1ce-in-a-lifetime

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

day ninety-one | destined 2 suffer barbies—get the complete set! [id in alt]

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

6am

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

he is rehearsing

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

Some Nanamis ✨

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

care for me? (gojo x wife! reader)

——————————————————————————

in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you

warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999

a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀

——————————————————————————

“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”

You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.

You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.

He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.

“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.

“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.

He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”

The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.

You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”

“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”

You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”

“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”

You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.

Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”

He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”

-

The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.

“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”

Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”

“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.

“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”

His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”

You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”

“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.

That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”

Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”

He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”

“‘Toru!”

He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”

“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”

“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.

You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”

“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”

You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.

You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.

He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”

“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.

He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.

You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.

You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.

Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“

“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.

He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”

“I did not feel you up.”

He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”

You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”

That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.

To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”

It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.

You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.

You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.

“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”

“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.

His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.

He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”

“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”

He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”

It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”

He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”

Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.

BONUS:

“‘Toru…”

“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.

“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”

A brief silence follows.

“Go to sleep.”

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

The doorbell rings and you don’t think anything of it.

Why would you? It’s the doorbell.

In fact, you don’t even think to answer it until it rings again, then a third time.

You slide from your seat in the kitchen, eyes never leaving your phone as you pad over to the door. When you open it, it takes you a second to process that the man in front of you isn’t some underpaid delivery man, but a familiar face.

Gojo stands there, hands on his hips so nonchalantly that you almost believe he’s a ghost, a sign your misery and loneliness have finally broken you. He stands there like it hasn’t been months since he disappeared, like he belongs on your porch, a statue carved from snow white marble given to you like a gift, a blessing from a god that you don’t deserve.

Neither of you move. He’s so still that you think maybe he is a ghost, come to haunt more than just your memories.

Finally, he jerks a chip towards you, eyeing your hands. “Did you make any coffee for me?”

You drop your mug and your phone. One of them shatters, liquid and glass exploding at your feet as you step towards him. He says something as he reaches for you with a creeping smile, but you can’t hear it; your ears are ringing from the shock.

When his hand’s cup around your cheeks, the only think you can think of is the wide spanse of his fingers. They are built long and lean, perfect for piano if he had lived a different life, yet they are still thick and strong, perfect for squishing the fat of your cheeks between his knuckles. The tighter he squeezes you, the more pulls you expression together, forcing your lips into a gentle pucker. He plays with your face like a toy, trying to work a smile out of you one way or another.

The pads of his palms are surprisingly calloused, a rare sign of wear on his otherwise untouched body. That’s new. That’s something you’ve never felt before.

“Now, why are you cryin’?” Gojo coos, the end of his sentence breaking into a laugh. Somehow, his eyes are brighter than you remember, shimmering and bright with every cliche ever written. They are oceans and gems and skies, the feeling of freedom and the color you tried to paint your front door months ago, but failed to find the perfect shade.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Your voice breaks in your throat. This time, when he laughs, it’s sad.

“Come on now, snowball- you really doubted me?” His thumbs brush away the hot tears that have begun to spill down your cheeks,  “No need for tears. I’m right here.”

He presses his forehead into yours, the cartilage of his nose smushed into yours, and for the first time in weeks, in the doorway to your apartment, you feel at home.

“Of course I came back.”

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

….

now which one of y’all snitched and got toji’s feet appreciation post labeled 🫤🫤

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

Not your time yet

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

HAPPY FIRST JJK2 THURSDAY (on friday) (IM LOSING MY MINDDDD)

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

don't get too attached yall..

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

Welcome to the Kageyama-verse!

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

hi !! your tiny lil blorbos are so cute!!!

could I please request a fushiguro megumi one from jjk?

himb and his doggos

—

tiny blorbo ask game hunktober 2022 (come join in!)

comms are open!

tip jar

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

Telling stories 🌿

The aranaras like stories & zhongli likes to tell stories… so i feel like they would enjoy each other’s company :)

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

I am really crying rn...

