Cursed Love Letters

[dandelionwishh]

It’s Not That Complicated

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Reader x Gojo Satoru

a late-night balcony drabble. toji asks one question about your ‘arrangement’ and instantly regrets it.

Warnings: Polyamory, Implied Smut, NSFW.

The night starts with a clink of beer bottles, a crackle of grilled skewers on the stove, and a handful of half-told stories between laughter. You’d made dinner before heading out for the night, leaving the boys to their plans with Toji. They promised to behave.

They don’t.

It’s nearly midnight when the three of them drift out to the balcony, the boys sprawled across chairs and Toji leaning against the railing, city lights flickering below like stars you can actually reach.

“So,” Toji says, flicking ash over the side, “how the fuck does it work?”

Suguru raises a brow. “You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific than that.”

Toji smirks. “You two. Her. The whole… arrangement.” He gestures with his bottle. “Y’all just… rotate days or some shit?”

Satoru snorts into his drink.

“Not exactly,” Suguru says, voice even, amused.

“You ever get jealous?”

“Not really.”

“Huh.” Toji looks out to the sea of lights. “That’s wild. I’d lose my goddamn mind if someone else touched my girl.”

With a lazy smile, Satoru says,

“Didn’t know you were so territorial. Kinda cute.”

Toji barks out a laugh. “I don’t share pussy. If she’s mine, she’s mine.”

Then he glances between them. “No, but seriously…are you guys, like… into each other too? I mean, you kiss? Fuck? What’s the deal?”

Suguru nearly chokes on his beer. Satoru just howls.

“What?!” Gojo wheezes. “Us?! Fuck no.”

Suguru’s shaking his head, lips twitching. “Nah. We don’t—there’s no crossing swords, man. We’re close, yeah, but not like that.”

“So you never kissed?”

“No.”

“Touched?”

“Nope.”

“...Never?”

Gojo laughs again, resting his beer on his thigh. “Look, we’ve seen each other naked a lot. Showers, onsens, fucking in the same room. I’ve seen this man cum so many times it’s not even shocking anymore.”

“Yeah, I don’t even blink when she moans his name anymore,” Suguru adds.

“Toji, I’ve high-fived him right after nutting.”

“God,” Suguru mutters. “That was one time.”

“So you’re just that close?”

They look at each other for a second. Not a pause, not hesitation. Just an unspoken knowing.

“Yeah,” Gojo says eventually, softer this time. “Guess we are.”

“She’s the only thing between us that’s ever made it physical,” Suguru adds. “We don’t need to fuck each other like that.”

Toji shakes his head, lets out a dry laugh. “You two are fucking insane.”

He pauses, then shrugs. “But… yeah. I get it.”

Gojo throws him a lazy glance. “Just say you want in, big guy.”

Toji doesn’t even look at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

They all laugh again, the city twinkling beneath them. Somewhere inside, a picture frame vibrates slightly as the washing machine kicks on. The house smells like leftover garlic and a little like whatever cologne Suguru’s always wearing. You’ll be home soon, and the boys don’t even know they’re waiting for you until they hear the front door unlock.

[dandelionwishh]

Oh to be the woman in question…

[dandelionwishh]

Lotion Rituals

Satoru Gojo x Pregnant!Reader

(Soft intimacy/Domestic Fluff)

Every night, like clockwork, he pulls out the little jar of cream from the nightstand. You can smell the faint hint of cocoa butter even before he uncaps it, the sweet warmth of it mixing with the clean scent of him.

“C’mon, baby,” satoru murmurs, patting the bed beside him. “My favorite part of the night.”

You roll your eyes but you go, because at this point, you both know there’s no escaping his nightly ritual.

You stretch out on the bed, propped up on pillows, belly bare under the dim lamp. The curve of you catches the light, soft and round and perfect. he settles beside you, long legs folded, the jar resting on his knee.

When he dips his fingers into the lotion, it’s not rushed. he warms it between his palms, rubbing slowly until it melts to silk. Then his hands find you. first your belly, his touch firm but reverent. He moves in circles, smoothing the cream over your skin like he’s tracing something sacred.

He’s rubbing slow circles across your belly when his thumbs graze the faint, silvery lines forming near your hips. You tense slightly, instinctively pulling the hem of his shirt down over them.

“Don’t look at my stretch marks,” you mumble, both embarrassed and defensive.

