Satoru’s dorm room is cosy as rain peals against the closed window and you settle back into his awaiting arms. There’s a sizeable pile of stationery and papers on his desk, all painted a glowing orange by the lamplight.
“Ew.” You grimace at the laptop. Despite watching Return of the Jedi countless times by yourself and even more with your boyfriend, the sight of Jabba the Hutt never fails to make you feel mildly disgusted. “He’s so slimy, I hate it.”
Satoru laughs behind you, voice muffled into your hair. “Shh, you’re missing the fight.”
“That cannot be comfortable.” You muse casually, gazing at Leia’s golden bikini and the sash attached. “You couldn’t pay me to wear that, I don’t think I’d be able to move properly.”
Behind you, Satoru stiffens a little and you can feel the nerves radiating off him. Slowly, you turn around and grin.
“Oh my god. You’re totally thinking about me wearing it, aren’t you?”
“N-no!” He blurts, face flushed as his arms tighten nervously around you. “No, I’m not, I swear, I just-“
“-want to see your girlfriend in Leia’s 1983 golden bikini.” You snort, giggling at his red cheeks and the way his glasses are nervously being pushed up the bridge of his perfect nose. “Oh my god, and here I thought you couldn’t get any nerdier.”
“You- you picked the film!” He protests, “I wanted to watch Revenge of the Sith-“
“What, are you gonna suggest I try on Padme’s nightgown next?”
He gapes, before pinching his brows together and you can tell he’s considering the way you’d look in the floaty blue silk. Unfortunately for Satoru Gojo, he happens to fall very much under the nerdy male stereotype of a painstaking first crush on Princess Leia- and it’s not made better by the way you’re openly laughing in his face.
You chortle and settle back into him, voice lilting with just a little bit of tease. “Maybe if you do well on your exam, I'll consider it.”
He knows you’re joking- or are you?- but he’s already planning out the study timetable.
masterlist
a/n: I knowwww I’m only supposed to be posting my summer series but I wrote this in like 4 minutes last night and thought it was kinda funny
.✦ ݁･˖ ℛ.𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 ݁･✧˚. would stay inside his pretty wife, forever if he could. 𝟏𝟖 + 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ꒰Fem!reader ⋮⋮ Trueform!Sukuna ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ belly bulge ⋮⋮ intimate sex ⋮⋮ kissing꒱
Sukuna’s chamber was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single oil lamp that burned low on the far table. The faint glow of flickering flames danced across the wide futon. You're laying on your back in the center of the silk sheets, thighs spread wide around Sukuna’s powerful hips.
The weight of him presses you deep into the bedding, four massive arms caging you in, four crimson eyes stay locked on your face with an intensity that steals your breath with every passing moment.
One of his massive cocks fills your cunt, stretching you open so completely that every tiny shift of his body sends jolts of overwhelming fullness through you. He's been inside you for so long that you've lost all sense of time.
It feels like hours his cock has been keeping you full, letting you feel every inch of him. The burn in your muscles deepening with every breath. Your legs tremble from holding the position you're in.
Sweat cools on your skin. Tiny droplets tracing paths down your sides. Yet the heat radiating from Sukuna wraps around you like a living flame, keeping you warm, while his first cock rests heavy and thick against your tummy. Its warmth seeping into your skin where the fat head is nestled perfectly in the soft dip of your navel. Thick, sticky precum dribbles steadily from the slit, filling that little hollow and spills over where the taut skin beneath your belly grows warmer from inside out. The sensation makes your breath hitch.
You can feel the way your own pussy drips around his second cock, sweet juices soaking his girth and the sheets below with every flutter of your walls. Sukuna felt every little pulse, every flutter of your walls around his massive length. Your cunt's molded itself to him now, gripping him tightly and welcomes him deeper with each subtle shift as you clench helplessly around his massive length, pulsing and squeezing as if trying to pull him in even deeper.
Your fingers are fisted tight in the silk sheets, knuckles white, the fabric's scrunched up in your palms so hard that if you let go, the imprints of your grip would remain. Every muscle in your body felt deliciously sore already. The kind of ache you knew would linger tomorrow and remind you exactly who had claimed you so thoroughly.
Sukuna moves with aching gentleness. He fucked his cock into you slowly. Just a little more with each rock of his hips, pushing a little deeper, then easing back only to press forward again. Every thrust paired with a tender-rough kiss to your neck. He's sucked purple kisses into your skin, marked you as his, over and over again, he can’t help himself.
This was one of those long nights, where he had you right where he wanted you. His version of making love to his sweet wife involved this slow worship. He kissed your beautiful skin. He felt your warmth and revelled in the pace of your heartbeat under his palm. The way your blood circulated throughout your body hypnotized him. It captivated him completely alongside the tight constricting heat of your cunt around his cock.
Wet squelches were significantly audible now, sopping wetness that flowed out thickly from your cunt, made them most prominent in the quiet room. He loved those lewd noises. He loved the scent of you even more. The warm salt of your skin. The sweetness of your hair and the sweet, heady aroma of your arousal that hung thick in the air around you both. His eyes traced every detail of you.
The heat across your cheeks. The way your lips trembled. The subtle sheen of sweat making your breasts glisten. He noticed how your nipples peaked in the cool air, noticed the rapid rise and fall of your chest. The soft thrumming of your heartbeat under his fingertips calmed him. Love made him drink in all of it. You were his. Utterly and perfectly his.
By now, you started to whine as the pressure built unbearably.
“s'too much...haaah...Sukuna-” The words left your lips high pitched and dazed. Voice coming out soft and breaking on little incoherent babbles when another slow thrust nudged his thick cockhead against that deep, sensitive gummy-soft spot inside you.
Sukuna shushed you gently, lips brushing your ear. “Shh, little wife. I know. I know it stretches you so full. But you are taking me so well. Just a little more. Let me feel you.”
His crimson eyes drank in every detail of your face, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips parted on little gasps as he rocked into you more intentionally but tenderly. He knew he was big. Everything about him was. He always tried so hard not to overwhelm you. Yet the stretch of his huge cock already did that. Your body always tried its hardest to take him. It fluttered and clenched around him. You wanted to cum.
The need to is excruciating but his resilience held him back from fucking you roughly. He wanted to savor you first and only then he'd make sure to fill you full with his cum, and leak him for days. Pump load after load into you and watch your lower tummy swell with him. It was always so much. It always had been and always will be.
Right now, he savoured you. You kept taking him deeper and deeper, then his gaze left your face. He looked down at your body, eyes focused on your breasts. The slight movement of them every time you heaved for air entranced him.
The way Sukuna took his time was excruciating. One of his lower hands trailed from your shoulder down your sweat-slicked skin, cupping the soft weight of your breast. He stroked it tenderly, thumb brushing over the nipple before pinching it lightly and tugging the stiff bud. It grew firmer instantly under his touch, so sensitive and soft.
You arched with a quiet cry, and Sukuna groaned low in his throat as he leaned forward to capture your nipple between his lips, mouth closing around it tenderly as he sucked gently at first, with slow devotion. Then harder, tongue swirling and teasing around the taut bud while his hips continued those shallow, devastating thrusts.
Pleasure coiled tighter inside you. Slowly, his hands moved down, two big palms finding purchase on your soft curves. His eyes followed the expanse of your body as he gripped your waist lightly, both thumbs pressing on the swell there, his first cock still resting on your lower tummy, smearing thick, warm precum on your skin.
He massaged the sticky mess, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your bloated lower tummy. Feeling his other cock under your skin, shift as he moved and began fucking into you deeper with purpose, now that he had a proper hold on you. Pulling you down on his cock to meet his thrusts.
You cried out. It felt so good, yet it was too much. The fat tip of his cock meeting the puckered tight entrance of your cervix, bullying it sweetly. More and more, it yielded gradually. You felt him so deep. So impossibly deep. Body trying so hard to take him. Your walls fluttered and clenched, milking his thick cock with every movement. The pressure built inside you, excruciatingly perfect, until it finally broke.
The intensity crashed over you. You came hard, body shaking as your pussy milked his cock with powerful spasms. Sweet juices gushing around him. Sukuna's control finally snapped. He held you tighter, four arms wrapping around your trembling body as he fucked into you with desperate, deep strokes claiming you completely.
His second cock rubbed hot and heavy against your tummy, smearing more precum across your skin. With a guttural growl he buried himself to the hilt and came. Heavy pulses of thick cum flooded the narrow channel of your cunt. So much of it. Your lower belly swelled visibly with the warmth of him. You felt every spurt, every throb, walls milked him greedily, drawing out every drop as he emptied himself inside you.
