Gojo: Must Be Hard Not Being Able To Laugh

ding!

. . . ushijima wakatoshi. if you ever forget that you love me.

note. timeskip content + spoilers for the manga franchise ahead. inspired by a song that my lovely @yeonruco recommended, it's if you ever forget that you love me by isak danielson!

arguments with your husband were a rare occurrence.

but the chances of it not happening were not guaranteed when you sealed in your simple, intimate vows; this does not mean that you two didn’t make the effort and time to talk things through whenever exhaustion and workload made the retaliations blunt and evidently heated.

your husband, wakatoshi, was a patient man.

his patience could reach for miles and back, but there were just days when he felt so exhausted from volleyball practice that his attitude could come off as cold and blunt. you’ll be able to tell that he was not in the mood to argue further with you when he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he’ll then suggest that he’ll be sleeping on the guest bedroom—sleeping much earlier than he would on a normal day.

usually, your arguments simmer down after a day or two. though this one went on for literal weeks.

stubbornness clung onto the both of you, which was rare, not wanting to admit that they were in the wrong, even though both were to blame and could be considered to be in the wrong in this argument.

conversations were kept to a minimum, and still, you two ate dinner together, a silent oath to yourselves and reassurance that no matter how much you two ignored one another throughout the day, you still loved each other.

of course, wakatoshi is the first to apologize, since this whole petty argument started because he wasn’t in the mood to entertain your silly question when you asked him so nicely and even told him beforehand as his day just began at that time.

when you entered the bathroom and glanced at the mirror to carry out your usual routine, what was once a squeaky-clean mirror now had a little note on the bottom right corner.

good morning. you look stunning, as always. :) i made your favorite breakfast. we’ll talk about our argument when i get home later, ok? i love you, now and forever.

now and forever is what he always told you, and wakatoshi says it, whether it’s written neatly with a whiteboard marker or spoken with that soothing voice of his, you know he means it through and through. no questions are asked. nothing to argue about there because when he says now and forever, he means it with everything he could ever offer.

a smile made its way to your lips as you read this.

at the kitchen table, a plentiful variety of your favorite was indeed, made, along with a note that was written on a sticky note. curious, you took your time to read through the simple message your husband had left you.

have a wonderful breakfast, love. i already ate before i went to practice, and i didn’t want to wake you up so we could have breakfast together because you came home exhausted last night.

the end of his note is sealed with a small heart, and your day is instantly brighter than the days before.

wakatoshi snuggles closer to you, considering that the argument has been resolved. he’s missed this and he couldn’t wait to bask in your attention, and make up for the time lost over some petty argument. to him, time is gold.

“love, about your question.”

“hm?”

“your question before our argument.”

“oh? what of it?”

“while i do love you, waxing my legs before an important friendly match is not ideal.”

“what? why not?”

“y/n, love. that hurts,” he replies, basing his answer on experience.

“it was one time,” you huff. “and i’ve gotten better at it now!”

safe to say that you two went to bed with lots of laughter after that.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

会いたい: 'cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me

stop defining yourself by what you lack. you are not the absence of qualities, you’re the presence of them.

👑Happy Birthday Nanamin 👑

“So often we try to make other people feel better by minimizing their pain, by telling them that it will get better (which it will) or that there are worse things in the world (which there are). But that’s not what I actually needed. What I actually needed was for someone to tell me that it hurt because it mattered. I have found this very useful to think about over the years, and I find that it is a lot easier and more bearable to be sad when you aren’t constantly berating yourself for being sad.”

— John Green

for @tsukkiangel ’s this magic moment collab

it’s the drive to his game alone that makes sakusa realize that he’s grown dependent on your company. the silence through his journey to the stadium, the lack of your voice singing along to the music you blare in the background, the absence of your fingers fiddling with the loose curls at the base of his neck, they’ve grown a part of him, and now it feels missing.

he’s restless when he has to start his game without a kiss from you sending him off, and by the third service ace he scores and doesn’t see you cheering when he turns to your usual seat, his heart is aching painfully in his chest, and he needs you to know he’s sorry. he figures you’re watching the game from home, that he’ll see you in a bit and he can make up for the argument then, but he still can’t focus.

and when the msby jackals lose their first game of the season, sakusa can’t help but shoulder the blame himself.

he drags himself through your front door, plopping down on your couch with his face in his hands, hunched over with both elbows resting on his thighs. it’s silent, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it—to be here in your home after how he acted, but he craves the catharsis your touch provides him, the warmth of your skin against his and the sweetness of your words as you whisper them against his forehead.

but sakusa figures he’s never deserved them in the first place, and he’s proved that last night. you’re bound to leave him behind by now.

but he’s pulled out of his thoughts when a hand is laid gently on his shoulders, a weight sinking down beside him as an arm wraps tightly around his waist, pulling him into a warm embrace.