He stills for a second, then hums softly. “Stretch marks?” His tone is low, playful but steady. He moves your hand away gently, uncovering your skin again. “Babe, these are lightning scars. Power sigils. Battle stripes. I’m obsessed.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart catches when his voice drops, quieter now. almost reverent.

“You’re changing every day,” he says, tracing one fingertip along the faint curve of a mark, “and I can’t stop staring.”

You feel the tears threaten, because the way he says it isn’t lustful…it’s awe.

He leans in, presses a kiss to the center of your belly, murmuring something you don’t catch. Soft nonsense for the baby. You can feel his breath when he whispers, “You’re the luckiest kid in the world, y’know that? Look at your mama.”

His hands slide lower, over your hips and thighs, massaging in slow, steady strokes. He works the cream into every stretch of skin like he’s coaxing peace into your body, pausing every now and then to kiss the trail his fingers leave behind. When you sigh, he hums against your skin.

“Feels good?”

“Mmhm.”

“You deserve to feel good,” he says simply. “You’re doing all the hard work.”

You reach down and thread your fingers through his hair. “You’re not slacking either, ya know. I’ve seen you research breast pumps at 3 a.m.”

He laughs into your belly, the sound vibrating against you. “A genius never rests, sweetheart.”

Then his voice turns gentle again. “Tell me if it’s too much pressure.”

“Mm, it’s perfect,” you whisper.

He finishes your thighs, then your back. You roll carefully onto your side, and he keeps one hand anchored on your hip, the other smoothing lotion across your lower back, where the skin feels tight. Every stroke is steady, full of quiet love.

When he’s done, he wipes his hands on a towel, closes the jar, and lies down beside you. The light still soft and golden, the room quiet except for the low hum of the city outside. He pulls you back against his chest, one arm slipping under your belly to cradle it.

“See?” he murmurs against your ear. “All done.”

You smile sleepily. “You take this job too seriously.”

“Cause i’m the best man for it,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “And tomorrow night, same time. Doctor’s orders.”

You groan, half laughing half melting. “You’re the doctor now?”

He smirks, eyes closing as his thumb draws lazy circles on your stomach. “For you? Always.”

And when he falls asleep, his hand stays there, spread across your belly as if even in his dreams he refuses to let go.

[dandelionwishh]

Lap of Luxury

Heian Sukuna x Reader

Dinner has ended hours ago, but you’re still heavy with it - simmered fish, fragrant rice, sweetened chestnuts. The brazier in your chamber glows warm, flushing your cheeks where you sit curled on cushions, lazily finishing a bowl of fruit. Your sleeves keep slipping down your wrists, your hair loose from its pins, your whole body softened into the warmth and quiet.

The screens slide open without warning. The force alone tells you exactly who it is. Sukuna fills the doorway, tall and broad and far too sharp for the cozy room. His gaze skims you once, taking in your drooping eyes, the way you cradle the bowl of fruit like it’s too much effort to lift.

“tch.” He shuts the screen with a single push, dismissing the servants without a word. Then he strides forward, and you almost scramble to rise - but his hand is already pressing your shoulder back down.

“Stay.” The command is quiet, but absolute.

He settles himself beside you, sprawling onto the cushions like the space was made for him alone. Then, with that unsettling swiftness, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you bodily into his lap. You give a startled sound, half protest, half gasp, but his chest is already at your back, his hand spanning the soft curve of your belly.

“mmh. look at you,” he murmurs against your ear, low and amused. His thumb presses lightly into your waist, then strokes over the swell of it. “Soft everywhere. Lazy little thing, melting into the fire like you’ve forgotten how to stand.”

You bristle faintly, but your body betrays you - you are melting, your head tipping back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut. His hand roams deliberately, squeezing the plush of your thigh through silk, dragging slow over your hip.

“You know why you’re like this?” he asks, voice edged with that dangerous humor. He doesn’t wait for your answer, only huffs a quiet laugh. “My doing. Feed you well, keep you warm, keep you safe. And this-” his fingers skim under the edge of your robe, just enough to brush bare skin-“is what I get. A little creature too soft to fend for herself, made for nothing but lying in my lap.”

Heat floods your cheeks, a pulse of protest trembling at the tip of your tongue - but he tilts your chin with two fingers, forcing your eyes up to meet his. His smirk is sharp, but his gaze is heavy, almost… proud.

“You’d waste away without me,” he says, almost conversational, though his thumb is stroking slow circles over your jaw. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t.

Instead, you let him press you down further against him, until your body is fully reclined into his hold. He nips at your ear, amused when you shiver.