He stayed buried deep, arms cradling you close while the last tremors ran through both of you. His forehead pressed to yours. Crimson eyes soft in the dim light as he looks at you with something close to wonder.
“My perfect wife,” he murmured, voice rough and low. One hand stroked your swollen tummy, he pressed gently feeling the evidence of his release there. “So full of me. So good for me, always.”
You whimpered softly. Your cunt still fluttering around his cock. Yet you smiled up at him, arms wrapping around his neck. Sukuna kissed you slow and sweet, savouring the taste of your lips. The warmth of your breath. The way your body yielded so completely to his. He noticed the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when your eyes closed. He noticed the faint tremor in your thighs still wrapped around him. Noticed how your pulse slowed under his palm. Every detail etched itself into him. His wife. His light in the endless darkness.
He would stay like this for a while longer, still warm against and inside you, savouring every pulse, every shared breath, every quiet moment where the King of Curses could simply hold his beloved wife and feel utterly at peace. Outside, the night continued on. Inside, wrapped in each other, time held no meaning. Only love and the burn of pleasure remained.
Hey cutie! Question, how does using your tag work?
my tag? do you mean when I tag fics or tags in general? let me help you! tags is your biggest friend on tumblr ngl, especially for tagging your own fics or when you're reblogging or just to manage posts in your account!
SUKUNA x reader. gender neutral reader, no pronouns mentioned. sukuna is still the king of curses but in a modern au. and your boyfriend <3 and you're a cat owner!!
you’ve always considered sukuna to be a force of nature — unshakable, terrifying, a walking calamity wrapped in arrogance and muscle. but nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you now.
there he is, your mighty, cruel, and insufferably smug demon of a boyfriend, crouched on the floor in front of your cat, his expression more serious than when he’s contemplating mass destruction.
“i don’t get you,” sukuna mutters, arms resting on his knees as he stares at the feline, who sits primly on the floor, tail flicking lazily. “you’re small. your head is tiny. you have no claws worth a damn, and yet you strut around like you own this place.”
your cat turns to look at him slowly. the audacity.
“oh, so now you’re being mysterious? yeah, real intimidating, runt,” sukuna scoffs, leaning in. “tell me, why the hell do you scream at five in the morning for no reason?”
your cat meows. sukuna nods, as if that was an actual answer.
“nah, i don’t buy it. i know when someone’s bullshitting me.” he strokes his chin, as if deep in thought. “and what’s with the scratching? you have a whole damn tree to tear up, but no, it’s gotta be the couch, huh? or my chair. my throne in this shitty modern world.”
your cat remains utterly unfazed, licking a paw and dragging it over its ear. sukuna clicks his tongue in frustration.
“you think you’re untouchable. you think you can do whatever you want just ‘cause you’re small and cute?” he narrows his eyes. “you remind me of someone.”
you narrow your eyes right back from your hiding spot behind the doorway. excuse me?
but sukuna is too deep in his investigation to notice. he gestures toward your phone lying face-down on the table. “and what’s with your vendetta against cameras? huh? every time there’s a flash, you go feral. you act like you’re being dragged to hell.”
your cat’s ears twitch. a clear tell.
“ohhhh,” sukuna smirks, leaning in like he’s caught onto something juicy. “what, you got a dark past? you some kinda criminal? don’t want your face out there ‘cause you’re on a hit list?”
the cat swipes at sukuna’s knee, and he actually pulls back with a scoff. “oi, don’t get violent with me, brat. i asked a simple question.”
you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
“i should make you my disciple,” sukuna suddenly muses, tilting his head as he assesses the feline before him. “you got the attitude down. the little mind games. yeah… you could be something great.”
your cat sneezes. sukuna frowns, as if personally offended. “...you’re turning down my offer? just like that?”
he sits back with a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “unbelievable. you’re worse than your owner.”
excuse me again???
before you can march in and object, your cat gets up, stretches leisurely, and then — just to really assert dominance — turns around and sticks its tail right in sukuna’s face before trotting off.
he stares after it, jaw clenched, eye twitching.
“…i’m gonna eat it.”
you finally lose the battle against your laughter.
this is a drabble archive account for kaevia - this is a repost and not something stolen. i am not exclusively active on this account, nor do i take requests on here. if you want to use this idea for a fic or series, please ask for permission first.
⡴ looking through bf!fratkuna’s highschool yearbook
you first saw it around 10 minutes ago when he held open the door to his room for you. right on his nightstand below his hanging spider-man lamp you’d gotten him for his birthday, probably using the hard cover as a coaster.
and now you’d unfortunately have to admit curiosity had struck you. so now, the moment he goes downstairs to rummage through the frat house’s cabinets for snacks, you’ve hooked your finger on the hard edge. you do it so quietly like you’re worried if you make the faintest peep he’ll come running up here.
as soon as you hear his distinctly angry voice yelling at gojo downstairs for something, just muffled enough you can’t hear exactly what, you start to flick through the pages.
you have to hold back an excited squeal when you land on the page for the ‘s’ names of the seniors, eyes darting across the paper till you find his photo. you actually do squeal then.
his face is just as grumpy as you remember it, clearly not changing with time in any way. he’s dressed in a stark black polo with the collar fully buttoned up, which you’re assuming he was forced into, considering how adamant he is against it now. his pink hair is slicked back with even thicker gel than he uses now with more of a fade than you remember, tapering to black at the underside of his neck. the most jarring, or rather different thing is the lack of facial tattoos he has. he almost looks weird without the ink scattered across his cheekbones and forehead. the ones streaming across his arms are still present, though.
you fumble to take your phone out your pocket and get a picture, snapping it as quickly as you can.
then, you flip to the pages at the back, the ‘senior class’ one’s with all the photos of he and his classmates. there’s one with all students lined up on the gym bleachers, and him with a foul grimace and staring directly at the camera like he wants to kill the photographer.
then there’s a couple from the culinary class section. and you swear your face drops seeing his face, smiling, dicing up vegetables. you swear this is the happiest you’ve ever seen his face, second only to the time when yuji tripped and skimmed his knee while you two were babysitting him—which made him burst out into actual laughter, and actual laughing tears.
he’s slicing up an onion while other various veggies sit separated on the board next to it. he’s got chunks of beef sautéing on a burner next to it and he couldn’t look happier.
you can’t help but smile seeing him like this, before snapping another picture and turning to the back to see if he had any signatures. you expect for them to be blank, assuming if you asked him he’d say “that’s trivial. why would i care about those maggots’ names?” in his deep voice with a genuine grimace while recollecting.
well, before you can even gaze upon the page, you’re startled by the sound of his door clicking open.
you fling the heavy book closed and off your lap before you can even think as you jump.
he stares at the cover, face up lying on the hardwood floor, flicks his eyes back to you in your embarrassed state, then drops the bags of chips he’s brought up onto his dresser to pick his yearbook up from the floor.
he stares down at it like he wants to crush it then and there before asking, “did you see my photo?”
“…yes.” you say, looking up at him from his bed.
he stares back at you, then forms his hand into a point and walks towards you.
“you will forget it. you will forget my quote, my photo, my—”
“OH MY GOSH I FORGOT TO CHECK YOUR QUOTE!”
you reach your hand out to try and grab for the book before his other hand grabs at your wrist midair, and holds the book above his head.
“no. i am going to burn this.”
“whyyyyy?” you whine staring up at him while he watches unamused. “you look cute!”
“i look weak. feeble and homely.” he deapans, but still flustered saying it, turning his face away from yours. “you shouldn’t see me that way.” his tan skin flushes a deep pink.
he grabs the chips off his dresser before tossing them over to you, then yanking open his bottom drawer and slamming the book shut in it.
“what? you wanna look all strong in front of me?” you tease from his bed while he scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“you’re my girlfriend,” he says, before hopping onto his bed and yanking your lazing body on top of his, still with his face away from you in embarrassment. “i’d prefer to.”
“do you not want me to see cause some girl signed it?” you ask, knowing fully well he was a virgin with no history of a relationship before he met you, claiming he was ‘too good for those girls’.
he groans, now staring into your eyes, clearly annoyed.
“my nickname in school was ‘future cannibal’, do you truly believe i had women fawning over me?” he deadpans while you burst into laughter, dropping your head into the crevice of his neck.
“with all that hair gel i guess not.” you joke.
