Strewbarrytree - ❤︎

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

words:2.3k

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, angst, open ended/ambiguous ending, descriptions of death.

request: “Can i request sukuna x male reader. Where reader keeps reincarnating with each lifetime for a curse and every time he remembers sukuna, he dies after gaining memories back. You can choose if theres a good ending or angst. Thank you king! I fell in love with him especially after reading that one shot i had to watch jjk and hes hot! Thank you for turning me into a sukuna simp! Much love”

a/n: i went,,,overboard with this request 🗿 BUT IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITESSIJEHSHE i’m honored to have introduced you to such a foine man

When you were five, only then had you understood the curse deemed ‘Ryoumen Sukuna.’ A rather tall man with two heads, one of which had splattered blood onto your sneakers. You understood the concept of death, of course, but could never truly comprehend the feeling of nothingness after watching your life flash before your eyes until nineteen. But there you stood, clutching the loop of your shorts when you witnessed the murder of your entire village. You didn’t know evil could have a moral compass, but the tall curse seemed to exclude half of the women and children. After the widening of youthful eyes and curdling screams you learned the monster took likings to things too. Women, with shaking forms and broken spirits. He’d stop before them, stare at them with eyes that could- in fact- kill, if they truly wanted to. But then he stopped in front of you.

“Close your eyes, Brat.” Death's hands were just as large as your family painted them out to be, if not larger. Calloused and riddled with blood as they are placed over your ears. You do as he- it says, squeezing your eyes shut and enclosing your eyes behind the meat of your palms just to be extra careful. You can see stars behind your eyelids, just as you can feel the sickening twang of death lingering in the air. You were aware it would happen at some point, Death would find its place for you over and over and over again, you’d been told since the day you were born.

There’s another sound, only muted under large palms. You don’t need your sense of sight or hearing to know what it was, the warm chunks splattering onto your skin was enough. Immediately, you flinched. When you opened your eyes, there were piercing eyes staring straight into your own. It looked so human, but something was off. Uncanny, as if it took years to manipulate its flesh and bone to emulate humans to a T. But there was nothing human behind those eyes, instead a void of nothingness. Death itself. If Death could express interest, you’d have thought that was the expression it was imitating. It offers a hand, one of four. Larger than your face, with sharp claws that could almost be described as talons. Darkened by dirt and remains of your loved ones, if it truly wanted to kill you, it could. It could tear you limb from limb with the wave of a finger. And it knew that.

So you took the hand, and he became your second home.

When you were ten, you learned about the red string of fate. It could never be broken, and those connected by it would always reunite, no matter the circumstances. You often had nightmares, those of which filled with blurred faces and sharp pain that reached you in your lucid state. Dreams of talons, piercing eyes, and double headed monsters. You dreamt under the stars, tasted metal on your tongue, and choked on smoke that wasn’t actually there. You dreamt of facial markings, details that you couldn’t exactly place, a name that you couldn’t quite remember. It left your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, racked tremors through your body, and caused premature dark circles to accumulate under your eyes.

When you were nineteen, you experienced your last breath. The air was stolen from your lungs, crushed under years of heartbreak and terror, and snatched from you in the dead of night. Your eyes glazed over, and nothingness overtook you. It left you for someone else to find, cold and lifeless. A void, similar to the eyes you had finally placed. But that didn’t matter much then, you had already drifted away from your body.

And that was that.

Thus, the cycle repeated. Under different names, different ages, different genders. There was always something gnawing away at your conscience, you felt as though you were forgetting something. But when you finally remembered, it was too late. And there was nothing you could do about it.

It was almost like deja vu, stepping outside your home to find blood splattered on the concrete floor. It made your blood run cold, sent a tremor through your body and made you feel like you were five again. Small and defenseless. You take it as your best interest to go back inside before you pass out, but the second you whip your body around you meet something- someone?- large and sturdy.