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

Daffodils | Yandere Diluc x Reader

You can thank @j0succ for this one honestly bc they've put me in a very Diluc mood lately (A VERY GOOD THING) (THE OPPOSITE OF A PROBLEM) ...anyway. this will be a two-parter

CW: reader death(Diluc doesn't do it though dw), angst, implied kidnapping, referenced captivity, yandere themes, graverobbing

Word Count: 1.2k

Adelinde hasn’t seen the young master like this in a long time.

After the death of his father, Diluc became a completely different person. Mind you, she would never go so far as to say he became a worse person, no. Just… different. The fire in him dimmed. It was like watching the light from the sun slowly die. 

She still worries about him, from time to time, when she catches him limping his way up the steps to the estate, clutching a wounded side with a mask hanging haphazardly from one ear.

She knows he works himself to this point so that he doesn’t lose anyone else close to him, but there’s still the quiet fear that one night he won’t return, and the manor will bear the echoes of the ghost of him. 

Some of that worry dissipated with you. The warmth in him had returned– not that he had ever grown cold since his father’s death, but with you, it was like seeing the young Diluc Ragnvindr again: whole and bright and warm. 

It’s why she overlooked some of the… Peculiarities of your relationship with the master. The locked doors, the muffled sobs, the sadness in your eyes whenever you stared out the windows of the estate…  

She knew better than to intervene– all the servants did. They may have quietly pitied you, and done their best to make your stay feel less like the imprisonment it felt to you, but they ultimately cared more for their master than they did you. 

And Diluc seemed well and truly happy, for the first time in years, with you here. Adelinde wasn’t going to change that. Many servants were relieved to see the man they once knew in the halls once again, instead of the shadow of his guilt and regrets. 

For your part, you seemed to be warming up to Diluc after a few months into your stay at the winery. You still looked out longingly into the vineyard, towards the yawning horizon, but you didn’t ignore Diluc entirely anymore– didn’t give him the same icy glares, didn’t flinch away from his touch, didn’t refuse the meals he’d bring you on cool evenings when you were too despondent to eat in the dining hall. 

Adelinde felt like she could sleep at night, at last. It was easier to swallow back the guilt that came with playing blind and deaf, when you were coming to terms with it. She could feel the relief in the other maids and servants that Diluc allowed to tend to you, see the cloying shadow of remorse slipping from their postures as they guided you through the days. She could convince herself this was for the best– that you would learn to love Diluc in time, that you would be happy here.

But it didn’t last.

The death of his father was hard on him, the sun setting on a never ending day, but yours? Your death was the sun shattering against the horizon. Adelinde can’t wipe the image of him from her mind: returning with you in his arms that night, soaked from the rain, and the undiluted pain in his eyes when he looked at her. 

She doesn’t know what became of the servant that had slipped you the key. She never asked. 

In the days leading up to the funeral, Diluc hadn’t left his office once. When you were finally buried in the garden, Adelinde would often find him in the late hours of the night sitting by the budding daffodils they’d replanted by your grave. 

Late nights spent fighting the Abyss stretched on into early mornings, with the haggard Ragnvindr returning bloodied and limping after each excursion, slipping into his office despite Adelinde’s concerns. 

None of the servants are allowed into your chambers anymore.

At first, she’d assumed Diluc had intended to lock the room and leave the memory of your stay here untouched, gathering dust, but she’s seen the door cracked on a few occasions– caught glimpses of her employer carefully tidying up the space, or perched at the edge of the bed overlooking the garden where the lisianthus grows. 

They say grief comes in waves, but for Diluc, it was an engulfing ocean. Sorrow settled over the estate like a heavy fog– servants skirted past the ghost of their master in the halls, hearths did little to warm the quiet mourning that sank into the floorboards, and the yawning emptiness left in your wake tore into the inconsolable wine tycoon like an unfettered rot.  

