles he usually offers. No, this one is real and helpless and so sweet it makes your chest squeeze painfully tight.

Still, he doesn’t let you win.

Suguru leans in, close enough that his dark hair brushes your cheek, voice dropping to a warm, teasing rumble. "Oh, baby," he murmurs, violet eyes gleaming, "I know exactly how to swim. But if I get in there with you..." His hand trails down your arm, giving a light squeeze, sending goosebumps in his wake. "...we won’t be coming back up for air anytime soon."

And with that, he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, gentle and sweet, and leans back again, watching you struggle between a squeal and the ridiculous, flustered smile threatening to split your face.

I need a hug, so

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

Maybe it’s okay to let your guard down sometimes

@gojoest

childhood best friend satoru and how there are little signs of you around in his place — an extra mug in the kitchen that’s clearly yours, a throw blanket you once said was soft, your favorite snacks tucked on a shelf even though he pretends like he doesn’t remember what they are.

you’ve known satoru for what feels like your entire life. from playground bruises to cursed energy training, from shared secrets under blankets to late night calls that always started with “you up?” and ended with laughter. somewhere along the way — maybe before either of you realized it — he stopped just being your best friend, and started being something more.

not out loud. not officially. but in the quiet spaces between words, in the way he always stayed just a second too long, the way he always looked at you like you hung the stars — something more.

his apartment tells that story even when he doesn’t.

there are signs of you everywhere, tucked into corners he pretends are incidental. a second mug in the cabinet, plain and chipped near the rim. it’s the same one you used when you first stayed over years ago, back when sleepovers were innocent and the feelings between you were easier to ignore. he never replaced it. says it’s “sentimental” and you roll your eyes every time, but your fingers still find it first.

a throw blanket sits on the edge of his couch — one you once casually said was soft while half-asleep beside him. the next time you visited, it was there. folded neatly. waiting. he didn’t say a word. just watched you pull it over yourself with a quiet sort of satisfaction, like watching a piece of the puzzle finally fall into place.

and the snacks — god, the snacks. your favorites, always stocked. always. he acts surprised when you grab them. “oh i forgot i had those” he’ll say with a shrug, like they didn’t magically reappear the day after you demolished them. but there’s no forgetting. he remembers everything about you.

that’s the thing about satoru. he doesn’t confess — not really. he teases. he shows up. he remembers. he loves in the quiet, consistent way only someone who’s loved you since childhood can.

and maybe you’ve always known. maybe you let him hover there — somewhere between best friend and something else — because it felt safe, and sweet, and easy. but the truth is, every trace of you in his apartment is a confession he’s too proud — or too scared — to speak aloud.

every mug, every blanket, every snack on that shelf says:

you belong here. and maybe... with me.

more sillies ‘cause i said so

anyway. actor!gojo with the green screen pants lying on the set floor giving you a big toothy grin and a wink just before they start filming That scene

a sketch from last month

Satoru gets into little giggle fits from time to time, especially when you refuse to kiss him back. It’s late, well past bedtime. You’ve been dozing off at the dining room table, phone slipping from your fingers, head tilted just barely to the side. Across from you, Satoru sits hunched over his laptop, supposedly reviewing his students’ reports, but his eyes keep flicking up to you. Watching. Those baby blues crinkle at the corners when your head bobs for the third time.

He leans back in his chair, stretching his long limbs with an exaggerated yawn. “C’mon,” he hums, voice lilting and sweet. “Do I need to carry you?”

You don't answer. You're too tired or maybe you just want to see what he’ll do. And, of course, he does exactly what you expect.

He scoops you up effortlessly, arms sliding beneath your legs and back in one smooth motion. Your body molds against his without resistance, limp from sleep and too much comfort. He’s annoyingly warm. Radiating heat, soft clothed chest solid under your cheek as he carries you to the bedroom.

Satoru giggles. Not once, but in little bursts, like each sleepy twitch of yours and cranky grumbles as you try to make his life harder.

gojo was so tired of being the strongest. so tired of pretending nothing ever got to him.

his body felt like it could break at any moment as he made his way back to his apartment, every step heavier than the last. the mission had been hell. his body hurts in places he didn’t know existed. his usual cocky stride was gone, replaced with a stiffness that made him feel like a damn robot.

when he opened the door, he didn’t expect to see you.

you looked up from the couch, frowning at him. “satoru?”

he blinked slowly, trying to shake off the fog.

“did we have a date planned?” he asked. his voice was rough, barely more than a rasp. he hadn’t messaged you, hadn’t checked his phone—hell—he didn’t even know if he’d eaten in the past few days.

you didn’t get angry like he expected. no eye rolls, no snarky comments, no judgment like his previous relationships. instead you just stood up, and moved towards him with that careful, knowing grace. almost as if you could sense he was about to crumble.