“you’ll find that funny until i find your yearbook and spread those photos around.”
someone save me from my sukuna brainworm he’s overtaking me
effortlessly, your older boyfriend flips your position so you’re on all fours —practically throwing you around like a ragdoll, gripping your hips tightly.
"arch that back for me, baby. atta girl," he rasps, pushing his dick back into your sopping cunt. he delivers a sharp smack to your ass as he does, bottoming out inside of you again.
you moan as he re enters, "mnn—so deep." toji smirks in response, planting one foot on the mattress, knee in line with your lower back. "think this is deep, doll?"
that’s all he says before setting a relentless pace once more, cock hitting the deepest, most delicious parts of you that you can’t reach on your own.
"fuuuckk, such a pretty view every time," he says, voice low and slightly breathy — eyes locked onto the sight of your ass rippling from the contact.
you grip the sheets below you, knees almost bucking from the force of your boyfriend’s thrusts. "ohmygod—right there," you mewl, second orgasm approaching.
"right there, huh? gonna cum on my dick again?" toji groans, heavy balls slapping against your skin.
you nod, pressing your face into the soft pillows beneath you, creamy white rings forming at the thick base of toji’s cock.
"that’s my girl, sound so pretty while i’m wreckin’ this tight pussy."
his filthy encouragement has your entire body tensing, pussy fluttering desperately around every thick, veiny inch of his dick.
barely breaking a sweat, he fucks you through it, slowing his thrusts just enough so he can look down at the mess you’ve made on him.
only he sees something he wasn’t expecting… blood.
"y’okay, princess? anythin’ hurt?" he asks, soothing the skin on your hips with his thumbs.
you whine needily, silently begging for more despite your recent orgasm. "keep going, please—don’t s-stop."
toji rocks forwards a few times, gauging your reactions, unsure as to whether he should mention his recent discovery.
he picks up the pace again, the blood allowing him to slide in and out of you even more easily — the sight making his dick throb with need.
you wanted him to continue, oblivious to the situation, the need to be filled by toji’s load clouding your thoughts. he wasn’t about to ruin this for you by mentioning it. it’s not as if a man like toji was even the slightest amount bothered by a little blood, anyway.
so he keeps moving, snapping his hips forward, low groans escaping him the more he nears his own peak. "gonna—hah—fill this pussy up, feel so damn good, baby."
true to his word, toji snaps, thick, warm spurts of cum flooding your cunt. his thrusts slow again as he comes down, hips stuttering slightly as he empties every last drop inside of you.
leaning in, he presses a tender hiss the small of your back, then pulls out completely. you lay there, boneless and satisfied, rolling onto your back.
then, you open your eyes, seeing the surprising mess you’d made on toji’s dick.
seeing your mortified expression, toji cuts in, reassuring you before you can begin apologising or dying from humiliation. "s’okay, sweetheart. i don’t care."
he gets off the bed, taking you in his arms before carrying you bridal style to the bathroom to clean you up. "don’t start apologising, y’hear me?"
you nod, feeling fresh blood trickle down the inside of your thigh along with your boyfriend’s cum.
"why didn’t you mention it? you could’ve told me-" you say, being set down on the bathroom counter as toji flicks the shower on.
"don’t see what good that would’ve done. you were enjoyin’ yourself, ain’t gonna ruin that over a little blood," he responds, completely unphased.
you smile softly as toji steps between your legs, capturing your lips in a reassuring kiss.
You and Satoru were sitting on his obnoxiously large bed as you fumbled to turn the live stream on. Your viewers have been begging for a Q&A session.
“Hey guys! Welcome back to another live stream. I’m here with Satoru — as usual.” He gave you a sideways glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before you could even come up with a response, the comments came flooding in.
jlawhusband: KISS yooo who said that 👀
meow4toru: LOOK AT HIS SMIRK OH MY GAWD
kugi-nobara: i need your skincare routine.
You squinted at the screen. “Guys, tone it down, will you? You guys are crazy, except you, Kugi. I’ll do a video on my routine.” Satoru laughed, “They’re always weird, no? Can’t blame them.” He stretched one of his hands and rested it over your shoulder. “We are that couple.”
Rolling your eyes, you opened your phone and scrolled through the list of questions sent by your followers. “Okay, first question,” grinning, you turned to your boyfriend. “How whipped are you on a scale of one to ten?”
He blinked at you, pale eyebrows furrowing in thought before he answered, “Eleven.” He turned to the camera, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So don’t even think about flirting in the comments.”
toegay_inu: Yooo chill this feels targeted towards me 😕😕
m4k1i1: That’s because it is. Stop shooting your shot, they never land.
You giggled as your boyfriend gradually got redder every time someone made a weak attempt to flirt with you. “I just said off limits, guys! Take a hint.” Sulking, he took the phone and scrolled to the next question.
“Right,” he deadpanned, a pout settling on his lips as he turned towards you, “Who the hell asked if you’re single?”
You couldn’t help the laugh that snuck past your lips, “Oh my god? Did they actually?”
Satoru’s brows knitted together as his cheeks turned pink. “I will seriously start banning some of you from these streams!” You laughed louder, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Toru, you can’t do that!”
He mumbled something about doxing people before you swatted his arm and continued. “Okay, this one is asking us to react to the edits on TikTok. That seems okay.” Satoru seemed to perk up at this. “Awesome!” Babe, do you think they have those ship edits of us?” Giggling, you replied, “Baby, doesn’t that only happen when people aren’t dating?”
He rolled his eyes, “Whatever potato, potahto.”
The first edit that popped up was one for Sukuna. Gojo had connected his phone to his TV so you could aim the camera at it as well.
“Bend over and take this dick —”
“Woah!” You both practically screamed in unison, jumping into each other’s arms as if what you had just witnessed was a crime against humanity.
sukunas4thwife: OH MY GOD THATS MY EDITT!!1!1!1
hearts-yorozu: my man my man my man
fushiguro_m: ???
Clearing your throat, you scroll past the video, “Moving on.”
The next seems to be a wholesome edit of you and Satoru, different clips of your various vlogs stitched together to some soft music with the caption “dream relationship.”
Both you and Satoru cooed at the video, watching it on repeat a few times. “Awww, Toru. This is so cute! Look at us,” you pointed to a clip of you two baking from one of your first videos; flour was smeared across his face while he chased you around with a dollop of icing on his finger.
Then, Gojo looked as if he had a lightbulb moment: “Let’s search up my name.”
You almost instantly regretted letting him do that.
The edit opened with him laughing, head thrown back while his oval sunglasses rested prettily on his face. The next clip was of him licking his lips — but they conveniently cropped out the cake from the video. Then came the shirtless gym video…
“Oh?” Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Satoru stammered, clearly trying to recover the situation as sensual music played over and over as the video looped. “I-I uh forgot that was posted…” You snatched your phone back. “Clearly. Now everyone on live just witnessed that!”
Peering over, you checked the comments, and to your dismay, they were definitely swooning.
hi-bara: DAMN BRO
gojol0verr: I’m looking respectfully.
satorusfan1: I’M LOOKING DISRESPECTFULLY
The comments just kept coming, practically overloading the screen with over-the-top compliments. Satoru leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. “What can I say? The ladies and gents love me.”
You groaned, deciding the best course of action was to retaliate and look up your own name.
Your edit was more intimate, with soft colouring and a sweet song, editing you as if you were the dead wife at the start of a movie. You watched as clips of your own face were pieced together most beautifully.
Satoru sighed dreamily, “Wow.”
The comments seemed to echo his expression.
st4r-kirara: i’m in complete awe
shoko_i: Ruin my life. Please?
drakesux: i will fight Gojo.
Satoru’s face shifted again; this time, instead of being possessive, he seemed to be in awe of the edit and actually agreed with the viewers instead of arguing.
“Yeah, all mine by the way.” He leaned over, pressing an obscenely sloppy kiss to your cheek before returning a cheeky grin to the camera.
on the eve of a new day soon to be rife with bloodshed and negotiations, your husband, satoru, lovingly decorates you in the twinkling jewelry he’s bought you over many years of marriage.
⟢ content: SFW but MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, humor, married couple gojo & reader, gojo is whipped wife guy #1, and gojo spoils the hell out of you like its his 9-5 job, domestic intimacy, mentions of murder & violence, suggestive jokes, part of my yakuza jjk au
a/n: this is a requested drabble for the non-sexual acts of intimacy prompt “one character adjusting the other's jewelry/neck tie” for an anon :3 ty for specifically requesting oyabun gojo & sec reader cos i leaped on the chance to write about them some more lmaooohtjwhr and clearly i got a bit carried away due to excitement. as usual, hope y’all enjoy 🫶🏽!! m.list.