“Sukuna.” That was it, the sour taste at the tip of your tongue, the lingering sensation at the back of your brain. Him. He didn’t look the same, no, much smaller with tufts of pink hair. There’s something behind his eyes this time, something almost irrevocably human. For some reason that’s much scarier than what you remember. What you think you remember. He’s much more human, but the way he looks at you is everything but humane. He looks frustrated, angry at something, as if he’ll implode any second and go on a rampage. Dread bubbles up in your stomach, nearly erupting through your mouth as bile. It felt as though something should be happening, like something usually happened when the itch went away. He chuckles, low in his throat as he cranes his neck to put his face uncomfortably close to your own. His hands, still large, find their way to your wrist, gripping your right hand uncomfortably tight. For a moment, you consider how long a trip to the hospital would be if he shattered the bone beneath his fingers. But instead there’s a jolt of electricity that would’ve had you yanking your hand back if he weren’t holding it.

“What? You look different.” He all but purrs, inspecting your palm with long nails. Not long enough to be talons, but longer than those of a claw. It was true, you did look different. He wondered if you spent your lifetimes looking exactly the same. That couldn’t have been possible, he would’ve found you much easier, then. Still quite boyish, as if the body you were in didn’t originally belong to you. Clearly grown out of cargo shorts and polos, much taller than you were before. There was no way he could have forgotten you, the way you jumped when the remains of your loved one splattered across your legs. The way you stared back at him with a look of acceptance, the way you grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead you out of the village. It explained the body memories perfectly, the feeling of large palms on your head and remnants of a brain splattering onto your knees.

“Last time I saw you,” He let’s go of your wrist with a bored expression, then replaces its spot with the top of your head. He shoves you down, and you make an effort to ignore the crack your knees make when they smack against the concrete. Then, he crouches down to stare you directly in the eye, just like he had the first time you met. His eyes were no longer dark, instead a deep shade of red that caught light from the moon. They reminded you of vials of blood. “You were this tall. Much cuter in this century.”

“And you were bigger.” Sukuna laughs as if hearing that was the funniest thing in the world. He leans his weight into you and uses you as a support beam, laughing until his ribs burn and beg for a break. But how could he laugh at a time like this? He didn’t think it was weird? He’s existed for centuries, murdered for millennias and only now has he seen you. That wasn’t how it worked, when you died, you died. But Sukuna was a walking oxymoron to that statement. When he died, if he died, he would return. He’d return through you, the last fragments of his soul would stay bound to yours until the end of time. Perhaps that’s how he knew, how he remembered. Perhaps that’s why he still took the time to find you, even after countless years of failure. It was peculiar, but not as much as being bound to Death himself. It was a sick game of turning the phrase ‘Til’ death do you part,’ because in your case it was literal.

“You’re still a brat.” His voice is closest to something fond, as if he’s reminiscing sweet memories. It was much different on your account, and part of you wondered if Sukuna understood that. He makes no effort to help you up (he explains that you’re “a big boy now”) as he invites himself into your apartment. Nothing special, he doesn’t care much for family photos or if you have them, but the stacks of letters and books on your table peak his interest. He tears apart envelopes as if he owns them, reads through the contents and discards them to the floor if he deems them useless. The way he sits nearly breaks your chair, and, honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

So you sit beside him.

“You were so scared,” He says, almost as if he were bragging. But he was known to be arrogant and cocky, that was just his nature. He didn’t truly mean it like that, in fact, he looked quite reverent after letting the thought drift into the air. It was kind of funny, such a powerful thing fawning over past memories. But that wasn’t how this should go, you had your memory back, so why hasn’t anything happened? “When you grabbed my hand you stopped shaking.”

“...”

“It’s a shame I couldn’t keep you long,” He visibly frowns, the skin around his lips worry, but you can't tell if it’s genuine or not. He looks at you with something knowing the second the thought enters your head. “I looked for you, at first. You died young, for a human.”

Ninteen. ‘I should have been there,” he wants to add.

“Why aren’t I dying now?” You interrupt and let the panic sink in, the thought of impending doom sits on your shoulders because, really, it could happen at any moment. But this time, you don’t want it to. You remember accepting death when it came to your door at the young age of five, nineteen, countless times over and over. You had only ever gotten this far, you weren’t ready yet. You couldn’t start over, not now. “Sukuna?”

The question sours his mood in the blink of an eye, and instead of looking through your things, he raises himself from his seat to rest his palms on the table. It seemed he had a thing for staring down at people, making them cower under his stone cold gaze. You note the way his jaw clenches. You open your mouth to speak again, but he seems to have other plans. He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips purse together under the pressure of his large fingers. The movement feels familiar, like he’s done it before. The five years you spent with him were still a bit of a blur, but you remembered holding his hand quite often. He’d tell you to close your eyes if there was something he didn’t want you to see, he’d ruffle your hair a bit too hard, let you sleep on his back if he was out in the town. But that was all you remembered. He remembered it all.

