CAN I REQUEST Y/N IGNORING GOJO LMAOOO. OKAY BUT FR- Y/n's SOO MAD AT HIM FOR THE LITTLEST THINGS (ex;

CAN I REQUEST Y/N IGNORING GOJO LMAOOO. OKAY BUT FR- y/n's SOO MAD AT HIM FOR THE LITTLEST THINGS (ex; he didnt put the toilet seat down, he leaves water DRIPPING EVERYWHERE in the bathroom, his candy/lollipop wrappers are atp forming a whole mf mountain 😭😭💀💀)

morning spills┆gojo satoru

୧ genre: fluff and tiny angst

୧ wc: 1,025

୧ synopsis: gojo receives the silent treatment because you decided that you've had enough of picking up after him.

a/n: wrappers as ATP forming a mountain STOP that's so funny but completely true!! thanks for the request anon, I had so much fun writing this one!

"Honey, are you mad at me? Why aren't you talking to me? Didn't you hear me call out to you? Have I done something wrong? Talk to me angel, I miss the sound of your voice. I'll die if I don't hear it.

C'mon, please? Please, please, please. I'll really die, I'm not kidding."

Your persistence is really getting to Gojo ever since the morning, and you had good reason to be upset at him too. From him leaving a pile of dirty socks along with yesterday's attire right next to the hamper instead of having the right mind to deposit the clothes inside it to leaving water droplet stains on the bathroom mirror from washing his face too carelessly. If that wasn't enough for your cross-popping vein to make an appearance, the evidence from his late-night snacking spread on the kitchen island definitely was.

You're at your ends meet because your husband just doesn't seem to understand the concept of picking and cleaning up after himself, no matter how many times you've addressed the issue it just wasn't something he took to heart. With Gojo, it's always "Sorry babe, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again next time," and when next time comes around it happens again and again and again. You gave him too many second chances and warning notices, and today is the day where you've finally had enough of it.

Gojo hadn't realized just how badly he screwed up until his good morning kisses privileges have been rescinded, and that's when he starts to panic 一 inwardly and outwardly. "Baby? I don't get a good morning kiss?" He tries to lighten the mood with an innocent chuckle and pretend that everything's peachy, but you can make out the sound of hurt in his voice. You brush him off and continue making yourself a cup of tea before making your way to the makeshift desk with your laptop to answer work-related emails.

Gojo is completely stunned and he doesn't know how to act. He knows you're mad at him about something that he did, and before he could put his finger on it the brimming sunlight shines on the opened jar he left out overnight and it catches his peripherals. It immediately dawns on him why you're suddenly giving him the silent treatment. "Oh, haha this? Megumi must've gotten hungry in the middle of the night, don't worry I'll clean it up right away."

Right, because Megumi moved out to the dorms and just so happened to drop by in the middle of the night. You pay no mind to him as you fixate on the lines of text on your screen and sip on your warm beverage every so often.

Much to your surprise, Gojo does as he says instead of leaving the condiments and sweet bread for later like he usually does. But he doesn't stop just there and decides to wipe down the countertops, unload the dishwasher and puts them away, run the next batch of laundry and fold the clean ones. He spends the entire morning being productive and doing simple chores to hopefully make up for him slacking around your shared home. Even making sure you have something to snack on before he needs to get dressed for the day.

"Here, hon. Have some water and fruits." You take a glimpse of the plate he set down and they were bunny-shaped apple slices. How can you remain upset with him after that?

Gojo gives himself a once-over of his teacher's uniform in the mirror before he makes his way to the genkan. He spends a long moment staring at you expectantly as you're typing away at your keyboard, but nothing comes of it and he goes to put on his shoes. When he looks over his shoulder again before he has to head out into the world, you're slowly approaching him from behind and his heart skips. No, it does somersaults because you're acknowledging his existence again and it's all he could ever hope and ask for when it comes to you.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" You offer him a demure smile for the first time today and he swears he was hit by something. He's absolutely love-struck by you and it takes him back to his first encounter with you and he's feeling giddy all over again. But Gojo loves playing coy even though he knows what's coming. There's just something about making you do or state the obvious that's simply rewarding to him.

"Hmm? What's that?"

It's a small routine you both like to do every time one of you leaves the house to head somewhere. A small gesture to let one another know that you both still love each other even if it's the last thing you'll remember. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gently pull him down into a soft and sincere kiss. The sweet and tart taste of your lips traverses him and he pulls you closer to him than humanly possible.