You're in the middle of browsing through your glimmering array of high-end jewelry when a calloused hand sneaks its way around your front. The hand depresses the flouncy folds of your blouse to your stomach and hauls you back into the compact warmth of a built torso— a torso belonging to a most familiar person, your one and only that you adoringly and lawfully refer to as husband.
"What's the vibe for today?" Purrs Satoru into your ear.
Fresh from his shower, he carries with him the crisp scent of mint toothpaste that whiffs after his words and expensive woodsy and verdant body wash, something gourmand rising to the top of the concotion without overpowering it. He couldn't wear more enticing smells if he tried.
Responding immediately is an act of courtesy, but then again, when has the incurably pompous and devil-may-care yakuza Gojo Satoru given a flying fuck about social etiquette? Never, as far as you're aware. So why should you be expected to uphold standards your own husband gleefully ignores?
Besides, desire has a funny way of making hypocrites of everyone, including you. Rather than answer, you luxuriate in the simple privilege of being held with no pressing need to interrupt the innate comfort of his touch, settling deeper into the sanctuary of his embrace with a lousy yawn.
You get about six or seven seconds of drifting consciousness before Satoru tuts, unable to go on living and breathing without your constant attention as he pouts, "So that's how it is, huh, sweetheart? What, no answer for your poor, neglected husband?"
(You're entirely unsurprised that he can't take what he dishes out.)
A smile threatens the corners of your mouth into complaceny despite your best efforts at maintaining a resting poker face. "You've survived over thirty years with constant, and I mean constant, ass-kissing and validation," you murmur around another yawn. You wish you could crawl back in bed for some more snuggles, but alas, duty calls; this is what you get for binging alien sci-fi films with Satoru until the odd hours of the morning. "I'm certain you'll survive a second without me indulging you."
"I can't even last half of one and you know that." The answer arrives so decisively sulky that it nearly makes you snicker. "I could care less about what my family and all the other syndicates out there have to say about me. I'll wither away if it's not you singing pretty in my ear." His grip cinches ever so slightly around your waist as Satoru presses a supplicatory kiss to the weak spot behind your ear, trying to strong-arm your attention instead of patiently waiting for it to come around.
Greedy bastard.
Exhaling through your nose, you crack your eyes open to the mirror projecting the striking couple you as husband and wife make. While you're both quite the sight (and you're especially stunning, you toot your own horn), it will always, always be Satoru that magnetizes your stare into being drawn towards his gravitational pull.
He looms over your shoulder, beam broadening with an exuberance to rival the sun itself when your gazes lock through the glass. Damp ivory strands frame a face too handsome for his own good, falling in featherlight wisps across his forehead and with several rebellious tufts curling in whichever direction they so please, impossibly soft against the ethereal geometry of his face. Crystalline blue eyes— those eyes that have toppled hardened men twice his age into obedience, but never you— admire you from the tips of your platform Mary Janes to your blinking lashes.
Satoru is the breaking ocean at dawn, a dropless blue sky curling around the world like a lawless cat lousing around in a sunbeam. He is beautiful, he is untouchable, and he is wholly yours, in sickness and in health.
"I love when you stare at me like that," Satoru murmurs, oozing besotment on every syllable. He steals an unblushing second to snuffle dreamily at your perfumed neck, licking a stripe over the tendon and breathing a smile into you when you wrinkle your nose. "But I can't say I love that you still haven't answered me."
You pick your way backwards through the conversation. "Yeah, fine. The vibe for today?"
"The vibe for today," he confirms, pointing at your various bejeweled decorations in front of you.
"Hmmm. What's the vibe for today, indeed. I think…" you thoughtfully cock your head, fingers skimming the velvet-lined drawers chock full of jewelry. "Simple, yet classy and pretty. The usual."
Satoru's brows jump in mild surprise. "Simple?" He, with great emphasis, looks your reflected self in the mirror up and down. He's practically shouting "you're outshining everyone with a look you call simple?" without actually straining his vocal cords to do so.
"You sound like a parrot today, always repeating back what I'm saying," you mutter with an amused little scoff, proudly reposing in Satoru's sunlit laughter that's pitched low and rich enough that you feel the tenor of it quake through his chest before you even hear it chuffing at your ear. "We're meeting with Suguru, not attending a royal wedding or showing some ass at the club."
He blazes over your quip with a stupefied shuttering of his once easygoing, now slighted expression, childishly scowling your way through thinly lidded blue eyes. His irises are harder than diamonds, and all the more beautiful for it. "You're getting pretty for Suguru?" Satoru quibbles, lips pressing downwards.
"I am dressing professionally for our meeting to discuss business procedures with Suguru, because that's what the corporate dress code calls for," you draw out slowly, reaching back to squash the tip of his nose with your finger. You can only hope that the contact zaps some lucidity back into him. "And I am simultaneously toeing the line with elaborate jewelry and somewhat revealing dresswear so that firstly, I feel like the bad bitch that I am, and secondly but least importantly—" you break for a long pause to deal 500 points of psychic damage to his ego before continuing, "to make sure you don't get bored to death without me as your quote unquote eye candy to keep you stimulated."
As if he were never miffed by the most ludicrous assumption he's come up with recent memory, a flattered grin tugs his lips apart and shows his pearly canines. "D'awww, my wifey's always spoiling me. You make me feel like a million yen, dollars, and pesos all at once." Satoru stamps a loud mwah on your cheek.
You suspect— no, you're certain that Satoru was never jealous to begin with; his performance had all the sincerity of a child forcing out crocodile tears over a scraped knee just to coax a kiss from his mother. He's evidently incapable of resisting any opportunity to manufacture a situation where you'd sweeten his tooth, even if it meant pretending to be scandalized by the thought of another man appreciating your appearance.
Yeah, you wouldn't change his freak ass for the world. Not even the hundred plus counts of murder on his hands could drag you away from him. What a married life that you lead…
"Just help me pick a few pieces out, would you?" You sigh, patting the back of his hand where it remains suctioned to your waist. He cheerily hums his interest, perking to the task as if its of great importance.
Morning sunlight pours through the towering windows of the walk-in closet— occupying nearly the same square footage as your first apartment post-college ever had— in molten ribbons, spilling across polished walnut cabinetry and racks filled with hangers, and catching on glass shelves lined with velvet display stands.
Naturally, the room rings with the high-pitched glassy tune of sumptuousness in answer.
Diamonds fracture the light into tiny stars that wander over the walls; gold radiates the rich warmth of honey; platinum reflects the daylight with cool, silvery precision; emerald slyly winks your way; pearls band together like the light foam of the ocean.
One entire wall became your jewelry collection over the years— one you haven't quite grown accustomed to having at all. If anything, it will eternally boggle your mind that you own such a plethora of finery.
There had been a time when stepping inside a boutique just to look at pieces like these had felt like you were committing theft in broad daylight, your body language unconsciously becoming shifty out of nerves in front of the security doing laps around the room. You used to admire jewelry through immaculate glass display cases accompanied by tiny white price cards that looked more like telephone numbers than costs, privately wondering what kind of lives the women wearing six-figure necklaces must lead. Owning even just one beautiful piece seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime milestone.
And now… now, you peruse a collection of what feels like hundreds of rows upon rows of jewelry. Those same display cases you refused to put your hands on when you were younger, too terrified to even breathe too hard in their direction, currently take up storage space in your own home— just one perk of being Gojo Satoru's wife and the object of all his overly earnest affections, you suppose.
(Fuck a runway, you could host the entirety of Paris Fashion Week in here.)
You've been gifted countless pieces over years of birthdays, anniversaries, successful negotiations, spontaneous shopping sprees, and Satoru's incurable habit of spying something pretty, thinking fondly of you, and considering that reason enough to offer you yet another obscenely expensive present.
You've even splurged on yourself a few times as well using yours and Satoru's shared bank account, though in the past you'd wobbled on more than one purchase. It's not like he lets you angst over whether your wants (not needs) justify such flabbergasting prices anymore, anyways; Satoru has taught you to ignore it all and just go for whatever you desire, no matter if it's silly. In fact, he begs you to spend what is also your money.