“Respect your elders,” He lets go and sits back down as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over you interrupting him. Sukuna was centuries old, but even then, he’d exhibit immature behavior sometimes. Living for so long had to get boring (and lonely) at some point, perhaps that was why he looked for you. He did consider you something close to family, after all. In truth, there were some lifetimes where you met. Some when you were friends, something more than that, and something inseparable. And that’s why you hadn’t died yet, you didn’t remember it all. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking.”

“You’re much more handsome in this life.” His smile is much more intimidating than sweet, the sinister curl to his lips would only ever be associated with bloodshed in your eyes. But it was much more than that. Nights of sleeping together, days of laughter and flirtatious comments, soft moments that only you had seen. And it was bittersweet, because he knew the second he’d jog your memory you’d be gone. It wasn’t just a curse for you, but for him. Maybe it was his punishment for hurting so many people, dragging an innocent soul down with him and hanging them by the red string of fate. The comment makes your skin prickle with heat. Sukuna was quite the charmer when he wanted to be, easily picking at your weak spots with whatever you wanted to hear. But the comment was much more for the sake of his own, instead of yours.

Sukuna stands, hot on his heels as he holds out his hand one last time. If something were to happen to you tonight he’d make the most out of it, just as he did countless times over and over. So many years of starting over, getting to know you in various different bodies, realizing that being trapped away was the only way you’d get to live a full life, it was always on his mind. You were always on his mind.

So you take his hand. And for the millionth time, he’d become your second home.

taglist:

@ryoukuna @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shadows-of-nightmares @rinkindaugly

DAYDREAMING!AU || a little petty

request: okay but can we perhaps see yuuta getting protective of DDR….. and maybe him saying something along the lines of ‘leave my girlfriend alone’…..

please? for a treat?

note: honestly, you know my weakness for my babies >< whenever i get to write for my husband Yuta, there is no way I can avoid that faith lmao. 

pronouns: she/her

daydreaming!reader masterlist

If there was one thing that Yuta prides himself of, it is his patience. 

From the moment he had entered the college, he had been taught that the patient person always gets the outcome that they want at the end. And from the most part, he likes to think that he does take that advice to heart and try to be the best version of himself that he possibly can be. However, everything has a limit. 

And the longer he stared from where he was seated, grip tight around his glass of iced juice, he was starting to think that he was going to find his limit today. 

It all started with a message - Yuta was quietly washing up from the lunch that Y/N had made them when he heard the sound of familiar footsteps running towards him; warm giggles filling the air of the communal kitchen. Just hearing those giggles had Yuta chuckling as he turns off the faucet, wiping his hands dry with a towel just as he turns to catch the giggling girl in his arms. “What got you all excited like this?”

Yuta’s amused question was answered with another fit of giggles before Y/N pulls her face away from his chest, holding her phone screen to the taller male before him. “Remember Hatori? Him, Riku and I are classmates when we were younger, and Riku keeps in contact with our middle school classmates,” Y/N explained whilst Yuta thought back to the couple he had met a few times - Hatori and his boyfriend, Riku had grilled him the moment they found out that he was dating Y/N. But it was all done out of love for her, and soon the three men became good friends; Yuta playing video games with Toge and Riku, and share a few texts with Hatori about new anime merch and where to get them. “What about it?”

“They are having a get together for everyone who is in middle school!,” Y/N replied excitedly as she shakes her phone before his face, to which Yuta just chuckles before he carefully catches her wrist with one hand to stop her shaking. Squinting at the screen a little, he read over the simple message that Riku had sent to a group chat that the three of them are in; humming quietly at the link to register for the event. “I guess you wanna go?”