“You’re going to blame me for this, aren’t you?” His hand grips your thigh, squeezing until you squirm. “Every inch softer, every sigh lazier. My fault, hm? You’d still be sharp and restless if I hadn’t ruined you.”

Your breath catches, and for the first time tonight you dare a quiet answer, a whisper against his throat where your lips brush when you tilt your head. “Then you’ll have to keep feeding me.”

The sound he makes is half growl, half laugh-genuine amusement, genuine approval. His grip tightens around you.

“Greedy little thing.” His mouth finds your temple, hot and fleeting. “Good. That’s exactly how I want you.”

And with that, he leans back into the cushions, settling you fully across his lap like a treasure he intends to guard, his hands never leaving your soft, sated form.

[dandelionwishh]

🖤 The Kyoto Deal

Pairing: ModernAU!SukunaxReader

Description: You’re in his lap when his phone rings. Quick Drabble I thought about and had to write down. Yuji gets attitude. You get kisses.

Warnings: Flirty domestic Sukuna, modern AU ft. Younger brother Yuji

Note: In my AU, Sukuna owns a successful Gym empire (Ryomen Strength™️) and multiple luxury properties…and yes - he’s obsessed with you.

You’re cuddled into him on the couch, warm and content. His arm is slung across your shoulders, thumb tracing circles on your collarbone because you’re all his tonight. His other hand rests on your thigh, big and solid and yours. The TV’s playing something neither of you are watching, he’s too busy kissing your neck like he has nowhere else to be.

And he doesn’t…until his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, Sukuna drags his lips along your neck, slow - like he’s saying you’re the only thing on his mind right now, then nips your skin like a punishment for the interruption.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, voice low against your neck. “I’m not done with you.”

You giggle, amused and breathless. He finally snatches the phone up and answers - still holding you, still warm.

Sukuna (dryly): “What.”

You hear Yuji’s voice clear as day, echoing faintly from the phone.

Yuji: “Bro, can I crash at your Kyoto place for a few days?”

Sukuna exhales through his nose. Not annoyed, more like judging.

Sukuna: “What, you think that house is just sitting pretty for me? It’s making me money.”

You lightly elbow him. He glances down at you. Your expression says, don’t be mean to your little brother, please. It hurts me. You mouth, Let him stay.

He raises a brow at you. Then sighs dramatically.

Sukuna (into phone): “Fine. Stay. But next time i’m hauling racks of 200 pound steel plates, or installing those mirrors in the studio, your ass better be there.”

Yuji: “What? But im not staying in Tokyo right now-“

Sukuna: “Cry me a river. You want the bed or not?”

Yuji: “…Fine. Thanks, asshole.”

Sukuna: “Love you too.”

He hangs up. You snort and snuggle into his chest.

“You’re mean.”

“I’m smart, and he’s barely an adult,” he says, smug, tugging you back into his lap with a hand on your hip. “And if anyone’s getting the king suite in Kyoto, it’s you.”

You roll your eyes, but giggle at his warmth anyway. He won’t say it out loud but you know. He cares. About both of you.

[dandelionwishh]

Only Forever

Description: Your honeymoon just started and Satoru brought a camera to remember it all.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, 18+, Fluff, honeymoon fluff, husband Gojo, unprotected sex, Minors Do Not Interact.

Okay this took way too long...sorry. Hope you enjoy!

The villa smells like roses and saltwater, soft candlelight flickering over the ivory walls. The sliding doors are wide open to the night, letting in the sound of the waves and the warm breeze from the ocean. The sea glows under the moonlight, silver-blue and vast…like the future, like your new last name, like him.

He’s lounging against the headboard, one knee bent, his sleeves rolled up and the top buttons of his white shirt undone, still in the slacks from earlier. his bow tie is long gone now. His hair is slightly messy from the boat ride in, and he hasn’t stopped grinning since he carried you through the door like a scene from every old romance movie you used to half mock, half dream about.

You’re standing in front of the bed barefoot, wrapped in white lace and silk. The lingerie set he hasn’t seen until now was chosen with this moment in mind…delicate straps over your shoulders, sheer fabric that leaves very little to the imagination, and your bridal veil you clipped back into your loose, wavy hair.

You look like a dream, and judging by the way Gojo’s lips part, jaw slack, camera dangling from his fingers...you’ve knocked the wind out of him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes raking over you like he doesn’t know where to start. “Are you real? Did I actually marry you? Because this feels like a crime against the entire male population.”