After a few minutes of presenting various jewelry (sapphire studs from Harry Winston, a silver Pandora cuff bracelet, a Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra ring fashioned from gold and luminous mother-of-pearl, three matching Mejuri bangles you don't recognize which prompts you to squint suspiciously at your husband) to Satoru for his personal input, he finally stops you at a delicate silver Bulgari Serpenti watch. "This one," he declares, leaning dangerously far over your shoulder to grab and hold onto it for you.
"Good choice," you praise, glancing over the rest of your selections. "Earrings?"
"You can't go wrong with Tiffany," Satoru points out. "You could wear your dancing diamonds set. I haven't seen them on you in a minute; you make them look reaaaaal pretty."
You're sufficiently swayed, flattered by the honeyed confidence in his voice when he insists that you're lending the diamonds their beauty instead of the other way around— the distinction does wonders for your gooey heart. "I'm down," you decide.
With a soft hum, you step to the left (Satoru, still clinging, shuffles with you), lifting the tip of one Tiffany & Co. diamond drop earring with your fingernail; it merrily scatters light as it quivers in place. The matching necklace hangs below it, its platinum-encrusted diamond similarly cascading.
Your husband finally detaches from you, gently grasping your shoulders for a brief second as he steps around you to wander along the displays. Shamelessly, you appreciate the broad shift of his back through his suit jacket as he bends at the waist to better observe the options, rubbing his jaw as he goes. His pert ass, too, receives the full brunt of your ogling.
"And... hmm…” Satoru confidently reaches for a slim Cartier Juste un Clou piece, a winding bracelet that twirls elegantly around the wrist like liquid gold, plucking it from its casing and twisting it between long slender fingers. He turns to you with a beam, dangling the watch and bracelet from both hands and looking every bit the untouchable heir born into old money and even older power. "Just the one bracelet, and then I think you're good to go," he asserts.
"No rings?" You ask, crossing your arms.
"What’s the point? You already wear two." His gaze drops meaningfully toward the engagement ring and wedding band permanently curling a home around your finger, which you tap lazily against your elbow. “You don't need competition, sweets,” he sniffs with equal parts petulance and pride.
The corners of your mouth soften before you even realize it. Fond as all hell, you briefly close your eyes and shake your head. "I suppose you're right." Fluttering your lashes open, you hold your hand up to the light, admiring the glittery play of your most treasured gifts crowning it.
The oval-cut center diamond of your engagement ring is nestled in a cathedral of prongs and embellished with even smaller pavé diamonds, each faceted surface flinging prisms over your skin. Beneath it, your platinum wedding band curves snugly around your finger in an unbroken promise of precious metal and devotion, an engraved message for your eyes only ringing the inner part.
They’re more than just breathtaking, anyone with eyes could see that, but their greatest luxury lies in the man who'd slid them there, nothing but pure emotion begetting the winking tears at his lashlines on both occasions. One ring asked a question about an obtainable forever, and the other had promised that forever.
With a hopelessly devoted smile, you lay your gaze on Satoru, who unblinkingly matches your expression from beneath a tousled fringe of candy floss hair. "Why wear other rings when these are the ones that matter most to me?" You muse.
For a rare moment, he has nothing clever to say. He only meanders over and reaches for your hand, turning it palm-up before bringing your knuckles to his lips in a sugary kiss, his thumb brushing over the familiar bands with unmistakable reverence. In the same breath, Satoru fastens the Cartier Juste un Clou to your left wrist, the Bulgari Serpenti watch to your right, twisting them so the embellishments face forward. The jewelry burns coolly into your skin for only a moment before warming with your body heat.
You turn to find the correct velvet-lined stands housing your Tiffany & Co. set when Satoru beats you to them with infuriating speed, plucking the earrings from their perch before holding them just out of reach like a toddler. "Aht."
"You've got clever hands," you note dryly, not bothering to put up a fight. You expectantly press into him instead, flattening a hand to his rapidly beating chest— it's cute, really, how affected he is by you even after all these years. You don't doubt that your heart is matching his pace, irreversibly twined together as you are.
"All the better to decorate you with," Satoru claims with a lazy wiggle of silvery brows.
"Alright, Big Bad Wolf." You roll your eyes with all the falsified long-suffering of someone who has been married to Gojo Satoru long enough to recognize there is no practical value in resisting the harmless whims that seize him after breakfast. You're bracing for him to hit you with a smartass comment in return, but instead—
"I'd like the honor of putting on the rest of your jewelry, too," he keeps pushing, soft-soaping with the most adorable pout to his plush lips. No wonder he always gets his way— you could just gobble him up.
"How sweet," you comment lightly, turning your head for him. "Go ahead."
Minty fresh breath wafts over you as Satoru leans in close. The infamous Gojo-gumi oyabun whose name alone unsettles rival organizations and whose hands have slaughtered countless men weaves the first earring through your lobe with almost absurd concentration, tongue caught against the inside of his cheek as though fastening jewelry requires the precision of a bomb technician. Gentle moments like these always strip away the intimidating reputation he'd cultivated so effortlessly. Satoru's just as precise in securing the second earring and its backing, fingers sparking heat at your ear.
His knuckles cascade along your jaw before he gently cups your cheeks, turning your face left and right to watch the diamonds do what they do best— dance. Not once does he cut eye contact as Satoru sways back on his heels to evaluate his work with a satisfied little nod. "All good," he says with a peck to your forehead.
You rotate in place to face the mirror and smooth your hair to the side to make way for the necklace's chain that slips along the sides of your neck. Satoru reaches around you to drape the dancing diamond over your heart, pulling back to thread both ends of the necklace at your nape all while you watch the frankly adorable dedication poured into his reflected self's movements. He snaps the clasp into place with a satisfying click.
"There you go," Satoru murmurs. "Prettiest girl in the world, I'm telling you."
Like the sea glass painting Fort Bragg’s coast, his eyes catch every wandering beam of sunlight filtering through the room, throwing flecks of oceanic cerulean across irises that rival the diamonds twinkling at your throat and ears. His eyes refuse to settle on your jewelry for long before climbing back to your face through the mirror. Satoru studies you down the line of his nose with the boyish endearment of having been allowed to tend to you in yet another tiny, ordinary way.
"Good?" He asks, voice vibrating pleasantly against your back, chased immediately by the rooting brush of his nose through your hair with an impossibly pleased sigh, once again sniffing you like the dog that he is as you check yourself out.
The effect of your jewelry is exact; it lends you enough flair to elevate your outfit without overwhelming the low-necked blouse and high-waisted charcoal pencil skirt flattering your figure. Lips pursed with pride, you shift from foot to foot to check yourself out from both sides.
"Perfect. Thank you, baby," you croon, reaching back to give him a very deserved pat on his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm for but a moment before spinning you by your waist like a princess, puckering his lips like he deserves a reward and whining under his breath when you smush a finger to his mouth instead of locking lips.
"Wait, and be patient for once in your life. It's your turn," you sing-song, drawing that same nail down his chin, his Adam's apple, the beginnings of his sternum that crops up from beneath his pressed open shirt.
Lost, he scrunches up his nose and flattens his eyes. "Hah? Mine?" Satoru looks down at his wedding band that matches your own. He used to wear a few rings per finger like a set of brass knuckles to really fuck people up when he beats them to massy pulps on the ground, but now he typically sticks to just the one. "I have all that I need right here."
While that's enough to worsen your terminal case of lovesickness, his blindness towards his own appearance takes you out. This is a man whose face has launched negotiations in his favor before he'd even opened his mouth, whose smile had charmed politicians, CEOs, other oyabuns, and elderly ladies in grocery stores alike, whose family had spent decades raising him— despite his protests and escapades— to carry the impossible weight of the Gojo name with immaculate presentation. Yet ask Satoru how he looked, and he'd shrug as though he were discussing the weather.
Perhaps it's because he's never needed to think about it. Beauty settled over him as naturally as breathing. Annoying.
You sigh, "Come here."
"I am here?"
"Closer."
One word from you and the feared oyabun of the Gojo-gumi closes the remaining distance without the slightest hesitation and dips his chin, squaring himself in front of you so that the polished toes of his Italian loafers kiss your Mary Janes. His smile's unbearably smug as he crows, "I knew you couldn't resist me."
"More like I couldn't resist fixing whatever tragic excuse you made for getting ready," you snort out before you can help it. "Honestly, baby…"
"What?" Satoru asks, unfazed, lips already quirking before you get to the punch.