Keep reading

gojou x f!reader

summary - gojou does manage to escape from his current manga situation(not mentioned in detail) but takes severe injury to his spine and holes up in one of his empty mansions. you pull him out of his depression nest, literally and metaphorically.

warnings - SMUT(minors dni) margarita mix, daddy kink, reader’s in her twenties, gojou’s in his early thirties, so if that kind of age gap bugs you there’s that, lots of chronic pain talk, lots of healing, honestly, very soft for me. mention of an old fashioned arranged marriage. manga spoilers.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, shifting your weight on the stoop in front of his house. No ones seen him for weeks, and judging by the mail you found piling up in the little green mailbox at the end of the driveway he hasn’t been going out much. You knock, and hear how easily the sound is swallowed in the monster of a house, the mansion at the top of the hill was hulking and dark in the otherwise bright landscape. No answer. 

“Hello!” You call, “Hello um, they sent me to um, to help you!” No answer. You wait a few more minutes, but an early fall breeze rears its head in late summer, and you try the knob as you shiver. To your surprise, the door creaks open. You step inside, the house is filthy. Cobwebs on the corners of the high ceilings, dust has gathered on every wooden surface, and the gloom extends the further you move through the hallway. It must have been beautiful once, ornate, even, but something about it doesn’t feel like a home, there’s something empty here that even the large heavy furniture doesn’t fill. “Hello,”  you call again, “Hello, ah, Gojou-sama!” You hear slight movement upstairs and resolve to follow it. You keep your guard up, checking over your shoulder as you move up the huge entrance staircase, and then down the first hallway on the right towards the sound you heard. You come to a pair of double doors with intricate carvings, and realize this must be the master bedroom. “Gojou-sama?” You hear a soft groan, and push the door open. 

Keep reading

YOU, ME, US - TOJI F.

husband! Toji x fem! reader

CW: SFW, hurt/comfort, self doubts, fluff fluffff!!, age gap (reader is 18-19, Toji is around 40), Toji being a house husband! Toji may be OOC but I just want to write fluff so leave me aloneeeeee.

AN: For a special girl of mine, @p-antomime

Arranged marriage is a common practice between the world of sorcerers. Arranged marriage for power, politics, clan's business. Yours were to be married to Toji, to clear out the financial issues your clan had. Why he chose you out of all, you never know or understood the reasoning. But you were expecting a harsh treatment because of the pitying glances and whispers between your maids on how the Zenin clan works. Worst of all, you found out he had a wife before and they got divorced due to the clan's intervention, or so the rumours said. And you know he has a child, a teenage boy around your age to be exact.

When you don't know the reason why Toji chose you, it's always had been known to the man itself. To him, it was because you're supposed to get married to Naoya, the worst of all Zenin, but the first time he saw you, a bright eyed, full of wonder wandering around the Zenin's clan property, he knew he needed to get you before Naoya ruins you.

Was it a fatherly instinct? The need to protect the childlike wonder in your eyes and not wanting the Zenin's clan reputation and treatment to tarnish you, for hating the thoughts of Naoya ruining you until your eyes are as empty as a cave. He doesn't know what it was, but he knew even from back then he HAD to have you in his hold, his arms to protect.

Naoya would had fought if it weren't Toji's personal request (remember that it's canon how Naoya holds deep respect for Toji) so he let it go after several temper tantrums and chosing someone else after throwing a snide remark that you don't look like a virgin at all, which Toji had to refrain from punching him for the sake of protecting the agreement.

Imagine your suprise when Toji treats you softly, unlike how you always heard about the Zenin's treatments. He didn't forced you to have sex with him, not even during the first night after the wedding, where he just softly smiled at you and said goodnight. Not only that, he even allows you to have your own space and room too, not needing to sleep beside him.

But because of that, insecurities begins to crawl itself inside your heart and mind. The 'What Ifs' played itself inside your mind like a broken record.

"What if he's doing this bcs he's not interested in you?"

"What if this marriage is just a joke to him?"

While he did treated you nicely, for you it feels like there's a wedge between you both, a line neither of you willing to cross over.

And that, that's what makes the tears fall every night inside your room. Again, unknown to you, Toji listens to your heart wrenching sobs every night, asking himself what the fuck he did wrong or messed up and how can he fix it.

One day Toji had enough of your sleepless night, crying into your pillow, not knowing the root of the problem. He confronts you in the morning, asking what was wrong with you and if he did something wrong.

Maybe it was the fear of him, or the tone of his voice was a bit tad louder than you're used to, but it does ignites a fear inside you. But you are you. The sole heiress of your clan, you should not be weak.