“i saw the game, omi,” you whisper. “it’s okay, baby. sometimes you just can’t win them all. don’t let it get to you,” you mumble into his hair, and sakusa’s breath hitches, the curve of his lips exchanging the frown for a slight wobble, his fist clutching your shirt.

“i messed up,” he whispers, and his voice cracks in the middle. and he thinks the hole in his heart is nothing compared the gap your absence would leave him—he realizes he’ll miss the tiniest of things.

the way you shake your hands over the sink three times before moving to wipe them on a towel, the way you twist his doorknob even after he checks if he’s locked it before you both leave—just to double check as you always say, the way you carefully set up the pillows on your bed to lay how you want. they’re all habits he’s watched plenty of times, and they’re mundane to anyone else, but they’re precious to him.

you’re precious to him.

“omi, it’s one game, baby. and it wasn’t just you—”

“no, last night,” he interrupts. his chin is propped on your chest as he looks up at you, eyes wide and slightly panicked—and just the slightest bit broken if you look deeper. “i…i messed up last night. i’m sorry. please…please don’t leave,” he croaks.

sakusa realizes the little crinkle of your nose when you smile at him is enough to turn his coldest days warm. he leans closer into you, cheek pressed against your chest as you hum.

“it’s just one fight, they’re bound to happen. i know you didn’t mean it,” you murmur. “i’m right here, aren’t i?”

glancing up, he crinkles his eyebrows. “you’re not mad?”

“i am, kiyoomi,” you glance down at him, booping his nose, and it’s his turn to crinkle his. “i’m still quite mad, but you need me right now. we’ll figure out last night later.”

oh.

sakusa realizes for the first time that he’s encompassed by a feeling so raw, so inexplicably and undeniably light, it makes him forget for a moment the despair of just a moment ago. he smiles into your chest.

he doesn’t hesitate a seconds longer to mumble “i love you.” and you pause, your fingers that thread through his hair coming to a halt as you process his words. he feels you press soft kisses along his forehead, taking extra care to gently kiss each mole at the end, like they’re something precious of their own in your heart too.

and that’s what love his, he realizes, finding the raw beauty in the tiniest, mundane things, looking past the large flaws for the little blessings in between. and it takes him the softness you still gift him despite the jaggedness he shows, but he knows this feeling is nothing but love, and he knows even past his jagged edges, you soften him up because you love him too.

and you prove it when you whisper “i love you too, omi.”

🥐🍳 cause' you took me home, but you just couldn't keep me

Just finished watching jujutsu kaisen… Lets just say i’m a huge simp now for this dude

[13:25] miya osamu sobbing bcs @ufo-ikawa made me listen to free love by honne & i automatically thought of samu

“tsum’s always third-wheeling us, but where is he when we need him?” you huff, using the collar of osamu’s worn t-shirt to wipe away the sweat on your forehead. “this would go a lot faster if he were here.”

it’s the middle of summer, it’s way too hot, and the air conditioning in osamu’s newly purchased storefront is still broken. yet here the both of you are anyway, painting walls in the muggy afternoon heat of downtown osaka.

osamu makes a sound of agreement just as his phone buzzes in his pocket, wiping his hand on his paint-streaked shirt before grabbing it and glancing down at the screen. “oh, this is the scrub now saying…he’s at some resort in tokyo with his girl.”

“wait, the one he met last month?” you ask, dropping the paint roller into its tray when he hands you the phone, a selfie of his brother lounging on a pool chair on the screen. “wow, a month into the relationship and he’s already whisking her off to a resort? lucky girl.”

osamu’s got an odd look on his face as you hand the phone back. “he, uh, said he’d be back on tuesday to help us move the furniture in, though.”

“that’s good,” you shrug, picking up your roller and resuming your neat strokes of light grey paint. “i already know he’s gonna be eating here all the time, so we need to make sure he pulls his weight before opening.”

he hums in acknowledgement, resuming his painting beside you. when you look over, he’s got a comtemplative look on his face, brows pulled down and mouth pressed into a tight line.

“let’s take a water break,” you propose when you can tell he’s pulled a little too far into his head by…by something. in the five years you’ve dated him, you know that osamu’s like this. sometimes his thoughts are a little too loud, and whatever they are right now are screaming at him, drowning out reason.

he hears you, though, dropping his roller into the tray before taking a seat in the middle of the tarp-covered floor (flooring the both of you had installed yourselves with the help of a youtube tutorial). you reach into the cooler, grabbing two bottles of water before lowering yourself to the ground next to him, handing him a bottle of water before uncapping your own.