You trail your gaze over him with deliberate slowness. His suit is, predictably, immaculate beneath your hands that you smooth along his lapels, flattening borderline microscopic wrinkles. The charcoal fabric— some sort of stupidly expensive imported wool that matches your skirt— molds beautifully over broad shoulders and his killer narrow waist before disappearing beneath pressed trousers that manage to make his legs, already unfairly long, appear even longer.
Only his silk tie hangs crooked beneath the collar of his immaculate white dress shirt, blatantly the hurried handiwork of a husband who had evidently been more interested in wandering off in search of his wife than finishing getting dressed after his shower. You can't find it anything but endearing.
You pinch the loose knot between two fingers and suck your teeth. "Did you tie this while looking at your reflection in a spoon?"
"No, but I was a little distracted," Satoru admits, remaining still as you loosen the knot with precise tugs.
"By?"
"You." He breathes it with the same exasperation as someone saying 'duh, obviously.'
"I would love to study your brain," you remark. The expensive silk slides smoothly beneath your fingertips as you rebuild the knot from scratch, looping the tie through in practiced motions. Satoru's eyes don't follow your hands for long before drifting back to your face, quietly admiring the tiny furrow between your brows whilst you focus. He's watching you the same way he had while fastening your jewelry, as if doting on each other is somehow the most fascinating thing either of you could be doing with your spare time. "Considering I wasn't even the same room when you tried to hang yourself with this tie."
He laughs, summer-bright and carefree. His Adam's Apple bobs around the musical tune as you finally pull the fresh tie snug at his crisp white collar. "I have an excellent imagination, princess, and you know it. I was daydreaming about that cute, sexy scowl you get when you're on top of me and started giggling to myself and playing with my tie."
"Were you, huh? The day's only just begun, but I already know how I want it end," you sing-song, tucking that particularly good idea away for later. If today doesn't produce a headache of an emergency gone down on one of the Gojo-gumi's many territories, you'll be giving it to Satoru good the second you return home.
Satoru's throat rumbles again (this time with a sound akin to a purr) when you stroke back and forth through his white hair, just because you can— and also to distract him from what you said, melting his brain down to a puddle incapable of thoughts other than meow, mrow, purr. "Look at that. There she goes, distracting me againnn… yes, right there." He nudges his hand into your palm, beatific.
"You should really charge rent for the amount of time I spend in your head, mister businessman. You'd make a killing off of me," you tease with a chuckle. Treating his scalp to one more generous rake of your nails, you then give the knotted tie one last approving pat. "There. You're now presentable."
"Yay!" He cheers with exaggerated joy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Now gimme that sweet, sweet reward that I've earned. Please?"
"You mean for surviving the strenuous task of standing still? Oh, poor thing," You drawl, hating that you're fully intending on following through on it despite the way you jab at him.
"It was super exhausting and emotionally taxing," Satoru bemoans, but he doesn't put any effort into playing up his false wounds; he's too busy puckering his lips again and making obnoxious kissy noises through his teeth.
Smirking, you reach up to catch his chin between your fingers and run your coconut-balmed lips over the curve of his ear with a wispy little murmur, “I'll have to remember that next time you try telling everyone you're the terrifying head of the largest syndicate in Japan."
"I can be terrify… ing…” Satoru croaks, throat working out a wounded noise that you swallow up with a thorough, drawn-out kiss. You warm him up indulgently, your hand settling against the clean line of his jaw while his own instinctively finds your waist once more, fitting there with the ease of long habit. Mint lingers pleasantly against his tongue, chased by the faint warmth of coffee.
When you finally separate, Satoru looks at you as though you've personally hung the morning sun beyond the windows. "Can you make sure that I'm not floating through the ceiling?" He whispers dreamily, touching the corner of his lips.
You join in on his helpless laughter, smoothing one final wrinkle from the front of his jacket. "Both feet are still on the floor, you're clear. Now, is Ijichi outside? We need to go. Suguru's probably already wondering why we're late."
Satoru greedily reaches for your hand to intertwine your fingers while the other fishes his phone out of his slacks, halfheartedly glancing over his texts without even the slightest hint of guilt. "Apparently, he's been waiting out there for a long… minute."
"Poor guy, we left him hanging," you faux pout, just as much a menace as your husband is. Making Ijichi dawdle in his car was worth every minute spent with your husband. "Let's get to it, then."
"Sure thing. My lady," Satoru dips to gild the back of your hand in one last glossy-lipped kiss, your wedding bands clinking. His eyes gleam over the ridges of your knuckles as he purrs, "Your chariot awaits."
kind stranger!choso comes to your ꒰rescue꒱ on a night out
꒰cw꒱ hurt/comfort; angst to fluff; inappropriate touching (back/waist) but choso has something to say about it art creds to @/MOHIMOHINOSIRI 1.3k
You probably should have left when your so called friends did.
But the music was loud, the cocktails were sweet, and you were not ready to end your first night out in forever just because they decided to ditch you. What else were you supposed to do? Go home and cry about it?
Fuck that.
Just one more song couldn't hurt, right?
"Do you come here often?" the guy that had been trying to talk to you all night finally took a seat next to you on the bar, just as you were catching your breath after enjoying the dance floor solo. It was an art, really – evading suitors while twirling around the space, sporting your best don't even try it look anytime someone got too close.
But this one didn't seem to get the hint.
You were getting ready to smile politely, tell him you're taken even though you're not, and watch his face twist in disappointment before he finally left you alone.
But…no – before you could even say anything, you felt a hand slide down your back, and your entire spine tense like it had been electrocuted. Surely he wasn't just sliding his filthy, uninvited hand on you before you had even exchanged a hello?!
You snapped your head to the stranger fast, feeling your stomach drop with anger and disgust, but as you opened your voice to protest – someone else cut in.
"Is he bothering you?"
The voice came from another tall stranger, whose shadow towered above the two of you in a way that was as menacing as it was reassuring. You blinked your eyes to adjust to the light, taking a better look at the only person who bothered to step in.
Dark hair pulled into two twintails above his head. Strands falling loose around his temples, framing a dark tattoo just over his nose. You would have thought he was handsome – had you not been filled with nothing but nausea right now.
"Yes" you replied instantly, a little taken aback by all this. Was it the alcohol that had your stomach suddenly fluttering? Or the way this stranger looked at you – like he was ready to tear the other man's arm clean off?
He nodded, face immediately stiffening as he addressed the man for the first time. "Get your fucking hands off her" he said, matter of fact.
It wasn't dramatic, he didn't even need to raise his voice. And somehow, that was even more effective.
Who the hell was this guy?
"We were having a conversation" the idiot replied, doubling down like he couldn't feel the whole room get colder by the second. You rolled your eyes, moving to snap his hand from your waist yourself, but as soon as you tried he only doubled down – pulling you towards him so harshly you almost fell off the stool.
Wrong move.
One second that disgusting man was next to you, the next, it was like he was floating in the air. The kind stranger had moved quick, too quick, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt and lifting him up off his seat with an ease that was terrifying.
Well, that was one way of getting him to take his hands off you.
His feet were kicking inches above the floor now, hands flailing as he tried to get away from that iron grip. "Apologise" your tattooed rescuer growled, so condescending it was like he was talking to a younger sibling – but with none of the warmth you'd expect from it.
"Fuck–I'm sorry" he flailed around, spitting the words out before he got unceremoniously thrown on the ground.
You were watching the whole thing with an open mouth, shocked. You were used to being hit on, and having to get out of these situations alone – you were not used to anyone else intervening.
Especially so… effectively.
"Are you ok?" your knight-in-emo-clothes turned to you, tone much softer than it had been just seconds ago.
It was like a switch had flipped as soon as the other man had crawled away. When this kind stranger looked at you now it was almost gentle – but you could see the way his hands were balled into fists, betraying how he really felt.
You were glad to not be alone in your anger.
"Y-yeah" you replied, swallowing thickly. Was it what had just happened, or…. did he make you a little nervous too?
You couldn't help noticing the light trickle of sweat around his temple, and how his chest went up and down in that tight black top. Or the way his eyes were carefully assessing your state himself, just in case you weren't really ok. When was the last time someone had even cared about you that much?
"Where are your friends?" he asked, looking around. Only then did you notice the crowd staring at the two of you, moving away with scrunched eyebrows as if they were scared.
Funny, that. No one seemed to look sideways when that man decided to put his hands on you. No one but this guy – but he didn't seem to notice the crowds reaction.
No, this stranger had eyes only for you.
"They left me" you replied, noting how pitiful it sounded.