So what you did was, you took a deep breath before asking him, if you are or ever had been enough for him? Or was the marriage is just a running inside joke to him and the clan?

Toji was flabbergasted to say the most. Because while he was expecting you to call him out on his cold demeanour, he never thought you would ever felt that way.

Sighing, Toji knew he has to clear things up with you. He, unexpected to you, hugs you and apologising for the all neglect you felt while kissing the top of your head. He sat you down, and sit down right in front of you, and told himself that he has to be fully honest with you this time around, to clear out all the fog and doubts running through your pretty little mind.

He told you about his ex-wife, how she cheated on him with one of the clan members causing them both to get divorced. How the relationship with his son got strained because of that. Then he told you about the day he first saw you, how your innocent demeanour and wonderlike nature should never be tarnish with how Zenin's clan reputation and treatment.

How he put you at arms length bcs he didn't know how you actually feels with the arranged marriage, being sold by your clan to settle their debts only because you're the sole heiress.

With you trying absorb all these information in, Toji decided to leave you be and prepare the meal he was preparing before the confrontation. Snapping out from your thoughts, you can feel the tears running as realisation fully hits you and the images, the memories of him doing even the smallest thing runs through your head the way he lets you to have your own garden, full of linum lewisii, your favourite flower, how he would pick a fresh one each day to decorate the kitchen table. You turn towards Toji, only to see him at the kitchen aisle. You rushed towards him and apologising over and over to which he chuckled at and shook his head. He took your palm in his, focusing on your finger where your wedding ring, a ring with his eye colour as the colour of the stone stayed.

"Well, now that we got that part cleared out, do you mind marrying me again? No arrangement, no clan business. Just you and me."

Ok but I legitimately love venti using outdated sayings and phrases?? Like omg that’s so good. Lol imagine him saying the riptide of mortal blood thing to diluc, and then dilucs reaction to the explanation that venti gives when diluc asks what the FUCK he was talking about. Like, I just love people remembering that venti is 1) very very old, and 2) lived through very violent times in his life, along with the fact that he actively took part in at least 2 wars

More Archon War Era Venti Headcanons  one three four

For real though like the potential is endless and i just really like to think of the impact that especially the Archon War could have had on Venti's character!

.... im totally gonna expand on this now-

archon war spoilers

Imagine him taking a break between each battle, retreating to Mondstadt and composing a new song, one to play when he next sets out to fight, to kill. Because even by his own hand it would be a shame to let those who fought so hard for survival to be forgotten, so he does what he can, a divine song for each civilization he wiped out, the chorus leading the four winds to descend and carry on their memory for eternity on the very wind that caused their fall.

some see his retreat as weakness and attempt to ambush him in his own domain, a dishonorable battle fought in silence. The people of Mondstadt and Teyvat as a whole need not remember those who chose to stoop so low.

Some of these songs get picked up by other bards, carrying on as Venti had hoped, but many of them are forgotten, especially during his 1000 year sleep. But every so often, an especially giften musician with have a burst of inspiration, as if whispered to them by the wind. Those who know him look to Venti with concern as his eyes turn glassy at the familiar sound of a civilization whose memory he thought he had failed. He laughs it off, dramatically wiping his tears with a comment about how the music was just that beautiful that he couldn't help but be moved, "i couldn't have wrote a better song myself"

"let the wind lead" had a very different meaning during the Archon War. I headcanon that when in battle Venti took on his sprite form. To have anyone associate his dear friend with the carnage and terror of battle was the last thing he wanted, so sprite form it is. because of his small size, his presence was almost unnoticeable, which is why he survived so long without so much as a hand being laid on him. But one god noticed it- as four massive figures descended, in the very center, almost invisible was a concentrated presence of wind energy, absorbing and relocating energy to the four with the ever present song. And the god ran- survived, and spread the key "let the wind lead" in hopes that someone would be strong enough to avenge his people. This phrase almost cost Venti his life a number of times. Nobody knows its origin now but Venti still internally cringes each time he hears it.