“i’d understand, you know,” he murmurs quietly once you’re settled.

you watch him out of the corner of your eye, noting the way his restless hands pick at the label on the bottle. he’s nervous. “understand what?

he’s not looking at you, staring straight ahead. “if ya wanted to leave.”

you chuckle, taking a gulp before screwing the cap back on, pressing the cool bottle to your cheek. “i’m not gonna leave before we’re done painting the edges. i’ll stay all night if i have to.”

“not the walls,” he says a little stiffly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i meant— i meant me. if ya wanted to leave me, i would…i would understand.”

you blink a few times, wondering if the heat was making you hallucinate or something. “osamu, why would i do that?”

“it’s just, you deserve more than— than this,” he gestured around at his half-assembled store. “i don’t have much. you know i poured a good chunk of my savings into leasing this place. i can’t take you to nice dinners on our anniversary or buy you pretty things, and now i’ve got you doin’ manual labour on your day off. you deserve better.”

“better?” you repeat, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

osamu shrugs, then lets his steady shoulders slump. “you…you deserve someone who can take you to tokyo.”

“but i don’t want to go to tokyo. it’s too—”

“crowded, i know,” he finishes, hesitantly meeting your gaze. “but you know what i mean.”

“no, i don’t,” you say firmly. “because you’re not making any sense right now. should i call an ambulance? is this heat stroke?”

he says your name exasperatedly. “i’m serious. you’ve got no obligation—”

“do you love me?” you interrupt.

“of course i do,” he answers without hesitation, and you can hear it, the desperate edge in his voice, the little part of him that says he doesn’t want to let you go.

satisfied, you uncap your water and take another drink. “then that’s that.”

he frowns a little. “but—”

you raise your brows at him. “unless you want me to date your brother?”

“what? no.”

“exactly.” you shuffle over to cup his face in your palms, the tip of your nose brushing his as he leans into your touch and you murmur, “i don’t need anything or anyone else.”

no one but osamu, who can’t take you to nice dinners but spent hours in the kitchen cooking up your favourite dishes on your anniversary last month. who seasoned everything to your liking and somehow made it compliment the cheapest bottle of wine you could find.

osamu, who can’t buy you nice things, but shows you everyday, in his own way, just how much he appreciates and loves you. who packs you a lunch every night and walks you to the train station each morning. who always lets you have the last slice or bite of anything, and holds your opinion on new dishes in the highest regard.

osamu, who is willing to let you go because he thinks you deserve better. you don’t doubt he’ll give it all to you someday, when he can. but for now?

for now you’ll kiss his sweaty forehead in his half-built onigiri shop, the both of you streaked with paint and melting in the summer heat. but none of it matters because, well,

“all i need is you.”

ding!

. . . fushiguro megumi + gojo satoru. too young to be singing the blues.

note. used the recent chapter 230 leaks as reference + spoilers for the manga franchise ahead.

“how is he?”

“he’s well . . he’s still recovering, and hasn’t woken up yet.”

your eyes vaguely gloss over as you take in megumi’s state. his body lay unconscious on the hospital bed, showing not much sign of progress. the slow, rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment that aided his recovery reverberated around the room—and it rang in your ears like an endless gong. you were afraid of what could happen to his vital signs the moment you tended to your other patients.

satoru nods, softly closing the door. his usually beaming, carefree mood is dampened to nothing but a worried, exhausted feeling that eats him away bit by bit. you’ve never seen him be this genuine with his emotions after the major events that took place, but could you really blame him? the kid got lost being a vessel for the king of curses and had to endure his formidable power, almost losing his own life and what’s left of his soul in the process.

“could you open the blinds a bit?” you asked quietly, studying the nurses’ recent reports on megumi’s condition. “megs always scolds me when i rarely let the light in our house.” a bitter sigh escaped your lips as you remembered the memory. “the kid thinks i’m turning into a vampire when he sees me all cooped up in my office.”

satoru chuckles at that, and he does as he’s requested. “i remember.”

. . .

“do you think he’ll wake up?”

a deafening pause followed. neither of you two—or any other medical professional out there in the big, wide world—could really provide a definite answer. but still, someone had to ask what the other thought. to navigate through a raging sea of thoughts and feelings that could drown someone, communication had not always been your forte in the relationship, but now that the storm’s been calmed—even for the briefest of moments—you and satoru wanted to be honest with each other.

cut the bullshit; disregard the thought of not wanting to burden one another.