"They left you?" he squinted, offended by the statement. He looked at the bartender then, leaning forwards to get his attention. "Can I get some water?" he asked him.
When he slid the glass over the bar, your new friend put it in front of you instead. "Thanks" you blinked, closing your hand around the cold glass. It was like a shock to the system – maybe you had been more anxious than you realised. "What's your name?"
"Choso" he introduced himself, offering you the first smile you had seen from him. Fuck, he was gorgeous.
You offered him your name too, smiling back at him. He looked down for a little second, maybe… shy, all of a sudden? Well, surely not. "Are you sure you're ok?" he asked again.
"I think so" you replied, feeling more than ok in his presence. But your pulse was still raised, and you noticed your hands were restless. "I think I just want to go home now" you sighed. You hated how things like this took a while to settle in sometimes – even though something about this Choso did make you feel nothing but safe.
"You're not driving, are you?" he looked you up and down, that responsible older sibling tone coming back again. It almost made you laugh.
"Think I'll call a taxi, or something" you shrugged. "I don't live far"
He didn't seem too happy about that, either. Choso took a moment, thinking, and then his dark eyes looked at you again. "I can drive you home, if you want" he suggested.
Your immediate answer would have been yes, but you were far too smart to accept rides from men you just met in bars just like that. Even though you wanted nothing more than to be in his presence a little longer.
"You haven't been drinking?" you asked, not meaning to sound so accusatory.
"No, I'm the designated driver" he explained with a slight smile. "I'm taking care of my brother and his friends"
You looked over his shoulders, finally noticing the table full of young adults staring at the two of you with far too gleeful smiles. "That's cute" you laughed.
Choso swallowed thickly, noticing the encouraging group behind him. Suddenly, he seemed to come up with an idea he was pleased about. "Do you want to meet them?" he asked. "Since your friends left"
You looked up at him, surprised. You knew he probably could tell what was going through your mind with the whole car ride thing, which only made his offer even more… kind.
Too kind for someone who almost got in a bar fight because of you just minutes ago.
But Choso looked at you patiently, everything about his tense posture suggesting he really wanted you to say yes. "Sure" you smiled, enjoying his relieved exhale.
You were looking forward to not being strangers anymore.
another one for the making myself feel better through fanfiction collection (also might turn this into a full oneshot soon?? idk we shall see)
In sickness and in health, Geto Suguru has promised, while tying your lives together. And thus, when death looms over his dearest wife, he's ready to trick it.
˖᯽ ݁˖ pairing: ꒰ Geto Suguru x Reader ꒱
˖᯽ ݁˖ content & warnings: ꒰ Inspired by the "Hamnet" movie and this one fuckass scene :: set in 17th century :: marriage :: fluff : HEAVY angst :: devotion :: sacrifice :: character's death :: family :: domestic life ꒱
˖᯽ ݁˖ words: 3k
˖᯽ ݁˖ notes: I do recommend reading it while listening to this song.
Suguru Geto has long forgotten the times when he didn't love you.
As he loved you always.
In the morning and afternoon. Springs, summers, and autumns, when the leaves turned yellow and clung to the cold windows of your cottage.
In the restless winter night, with your body close nuzzled into his, the biting wind seeping through the loose window shells.
He has loved you ever since you poured cold water on his yearning face one summer morning while he waited beneath your cottage. Dressed in his best creamy shirt, holding a bouquet of wildflowers tightly in his hand, with long hair flowing down his straight back.
A poet from a nearby village, seeing you every single day.
Seeing, as if solely from afar, inaccessible, rather wickedly beseeching, as he couldn't even truly touch you. Or talk to you, cherish the flowery scent carried on your skin.
He was neither rich nor poor, yet his heart was swollen with wickedness, cherishing a tenderness that seeped through his marrow. A feeling of the most cursed towards the only woman who hated him dearly.
A teacher, a witch, who'd rather spend her days schooling young birdies in magic and the tricks of nature than seek a husband!
A disgrace, truly, yet what could her poor folks do, since she didn't wish to marry any handsome gentleman from their village? How could they force their dearest daughter to marry any commoner, when none of them was worthy of her beauty?
And yet, Suguru Geto offered himself.
But for a reason that truly baffled everyone, you seemed to detest him. Cursing and turning your back on his kind of flirt whenever he tried to talk to you. Again and again, every single day, only to be met with a bucket of cold water you poured on him from your window or a dirty sponge you shot at him through the door of your classroom.
The kids giggled, seeing their beautiful teacher utterly furious at the handsome poet, who seemed bewitched by the gentle wrinkle that bent her forehead. But the way her eyes rolled and shot daggers as he waited and waited under her classroom, trying to take a single glance at the softness that bent her lips.
"He's just a silly poet. How could I ever take him seriously?" you muttered once during a conversation with your mother.
She glanced out the window of your cottage, seeing his dark locks glisten beneath the sizzling burns of the afternoon sun.
"But his heart seems kind." Her eyes turned back to look at your sweet yet tired face. "You deserve kindness."
"Kindness won't feed us," you muttered quietly, as you raised your gaze for a second.
Only to steal a glimpse of a man who didn't wish to leave you alone. Of his lavender eyes staring somewhere above the rolling hills of your village, fingers idling with a tall glass, bowing beneath the gentle, warm wind. His long hair, tied in a small bun at the top, shining like silk, as if threaded from the richest fabrics you've only read of in tales.
He's been haunting you for weeks now.
From the moment your paths crossed in the village next door, where you walked through the stalls and he sat leisurely in the local tavern, with papers and inks filling his bag. With lavender eyes that somehow caught your gaze, soft, with laughter from the past still twinkling behind your irises, before you quickly turned away.
He'd never packed up quicker, stuffing his bag without a care for his rather expensive things, before leaving the tavern in a hurry. To catch the last glimpse of an angel whose eyes had kissed his cheeks, before she would disappear forever.
He followed you all the way back to your village, eyeing the little footprints your feet left on the sand, the flowery scent clinging to your body and swirling in the air. As if showing him the way to the woman who seemed to bewitch his mind, body and soul with nothing but a single look into the poet's eyes.
And as he arrived beneath your cottage, a muffled, rather angry scoff escaped your lips. Seeing a strange man who seemed to walk behind you, in silence and holding his breath, all this time.
"What are you doing here?" Your brows furrowed, wild hair sticking softly to the warm cheeks. "How dare you follow me like a madman?"
But Suguru… Suguru couldn't even catch his breath.
Oh, how damned he already was, upon sensing his heart fall into the agonising clutches of a feeling so wicked!
"I–" The words could barely slip past his tightened throat. Almond-shaped eyes, oogling your face, twisted in wrath yet still looking utterly lovely. "I just thought you were beautiful."
You scoffed again, forcing another squeeze of his heart. "Leave. We're done here."
His fists clenched as he saw your body already turning towards the cottage. "Wait! Can you… do you wish to go out with me?"
Looking over your shoulder, you eyed his figure. Fingers painted black, a white shirt clinging neatly to his well-built back. Black trousers, rather simple, threaded here and there as if he had seen thread and needle too many times.
A poet.
A man of heavy words yet light pouch.
Someone you shouldn't even look at, even if you were an outcast yourself.
A witch, a weird lady who spent too much time in the woods, talking to trees, grasses, and animals, while teaching apothecary to local children.
Someone whom normal men avoided crossing paths with, as if in fear of even associating with a woman of your sort.
Utterly beautiful, yet of a wicked cheek.
"No," wasn't enough to force him away.
As it seemed, Suguru Geto was foolish enough to even beg and wait for a single glimpse of the softness that beamed from your eyes in the early mornings, just before your gaze caught his figure lingering beneath your windows.
He visited you every day, following you from sunrise until moonlight spilt its kisses on your lovely face. He sat beneath the window of your little classroom, a small house built on a hill, and scribbled his own poems. With a little ink he had brought from home, his forehead beading with sweat as he listened to your classes.
To the lovely voice that carried through the lush plains of the rolling hills, seeping into the creeks that ran past the scattered huts. The peaceful, almost idyllic view stretched before his eyes each day, yet he still seemed utterly lost in the softness of your hands on his skin.
After long weeks of tiresome begging, you've finally agreed.
Catching him once again asleep in the tall grasses by your classroom, a golden spill of sunshine casting a peaceful look on his handsome face.
And so, carried by an unknown, wicked feeling, you squatted next to him, with the edges of your dress brushing his body and your fingers reaching to push away a single raven lock stuck to his forehead.