You laugh softly, a little shy under the weight of his stare, fingers brushing over the lace at your hip.

"You're...not just being dramatic?" you ask, voice quiet. Like you're still trying to believe he really chose you, forever.

He sits up instantly, like he hears the hesitation behind your words, and lifts the camera with a softer smile this time.

"Baby," he says gently, eyes locked on you, "I'm being restrained. Dramatic me would be combusting into flames right now." He tilts the camera slightly, smirking. "Don't move. I want to remember this forever."

*Click.*

“You’re taking pictures?”

“Obviously,” he says, lifting the camera again with a lazy grin. “First night married to the hottest woman alive? I need evidence.”

“Click.”

“And for future anniversaries,” he adds, voice dropping a little. “When we’re old and sappy and I need proof I bagged a goddess.”

You laugh, flustered and glowing, and he just watches you like he’s trying to memorize every part of you.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

You tilt your head, veil brushing over your shoulder. “You like the veil?”

“I want you to wear it every time we have sex from now on.”

“Only if you keep the slacks and the rolled-up sleeves.” Your voice is soft, teasing, and you feel it in your stomach when his grin slips just slightly, enough to reveal something real underneath it all.

“Deal."

*Another click.*

You kneel on the bed slowly, crawling toward him. He adjusts the camera angle, clearly enjoying every second. When you straddle his lap, the hem of your veil brushes his thigh, and you can feel how hard he’s already getting through the fabric of his pants.

“Satoru,” you murmur, hand resting on the open collar of his shirt. “We’re married.”

He grins again, this time with a hint of awe. “We really are.”

You lean in and kiss him. A slow, sweet thing, lips brushing lips. He tastes like champagne and frosting and his familiar scent you can’t quite name but know like your own heartbeat.

He kisses back with a groan that vibrates against your chest. Then he pulls back, camera still in hand.

“Wait, just one more.” He lifts it, adjusts the focus, and whispers, “Look at me, baby”

You do. Then - *click*

You smile and he puts the camera down.

Then he’s kissing you like it’s the first time all over again, hands sliding up your bare thighs, finding the curve of your waist, exploring the lace edges of your lingerie like he’s memorizing a map. You tug at his shirt and start unbuttoning it, your hands warm against his skin as they graze his chest.

"I like seeing you like this," you whisper against his mouth. He pauses, brushing his nose against yours. "Like what?"

"Like...completely undone," you giggle.

His smile softens, eyes drifting down to your hands on his chest before meeting yours again. "You undo me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches, and he goes on, "I've never wanted anything more than I want this life with you." He leans in, lips finding your shoulder, leaving soft and lingering kisses like he never wants to leave this moment.

Then lower, over your heart. "You make me feel human." And lower still, leaving a whisper against your skin. "And whole."

You shiver under his touch. “You’re being so sweet. It’s almost suspicious.”

“Oh, I’ll ruin you in a second, don’t worry,” he mutters against your skin, lifting you gently and laying you back across the pillows. "But you. My soft, dreamy goddess I just married, right here in my bed? Looking like this? I wanna enjoy this."

His mouth is everywhere - your neck, your chest, your thighs - and every kiss is a promise, I got you. I’m not going anywhere.

He moves over you slowly, kissing down your stomach, then back up, slipping the veil gently from your hair as he goes. When he finally peels the lingerie down, he does it reverently, like unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting years for.

His eyes flick down, lingering on the delicate garter hugging your thigh - a secret he caught earlier that he gets to explore now.

He smirks, voice low and full of mischief. “Oh? And what do we have here?”

His finger trails slowly along the edge of your garter, eyes glinting as he looks up at you. “You trying to kill me, Mrs. Gojo? Cause this is dangerous.” You bite your lip, eyes on his. “I knew you’d like it.”

He chuckles under his breath, but it’s low and quiet now, like he’s suddenly remembering this isn’t just fun - it’s his. All of it.

Slowly, worshipfully, he slides his hand under the garter, peeling it down with gentle care. You shiver under his touch. 

He drags the lace down your thigh, eyes following every inch, lips brushing your skin as he goes. When it’s off, he presses a kiss to the spot it once hugged, and the tenderness of it makes your chest ache. 

Then his fingers trail up again, curling around your thighs. His palms are warm and reverent as he parts your legs wider, settling between them like it’s where he’s always belonged. The thin strip of your thong is soaked through, barely hanging on. His breath hitches when he sees it. 