“c’mere.”

he didn’t hesitate, stepping forward until he felt your warmth at his side. you guided him with a steady hand towards the bathroom. in that moment gojo felt as if your touch was the only thing melting him up when all he wanted to do was collapse.

his whole life, people had leaned on him—looked to him for strength. with you he here taking care of him, he felt like is was finally his turn. you treated him like he was human, not some untouchable weapon. and that’s what made him feel like maybe he wasn’t just a tool, maybe he mattered outside of his strength.

.☆.

It’s Thursday morning, and Satoru is a mess of long limbs, tired sighs, and clingy affection. The alarm barely makes it through the first ring before he slaps it off with a grumble, already pulling you into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck like it’s the only place in the world that makes sense. He breathes you in with a groggy, content hum, your warmth, your scent, the gentle rise and fall of your chest pressed to his.

He’s impossible to move. Heavy and soft, like melting snow. Lanky arms slowly loop tightly around your waist, legs tangling with yours, refusing to let you shift even an inch away. Each time you wiggle, he groans under his breath and clings tighter, like your body is the only thing tethering him to the earth. His nose brushes along your collarbone and soft, pink lips pressing lazy, barely-there kisses to your skin. Not to wake you, not to arouse - just to feel. To ground himself in the softness of you.

Eventually, the weight of responsibility seeps in, but not a welcomed distrubance. He follows you to the bathroom with dragging feet and a petulant pout, still clinging to your waist like a puppy. The moment the water starts, he slumps onto the ledge of the shower with an audible sigh, legs spreading so you can slot yourself between them.

Then he melts.

Face pressed to your chest, his mouth finds the space between your breasts and stays there. His hands roam with worship - over the curve of your back, the softness of your hips, the plush give of your tummy under his palms. Kneading the skin gently, like he’s marveling at every inch, like he can’t quite believe you’re real. The kisses he leaves along your skin are slow, open-mouthed, soaked in affection.

When you reach for the shampoo, he tenses, his touch tightening slightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. He looks up at you, white brows furrowed in exhaustion, mouth parted as if he wants to say something but doesn’t have the energy. The only sound is the gentle rush of water and the soft puff of breath as you cup his face, smoothing your thumbs under his tired eyes.

He leans into your hands like they’re the only thing keeping him upright. His whole body relaxes the moment your lips press to his forehead, tension unwinding with a long, sleepy exhale. When you lather his snowy-white hair, his head dips obediently, body going limp as your fingers massage through the strands. A low, contented sound rumbles in his chest - something between a sigh and a purr.

Even then, he doesn’t stop touching you. His hands never stray far, running lazily along your hips, circling your waist, squeezing at your thighs like he needs the constant reminder: you’re here. Soap slips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He’s too tired. Too in love.

And he’s not ready to let go of you - not yet. The world can wait a little longer.

satoru is the most difficult and pouts the hardest when you cancel plans on him, but you always know your way around him. always.

you find him on the couch in your living room, dramatically sprawled like a painting, one arm flung over his eyes like he’s auditioning for a tragic role in a romance drama.

you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips — he’s ridiculous. and yet, somehow, still endearing.

“i told everyone i was busy today”, he says flatly, lifting his arm just enough to glance at you. “i turned down lunch with suguru. s-u-g-u-r-u! you know how rare that is? and for what? to be ghosted by my own wife…”

“you weren’t ghosted”, you sigh, padding over to him. “i got called in last minute for work. you — of all people — know how it is”

“hmph…”, he huffs, lips pushing further into a pout. “still feels like betrayal”

you settle beside him, close enough that your thigh brushes his. he shifts slightly but doesn’t look at you. arms crossed. mouth stubborn.

“you’re really going to be like this?”

he stays silent.

you lean in and press a kiss to his pouty lips — light, teasing. then another. and another. slowly, you feel the tension ease from his body. the corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s trying so hard not to smile, but you know him too well. he always caves to you.

another kiss.

he finally speaks, voice full of faux indifference. “dunno… if you kiss me some more, maybe — maybe — i’ll forgive you”

you chuckle. “well then…”,

…and you kiss him again. slower this time, letting it linger.

he exhales against your mouth, that stubborn pout from moments ago completely faltering, his arms once crossed now circle around your waist, pulling you closer. and closer. and closer — like he didn’t want to be mad in the first place. like he never really could be.

he sighs, the sound caught somewhere between surrender and adoration.

“you’re unfair”, he mumbles, lips brushing yours.

you smile against him. “says the man who pouts like a kicked puppy to get attention”

he chuckles, low and warm in his chest. “can’t help it. you’ve got these ridiculously sweet lips. what am i supposed to do? not give in?”

you nuzzle into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he holds you like he’s already forgotten why he was sulking at all.

truth is, no matter how dramatic he gets, no matter how much he tries to pout or play stubborn, it never lasts.

because when it comes to you — satoru always caves.

always.