“i don’t know,” you answer truthfully, and your voice wavers as you do so. “but i won’t ever lose hope that one day he’ll be awake, asking me what i’ll be making for breakfast because i know he wants something specific for that day. . . just like he used to.”

“mm, yeah,” he agrees, observing you take a seat on the opposite side of megumi’s bed, opposite of satoru. “he’s a tough kid,” he says, his hand fiddling with the cold metal bar. “he got that from you, y’know?”

you roll your eyes at his comment. “really? and he got his hardheadedness from you.” you murmur, glancing at megumi who’s still unresponsive. “he could get a bit reckless with his missions, too. guess who he got that from.”

“hey!” satoru pouts slightly, but it’s all to lighten the situation. “well, you know. . . megumi’s keen on his surroundings and often— what’s the word? he picks things up easily.”

“really, you two being reckless would cause me to age thirty times faster.”

“come on, that’s not true.”

“it is.”

“if that’s the case, how old are you now, then?”

“physically, i’m twenty-nine. mentally, i think i’m in my late sixties.”

“wow, ok. you’re an elderly person now,” he cheekily smiled. “does that mean we’ll see you in the priority lanes at fast food establishments?”

you gave him a glare. “whatever, gojo satoru.”

“ooh, using my full name? i think i made the old-timer mad.”

“shut up!” you chuckled.

“i should turn down the ac,” satoru says, arranging a new bouquet of megumi’s favorite flowers on the displayed vase. “yuuji and the others visited earlier this afternoon, and it’s safe to say that they’re still hoping for your fast recovery.”

no response.

he quietly sighed, turning down the air conditioner’s thermostat just a bit. “you hate it when the room’s too cold, right? you always wanted to stay in whenever winter got too cold for your liking.”

once again, he’s met with just the occasional beeping of megumi’s medical equipment.

it’s been a year and a half, and there’s still not much news.

“you’re early, ‘toru.” satoru looks at you as you enter the room.

and the first thing he greets you with is, “you look like shit.” not even a simple, “hey” or “have you eaten?” really, he had to greet you with that?

you contemplate whether you should smack him with the wooden clipboard you’re holding. and so you did, smacking it against his side playfully. satoru, ever the dramatic lover, whines as he soothes the area you hit.

“hello to you, too.”

“hmph.” he crosses his arms over his chest. “can you believe this, megumi? they’re being mean to me again. it just slipped, ok? i think you’re a very hardworking doctor, and your job is very admirable. love you.”

“don’t act all lovey-dovey with me,” you told him, sitting next to megumi’s bed. “you still haven’t washed the dishes.”

“i did!”

“whatever you say.”

satoru slumps on the spot on the opposite side of you. “have you finished your rounds?”

“yeah,” you answer, leaning your head on the cold side rail. “i think i’m going to get a quick shut-eye before i take on another shift.”

“really, you need to get some sleep. stop taking on more work than your body and mind can handle,” he frowned. “why don’t we go home and come back tomorrow?”

“no, no.” you yawn. “i . . .”

there was a pause, and satoru thought you had already fallen asleep.

“i want to be here when he wakes up. megumi might wake up and become worried that he’s all alone, no? or he might panic— i . . . don’t want to go home, satoru.”

because home is where satoru and megumi is.

he nods, deciding not to go against it. “alright, i’ll stay here with you, then.”

“mm. don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“don’t worry, i’ll handle it.” satoru stood up, draping his trenchcoat over your figure and giving you a reassuring side hug as he knelt beside you. “get some sleep, yeah?” he murmurs, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “we’ll be here when megumi wakes up. promise.”

the room is dimly lit by the moonlight that filters through the windows, illuminating softly against megumi’s skin. he stirs awake and blinks slowly through his half-asleep daze. he felt exhausted, and could barely move his head or his hands. uncomfortable with how lethargic he was and the environment he was in, he became worried.

what happened?

where was he?

was everyone okay?

was he okay?

at the feeling of a warm hand on either of his, his eyes glanced over to see who they belonged to.

yours and satoru’s, over megumi’s undoubtedly cold ones.

you had your head on the vacant portion of the bed, and satoru leaned on the side rail, both of you sleeping peacefully. safe and unharmed.

and it’s almost surprising how quickly he felt reassured. a feeble attempt at smiling is made, and megumi relaxes—he’s safe; he’s fine, because he had the two people who cared most about him by his side in his frailest moment. megumi thinks that he’s reverted back to his seven-year-old state, where he feels absolutely embarrassed to even tell you or satoru that he’s had an awful dream.

nevertheless, he’s content with this.

he’s home, after all.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.