The spring months felt like winter at the winery, dragging on into dreary summer storms. It was in one such storm that Adelinde returned from running errands to see Diluc waiting for her outside the estate, soaked through with a crazed look in his eyes. 

“Master Diluc–”

“Where are they?” He cuts in, swatting away the umbrella she offers him. Rain pours down his face, crimson hair sticks to his forehead, and dark circles line his eyes. 

She can see the mud caked in his clothing now, the shovel he’s still clinging to in one hand in a white-knuckled grip. Her eyes drift to the garden, to the uprooted daffodils and lisianthus the gardeners had carefully tended. 

“Pardon?” 

Diluc grabs her by the wrist, lessening the harshness of his grip when she winces– the wild look fading into something apologetic for the barest of moments– and leads her to the garden where you once lay. 

The coffin they’d buried you in is empty, its fine satin interior soiled with old dirt and fresh mud. 

The sound of rain is deafening in her ears. Diluc looks to her expectantly, hopefully, and she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

His face darkens. Adelinde watches him disappear into the manor once more, then turns back to gather her things and follows. She doesn’t see him for the rest of the day. 

That night, however, as Adelinde finishes the last of her duties, she stops in the hall to see her employer stepping out of his chambers, harsh shadows cast over the tired lines of his face by the sparse candlelight. 

“Master Diluc.”

“Adelinde.” 

There’s a bag slung over his shoulder, a familiar heavy coat draped over him. Ah. She thinks she understands. “Going on a trip?”

“Yes. I’ll need you to take care of the estate in my absence.” He doesn’t look at her as he says this, but Adelinde can hear the tremble of something other than grief in his voice for the first time in months. 

“Of course.” 

“Thank you. Be sure to inform the others of my absence.”

“What should I tell them?” She asks, just as he steps past her, the flame of her candle turning wild before snuffing out. In the dim moonlight, her employer’s eyes look almost haunting when he turns back to look at her. 

“Business trip.”

“You might want to bring a warmer coat,” She tells him.  

“I’ll be fine.” He replies, and Adelinde sighs. 

Diluc heads down the stairs and steps outside, shutting the door behind him. Adelinde lingers in the hall, turning her gaze to your room, the door to it left wide open for the first time in months. The hallway is warm despite the chill clinging to the rest of the estate. ...Well. It’s good to see the young master pulled from his misery, if even for this. 

As Adelinde finishes locking up for the night, she wonders what the fatui could ever want with your corpse.

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

toji better be animated like the dilfest dilf to ever dilf or jjk community would come for him. that man is the root cause of the problems and his looks is the only thing keeping him safe

[1ce-in-a-lifetime]

Kazuha had a habit of tracing your face with his finger. He'd be telling you a story; a haiku, perhaps. His index finger following the curve of your chin, dancing alongside your jaw.

"What are you doing?" You giggled, slightly ticklish against his feather-like touch.

Kazuha smiled at you, his expression soft--it was never hardened or frustrated. He never grew too angry, always tranquil. (You told him you were impressed he never boiled over. That you were envious of it, in fact. Kazuha just gave you the same serene smile, ruby eyes glowing in the sunlight above.

"Anger is caused by us holding onto something for too long," he explained, "I simply choose to allow that feeling to blow in the breeze.")

You placed your hand over his bandaged one the moment it caressed your cheek. He kissed you, so gently you swore you could've cried.

"You're my muse," he murmured against your lips, before kissing you again. "My light." Another kiss, chaste and swift. "My heart."

You sighed into his lips, and held him closer. "You'll truly be the death of me."

Kazuha chuckled. "I surely hope not. For then I shall perish."

You tapped his nose with your finger. "Though, Beidou might kill us both for being so romantic." You couldn't help but admire his amused look.

"I shall endure her scolding. I am not ashamed, and I hope you are not?"

"Never."

He kissed you one last time before humming. "Good."

|Tags:|

@universal-imagines , @amatxs , @sierrascribbles , @fugufishie , @halcyon-writings ,