Inoluvrr - ☆

like to charge, reblog to cast <3

⟶ 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.”

⟶ 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.”

he's so cute i think this calls for a new tag

choso is so expressive with his hands

me when i'm in the mood for satoru fluff but i can't find it so i have to write it myself

⟶ "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.”

⟶ boyfriend texts with fiancé!satoru

⟶ baby's first standalone smau

cw:: fem!reader, slightly mean!reader, shibuya mention, I WROYE COMPLETION I MEANT COMPILATION I JUST BIT SO FAR INTO MY PILLOW

@shiu_kong

@kento_nanami

@hiromi_higuruma

Gojo and his kids ☺️

⟶ waking up from a nap w satoru

cw:: fluff, slightly mean reader 😇, gn!reader

On one of those rare days when neither you nor Satoru were called out to school or a mission, you find yourselves draped over each other under a blanket. His mop of white hair rests on your chest, snoozing, while you pet his hair gently and watch the clouds drift on by.

You can't help but trace your eyes over his pretty features. Peaceful as a baby, lips slightly parted as he rests without a care. He's really cute when he doesn't speak, you muse.

Until suddenly he's blinking himself awake, licking his dry lips, and shattering every illusion of cuteness you'd foolishly constructed.

“Your tits are so comfortable to sleep on,” he grins, looking up at you with bleary eyes.

“You really know how to ruin any moment,” you smile down at him.

He giggles like a loser, dropping his head back into your chest with a great big yawn, pearly white molars blinking at you. “Ugh. I have a gross taste in my mouth.”

You hum, not at all sympathetic. “‘Cause of all that candy you ate before you fell asleep.”

“Um, no. Because I haven't kissed you in hours.”

“Wow! Harvard is calling.”

“I know right?” He grins self-assuredly, then goes wriggling up your body like a 6’5” centipede, nosing into your cheek. “Kiss.”

You roll your eyes, think about saying something snarky, then decide to just give in this time.

(Sometimes you worry you're too mean.)

(But not enough to stop.)

He grins against your lips when you lean in for a kiss, his eyes slipping closed and his hand working into your hair to tug you closer. Your hands lazily drape over his shoulders, the only sounds in the room being the gentle spin of the fan and the sound of you two locking lips.

It’s moments like these when you remember just how much you like your Satoru. Moments he's doing and not saying.

He pulls away, but not without leaving a final peck on your lips. “See? Now my mouth is all better.”

You're not convinced, twirling his hair between your fingers and asking, “Is it?”

“No,” he groans, sitting up. “Gonna go get something to eat. Be right back.”

You huff, watching him go. “Eat something healthy, babe.”

“I'd rather be shot.”