Venti preferring to be outdoors and sleep in trees and such not only because he's the god freedom but because if hes indoors he wont be able to tell if someone's coming, he wont be able to get in the air in time, and he might be too late

I also headcanon that Venti is the ones who supplies Zhongli with Xiao's painkillers, since Zhongli doesn't actually have any healing abilities, and Venti is proved to have an affect on that

which leads into the next point- "but where are those who share the memory?" remember Venti's wine obsession... Venti and Zhongli - and Xiao on the occasion he can be convinces to leave his duties- getting together to speak freely, not having to watch their words, not having to be reminded 'oh right, that doesn't exist in people's memories anymore' every time. Just finally being able to reminisce, talk about the people and the things that they can no longer speak about to anyone else, speak about that which no-one else would understand. They're understanding yes, but there are very few people who can empathize with you as you talk about how you still remember that one battle where the sheer volume of blood spilled by your hand cause the calla lilies to bloom red for centuries, the tint never going away even now. Some random kid: huh i wonder why they fade to red like that Venti: why that's the blood of my enemies of course! ehe, just kidding! *looks at camera like in the office*

A lot of people view Venti as extremely superstitious because he believes and follows a lot of them, but it's because he remembers where the superstitions came from. He knows that during the archon war, breaking a mirror truly could set that god's wrath on you and simultaneously reveal your identity and location to them, that knocking on wood alerted the past Dendro archon, a benevolent god of protection to guard your words from prying eyes, at least until they were were found and killed. Venti just continues to follow them to honor their memory\.

𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞. | 𝐠.𝐬.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo satoru x reader ft. megumi fushiguro

𝐰𝐜: 1.4k

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: its a piece of cake to bake a cake, as long as you follow the recipe—or, gojo satoru was never the best at following instructions, but at least he tries.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐰: fluff, hurt/comfort, fear of growing up, minor existential crisis, one suggestive line, no-curse au, gojo adopts megumi au (?), pls let me know if I miss anything!

𝐚/𝐧: this was supposed to be comedic but it ended up being a bit sad LMFAO im actually a little scared to post this bc I had no beta review this...ill probably post it and never look at it again lol but pls let me know what you thought!

Constant huffing, with a desperate groan sprinkled here and there, caught your attention the moment you set foot inside the apartment. All lights, except for the kitchen's, were turned off. A distinct smell of baked goods—or slightly burnt goods, if you will—filled the entranceway, and you followed blindly.

Finally gracing the kitchen with your presence, the image in front of you left you mildly speechless. In front of you, was Gojo Satoru, hair tousled and hands shaky, his back was bent over at a weird angle so his eye line would match the edge of the counter, all his attention was on steadying the piping bag he held with a shaky hand.

It was adorable, the way the tip of his tongue would poke out, with his brows furrowed in the utmost concentration. Multicoloured icing stained his pretty face, highlighting the roundness of his cheeks. He held in a breath as if that would make his piping technique any less disastrous.

Still, despite how cute Satoru looked trying to make fancy patterns with dainty nozzles, seeing your boyfriend trying to do anything remotely kitchen-y threw you off. You wouldn’t say he was banned from entering the premises, but unless he intended to grab a snack—which meant taking the whole container of sugar to the couch and eating spoonfuls of it at a time while watching over-the-top dramas—he wouldn’t be caught dead cooking up anything more complicated than a bowl of cereal.

Lighting pans on fire, somehow fucking up any sort of boxed mac-n-cheese and burning a hole into Nanami's shirt that one time you decided to host a dinner party was enough to name Gojo Satoru as an absolute menace—and not in the fun kinky way.

So, you couldn’t really help but reveal yourself to him without giving it much thought. After all, he looked like he was in dire need of aid, and you were slightly needy after dropping Megumi off at the Itadori’s for a sleepover. Imagine your surprise when rather than being met with your usually clingy boyfriend, you were faced with Gojo Satoru, the newest member of The Great British Bake-off, instead.

“What are you doing?”

If looks could kill, your funeral invites would be ready by tomorrow morning. You could read the news headlines already, Cold-blooded murder! Find out what happens when you ruin your boyfriend’s piece of cake.

“What am I doing?! I’m trying my best!” He whined, placing one of his hands on his hip.

Now that he stood up to his full height, you could appreciate the image of him more clearly. The icing covered most parts of his face, varying from pastel to vivid colours. Over his lounging clothes, he was wearing the frilly pink apron he had bought for Nanami as a joke. It was a bit big on him, his built objectively smaller than that of his friend, but the pretty pink colour matched his azure orbs, made them pop—it reminded you of that time he let Megumi and his friends do his makeup with the chalky palette Nobara had brought to play with. You would’ve relished in the memory of Gojo getting his skin irritated by the spongy eyeshadow applicator if it wasn’t for the groan of frustration ripping through his pillowy pout.