"Hey, I'm sorry for taking you for granted. Won't happen again... Are we good now?" He gazes down at you with an honest and hopeful expression, and you don't need to see behind his blindfold to know his cerulean hues are rippling and lustering from simply holding you. His grip and gentle squeeze on your hip signals you how sorry he is for being such a messy and inconsiderate person since you both do share the same space, and he makes the silent agreement that he'll be better from now onwards.

You nod at him slightly with upturned lips. Although you felt a little bad about how the morning started, you somehow had to get your message across to Gojo and his response to it seems like it was well-received. "Yeah, we're okay now. I shouldn't have ignored you like that either, but we each have our own faults. Make sure you don't get yourself into too much trouble out there, okay? I love you, Satoru."

"It's a promise," he hums earnestly, reaching for your hand and his pinky loops with your much smaller one. "Love you too, angel."

→ Gojo Satoru x Fem!reader (continued)

Genre: NSFW 18+, FWB, sort of college AU, basically smut with plot including a disgusting amount of fluff.

Notes: A continuation of this piece I wrote but one could be read without the other. Also I didn’t have time to thoroughly edit, sorry.

Warning: 18+, smut including explicit language, dirty talk, oral sex (f!receiving), praise. Smoking marijuana and slight mentions of self sabotaging behaviour/depression (if you squint). Readers discretion is advised.

WC: 5.5k

Satoru frowned, trying hard to ignore the disturbance and continue sleeping, but it was no use. He grudgingly lifted his head off the pillow and turned to look at the door with squinted and sleepy eyes, expecting to see a crying Megumi standing there, sniffling about how he had a bad dream. But instead, his eyes landed on the frame laying across from him, reminding him that somehow he’d managed to get you to stay the night.

Keep reading

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

incubus!Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

genre. forbidden love, romance, smut

s. who knows how many lives we have lived and how many we have forgotten in the course of our existence. “you should be grateful ….” he says with a smirk as you feel a strange connection building between the two of you

cw. huge cock!Sukuna, mild dubcon at first, size kink, dirty talk, oral, fingering, squirting, manhandling, creampie, praise, tits play, belly bulge, cumflation, 69, doggy, mating press + plot twist | wc. 6K

cw. lower-ranking incubus!Yuji — Yuji is Sukuna’s underling

an. Sukuna in his incubus form has 4 arms and horns + his usual tattoos — rbs + interactions are appreciated — m.list

There is a sculpture at the entrance to the private college you attend.

A beautiful naked woman lying on what is supposed to represent a bed trying to push away a monstrous being, with horns and wings, who wants to lie with her.

You have always found the work interesting. The way the artist carved into the white marble the woman’s frightened expression, the draping of the sheets beneath her, the scary being laying its claws on her flesh.

“You’ve been looking at this statue for three years, it’ll be there tomorrow too,” the blonde’s voice made you wrinkle your nose, “the new sensei is coming today, come on, I’m curious”.

They were all in trepidation for the arrival of the new art history teacher. The only man who would be present inside the women’s college you’ve been attending for three years now. Everyone had been talking about him for weeks and finally, after winter break, he had arrived.

The art room had never been so full and after getting a glimpse of the new sensei you could see why.

He looked anything but like a teacher. His pink hair was pulled back tied in a small bun, his tattooed arms were clutched in the white t-shirt he wore, and his biker boots pulled tight around his ankles.

Something about him made your stomach tickle as the lessons got deeper.

Keep reading

jjk men + tities

all characters aged up!

satoru gojo- likes biting. laughs if you wince. spends a lot of time just sucking on your titties, often falls asleep to it.

suguru geto- likes pinching. also likes flicking the nipple, twsting and pinching it. more of a finger guy then a mouth guy.

nanami kento- offers to massage your boobs and sometimes squeezes it roughly but then soothes it after. he has gropey hands *thumbs up*

toji fushiguro- this man is dirty. likes sucking on your titties with your top on and bites too. all to rile you up and leave you with your hands tied behind your back

itadori yuuji- likes peppering kisses all over it and giggles. likes to softly caress it and lay his head on it

megumi fushiguro- like to see boobs jiggle and recoil. he likes it bouncy and flicks it up and down with his finger

inumaki toge- likes licking it. his technique makes everything a lot more magical and it feels something akin to an electric shock, although pleasurable.

yuta okkotsu- another biter. but kisses it tpp. like bite-kiss-kiss-kiss-kiss-BITE-laugh-kiss, like that

noritoshi kamo- likes to mark you as his so leaves loads of hickeys, especially on the titty. bites and draws blood so that he can control you with his technique

choso kamo- likes to kiss it. and kitten licks all over it. sometimes just buries his face and goes to sleep

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

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.