Lavender eyes slowly opened, as if doubting whether the petal touch was real or just a projection of his lovestruck mind.
"I agree," you said, a soft sigh pushed past your lips. "One meeting."
He nodded, quickly, eagerly, already rising to his feet. "Just one."
"And if I still dislike you, that shall be it."
He didn't nod this time, and so you pinched his cheek gently. "Say it."
He chuckled, nuzzling into your softness. "And if you do not like me, I shall leave you alone."
Yet, as it soon would turn out – hating him was rather impossible.
After a year, you already gave birth to your first child.
Oh well, a woman in love can be quite wicked, but a man? Dear heavens. As soon as you agreed to his pleading to become his wife, Suguru Geto didn't hesitate to ensnare you with his deceitful feelings.
And you, utterly captivated by a foolish poet who sang of his beloved's sweetest smiles, couldn't deny the burning fire deep within you. The sensation of his skin against yours in the most intimate manner stirred your desire. To cherish him and be cherished in whispers, touches, and moans that escaped your lips as you hid atop your cottage roof while your parents were absent.
When he promised you forever, during the wedding vows, you knew he meant it.
Suguru Geto's life began only after meeting you. Everything that happened during the past twenty-five years of his life seemed to be nothing but a bleak, barren nothingness that filled his wretched soul.
Soon after the wedding, you moved to another cottage. Small and lovely, where your first child was born. A girl with the sweetest cheeks and rich, lavender eyes that mirrored the kindness your husband had shown.
His precious little daughter.
"And my precious, beautiful wife," he always added, while kissing both of your foreheads. "The lights of my life."
You would giggle before wrapping your arms around his back and drawing him into a longer kiss. You stood in the middle of your little, simple cottage, with candles scattered across the shelves and his ink-stained fingers smudged on your cheeks.
"Aren't you a flirt?" A sweet laugh spilt from his throat as he stole another kiss.
And another, another, another, which forced you to tumble onto the soft bed. The fog clung to the windows; the candles' warmth cast shadows over his handsome cheeks, hair spilling over his shoulders.
Your breath hitched as his lips wrapped around the sensitive point beneath your neck.
"You play a dangerous game," fell quietly, and he chuckled.
"And why is that, my dearest wife?"
His lavender eyes met yours. Love and fondness merged as he brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen over your forehead.
"Because I may ask you for another baby."
He raised his eyebrows before curving them into a soft scowl. "You don't have to ask me twice for anything, my love. And especially for this particular thing."
And so, oh well.
Another year had passed, and you gave birth once again.
This time, to the sweetest boy, with the cheekiness of yours bubbling in his eyes and a big heart always yearning for his mother.
The life you had was almost idyllic, as if brought straight from one of the tales you always read to your kids. A life of profound serenity, filled with overwhelming love that spilt past your husband's fingers.
He seemed to carry your whole family, and even though he soon started travelling a lot – for he wished to chase his playwright dreams – there was never a time when you felt anything but taken care of.
Suguru wished it stayed that way.
A picture of you, humming the loveliest melody to your two children, strolling through the long plains of wildflowers as the sun kissed your cheeks. The picture that seemed to be stuck in his mind, the one he repeated over and over again as he went off to the big cities to earn a few more pennies.
Whenever the horse took longer than it should, or the carriage rolled over the bumps and mounds, he thought of you. Of the view that would welcome him home.
Of his children growing up healthy and his wife staying the wicked witch she always had been. Filling their kitchen with herbs of sorts unknown to him, yet carrying a special healing might. He would think of the lavender fragrance filling the kitchen and the mint bubbling on the stove. Of the cinnamon, ginger and cloves that, during the winter, carried all four of you through the freezing bites.
Your hands had healing power, your mind stayed sharp and kind, always aware of what to do in case of a sudden crisis, be it your daughter's sudden cold or your son's scratched knee.
Sometimes it was Suguru himself, lying beneath the heavy pillows and blankets, as if already half on the other side. At times like this, he would, in a rather melodramatic way, recite poems about the approaching end and stretch his hand towards you, as if mimicking death.
The children would always laugh sweetly, seeing their father utterly lost in his need to catch a glimpse of their mother's attention. Because they knew, oh, of course they knew, that love was hidden in their mother's purest smile and in the way their father seemed to live solely to hear her sweet laughter.
They saw the way their father looked into their mother's kind eyes. With affection difficult to describe, they only began to understand its true heaviness after they reached the age of six.
They knew that no one loved their mother as much as he did. No matter how often Suguru kissed their plump cheeks, it was with only half the devotion he showed their mother. He loved them, of course he did! For it was simply impossible for any other child to be loved by their father as much as Suguru loved his.
And yet, both of them knew that whatever it was between their parents felt most sacred.
Thus, when their mother fell heavily sick, it seeped through every soul living beneath their warm roof.
It happened one day, as you collapsed in the garden. Suddenly, falling straight into your slowly growing herbs, before the panicked children called for their father with tears swirling in their eyes.
He brought you back home with trembling hands, quickly lying you down on your bed by the fireplace. To let the flame give a bit of warmth to your cheeks, as he saw the life slowly slipping away, with sweat beading on your forehead.
The doctors said it's a simple cold. Nothing serious.
But the days were passing, and it seemed you were getting worse. Barely able to eat even the lightest food, turning from side to side beneath the heavy covers.
The fever clung to your forehead no matter how many times Suguru tried to fight it. He placed cold compresses on your forehead and kissed your temple. As if it could heal whatever sickness was plaguing your poor body.
He saw you grow weaker day by day. Sometimes, the strength would return to your body, only to leave it completely before you could walk to the front door.
Sometimes you laughed with your children, only to start coughing blood a minute later.
Suguru was slowly losing his mind, spiralling into madness, as he called for every doctor available in the village. Yet no one knew what sickness was holding onto his wife's dearest life.
He would lie by your side every single night, just to listen to your whistling breath. Watch the way your lips fell open and your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He would stay all night, just to make sure it wouldn't be the last.
Hand plastered to your cheek, though you could barely register his touch. His voice, soft, almost teary, sounded muffled within your sickness-spiked mind.
He prayed. Long and as never before, clinging to your body, just to feel the warmth of your breath on your skin.
He prayed for death to take him instead, to leave his dearest wife alone, as he was ready to bear all the pain she needed to endure.
He prayed in a pitiful voice that sliced his children's hearts as they saw their father in such a wretched state. And so they gave him time to grieve, alone, watching their mother's soul slowly wither away.
But then… then another night came.
Much worse than any other. As Suguru could barely feel your puffs on his fingers. A shallow, almost invisible breath slipped past your lips, and the smell of death swirled in the room. Fogging the windows, seeping with sickness and stealth, as Suguru felt the grim reaper's clutches slowly wrap around your body.
He could see it in the dim corner of the bedroom, staring at your sweat-beaded forehead.
"No," he mumbled, covering you both with a heavy blanket. "I won't let it take you away."
And so he did something foolish.
Beneath the veil of darkness, with material tightly covering your bodies, he changed your positions. Slowly, so death could not notice your body moving to the other side.
A soft cough escaped your throat, and your eyes opened for a moment, seeing your husband's gentle smile.
"Suguru," you muttered. "I–"
"Shh," he whispered, brushing your cheek. "It's okay, darling. It won't hurt any more. It's okay."
And because your husband he was – you believed him. Falling back into the light dream, where the world spun around nothing but the gentle, caring voice of your dearest one.
"I give you my life," Suguru whispered, yet it seemed you were long gone. "I give you my life, darling. For I cannot live in a world without your warmth." His thumb brushed the softness of your skin. "For I love our children so much, and yet my wretched heart forbids me to live without you by my side. You are much kinder than I am, darling, and shall take care of them for both of us."
As if losing you would damn him and nothing but the embrace of death itself would ever heal his woeful soul.
It was too dark to see anything, yet beneath the heavy blanket, Suguru could feel a slight warmth returning to your fallen lips. He smiled, sensing a fogginess creeping into his mind. The clutches cold and dreary, seeping through the marrow.
"I give you my life," he repeated, the heaviness pressing on his eyelids. "Be brave. Be kind. And please, don't ever stop laughing. For I'll be watching over you all and make sure none of you joins my side any time soon. I will love you, always, and I shall exist only in a world with two of us."
"For we are of one soul and one heart, thus no hills nor seas and mountains shall ever keep us apart."
And his children, listening to their father's crying whispers, knew that a man in love is truly of a wicked kind.
He was the one who deceived death to grant you a new life.
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