“Baking is stupid, and I hate it.” He punctuated his statement with a slight kick of his foot. As soon as you left, fussing over Megumi and repeatedly checking whether he packed his toothbrush, he had started pulling all sorts of baking utensils. Clanking bowls and measuring cups, random sized spatulas were all evenly spread out; aesthetically pleasing if you will.

How hard could it truly be? After watching you countless times dance around the kitchen, effortlessly mixing up ingredients while humming a tune, he was sure this would be just another easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy task. You would fall in love with him all over again, Shoko would probably stop smoking, and Suguru would finally agree to add his initials—maybe even a picture of his face, who knows? —to his tattoo collection; everyone around him would be astounded, clapping and cheering, all because of his impeccable culinary skills.

Right?

Wrong

Baking was harder than you, and most people on those cooking shows made it seem. It wasn't just about tossing random powdery ingredients onto a bowl. No, they had a designated order apparently, who would've thought. But alas, he managed to mix some cake batter with decent consistency and shove it in the oven without giving it much thought. Fortunately for him, making icing was even harder! The universe was definitely on his side on this one.

The half-hearted laughter he let out was painful to hear, a wet smile gracing his features. It took you less than a second to react; his silence meant he was beating himself up, and you'd rather die than let his mind mill him to a pulp.

With gentle steps, you walked around the island counter. Leaning against the sink next to him, you grabbed his sticky hand in comfort. Rubbing circles with your thumb always seemed to calm him down.

“I—” He sighed, sounding almost defeated as he looked at the mess he made. The number of times he had scraped frosting from the cake had sanded it down considerably; reusing the same frosting to the point where the crumbs had thickened the original texture. Moreover, the constant mixing could only result in a chaos of colours. He had run out of ingredients to make some more icing, so he had to make do with the shades of brownish-green, grey, and pastel blue—that somehow had managed to survive the massacre. “I was just baking a cake for Gumi,”

“I know he went over to Yuuji’s to celebrate his birthday at midnight and all that,” he refused to make eye contact with you, staring at the ceiling like the solution to his dilemma would come out of the paint-covered concrete. “But I- I just wanted him to come back home to something sweet, you know? Sing happy birthday and all that.”

Lowering his gaze towards the floor, he made it seem as if he was cleaning icing from his face, instead of wiping the tears that threatened to spill.

“He’s growing so fast and I just,” he sniffled “I’m scared he’s starting to leave us— I don’t want him to leave us behind.”

Raising his hand to your mouth, you pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles. You nuzzled yourself closer to his body, trying to eliminate as much space separating the both of you as possible.

“I think there’s a 24-hour market close by,” It felt like hours before you broke the silence. Sometimes all he needed was you, no words uttered, just sharing each other’s warmth. Sometimes he’d prefer the silence, and even so, it seemed like you always managed to sense whenever he was ready to come back to earth; face his fears and all that jazz. “They sell the pretty sparklers you both like.”

And it was after an arduous night of baking—appreciating the way you would guide his hands while whisking and pouring, patiently teaching him the basics; never mocking his mistakes, but softly giggling with him at the little mishaps, and sharing tender kisses here and there.

After opening the door, the next morning, holding the cake as Megumi made its way inside the house. Obnoxiously singing happy birthday, voice cracking in the you, as one does. Admiring the way, the sparklers lit up his pretty green eyes—that weren’t his nor yours but which, regardless of that, held speckles of your unconditional love.

After sharing what felt like the longest hug, and hearing bits and pieces of what he thought sounded like I love you, dad, thank you for being here.

After watching the way Megumi ran into your arms, whispering those same words to you—minus the word dad of course—and holding you tightly because it was also you who gave him the world.

It was after all that, that he felt the gap in his chest beginning to mend itself; the worries he had tried to bear on his own—because he refused to share such irrationalities for a while; you’d probably scold him for bottling up his feelings again—dissipating slowly.

It was inevitable. Megumi would leave you two eventually, but the love he felt for you would never extinguish; not as long as he lives.