“God, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough. “This is almost unfair.” 

You reach for the front of his shirt, fumbling at the last buttons with shaky fingers until it falls open. He leans up just long enough for you to slide it off his shoulders, and then your hands are at his belt. 

“You gonna help me out of this, sweetheart?” he teases, voice husky with anticipation. You nod, biting your lip, and work the buckle open, fingers brushing over the hard line of him under his slacks. He groans low in his throat, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. 

When his pants are finally gone, he dips back down and kisses your inner thigh. Then, without a word, he hooks your legs over his shoulders and buries his face between them. 

Your gasp fills the room, hands flying to his hair. He licks and sucks with slow precision, savoring you like something sweet and sacred. His tongue moves with purpose, each stroke dragging another moan from your lips. One of his hands presses gently on your stomach, keeping you in place as your back arches off the bed. 

“Satoru-” you whimper, legs trembling. 

He looks up at you, lips glistening, pupils blown. “You taste like heaven,” he murmurs. 

You’re still catching your breath when he moves back up your body, kissing your stomach, your chest, your throat. You reach down, wrapping your hand around him, stroking slowly as his breath stutters against your collarbone. 

Then you’re shifting, trading places, lowering yourself between his legs. He watches you with a lazy, blissed out grin, brushing your hair back as you take him in your mouth. His hand moves to your cheek, thumb tracing your jaw as his head falls back with a moan. 

“Fuck, baby…” he pants. “Just like that.” 

When he can’t take any more, he pulls you up gently, kissing you deep and slow, tasting himself on your tongue. What’s left of your lingerie is barely clinging to your body - only your delicate thong, thin and soaked, your veil forgotten on the sheets. 

He presses you back against the pillows, kneeling between your legs. His fingers hook into your thong and push it aside murmuring something about how its so tiny it’s barely even there.  

He lines himself up, eyes locked on yours. You feel him press in, slow and steady, and both of you gasp at the stretch and the heat. 

He stills for a moment once he’s fully inside, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispers. 

He starts to move - slow, deep thrusts that have you clinging to his back, moaning into his mouth. The rhythm is torturously tender at first, like he’s trying to memorize how it feels to be inside you on your first night as husband and wife. 

And after minutes of torturously slow and deep thrusts – nails raking his back, your thighs trembling – you clutch him tighter all breathless and needy. “Please...harder toru. I want more.”  

His eyes flash with something primal. He growls softly and shifts his angle, snapping his hips harder, faster. You cry out, head tipping back as pleasure crashes over you. 

He holds you close, arm wrapped around your back, driving into you with everything he has. The bed creaks beneath you, the air thick with your moans and the sound of skin against skin. His name spills from your lips over and over.  

You cum with a broken, high pitched cry, your whole body seizing around him as the pleasure crashes through you like a wave, all consuming and bright. Your thighs tremble where they’re wrapped around his waist, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasp his name like it’s the only word you remember.

The way your pussy tightens - wet, fluttering, desperate - pulls a deep groan from his chest. He’s barely holding on, hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt, grinding against you like he can’t get close enough.

“Fuck, baby, I-“ he chokes out, eyes locked on yours, blue and wild and shining with something raw. “I love you so much,” he whispers.

And then he’s cumming too, deep inside you, cock pulsing with every hot wave of release. His arms wrap tight around you, like his whole body’s trying to hold you still while he pours everything into you. He presses his forehead to yours, breath tangled with yours, voice rough and full of reverence as he groans your name like a prayer.

Even after it’s over, he doesn’t pull away. His cock stays nestled deep, twitching with the aftershocks, and his arms don’t loosen. You feel his lips brush your cheek, your jaw, your neck, over and over - soft, adoring like he can’t stop touching you, like this is the only place he ever wants to be.

Then when he does pull out, you just lie there, tangled together, skin to skin, hearts pounding. 

Eventually, he kisses your temple and murmurs, “We really did it.”

You smile, eyes closed. “We really did.” 

You have sex a few more times, slow and unhurried, as if neither of you want the night to end.  And by the time the clock hits 4am, you’re both breathless and fucked out, tangled in the sheets and each other. 

It’s perfect. 

P.s. I can’t live like this. Someone commit me already 😭. I NEED him.

[dandelionwishh]

Domestic Sorcery

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Pregnant!Reader

Description: 3am cravings hit hard. Gojo handles them harder.

Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy fluff, domestic daddy Gojo, baby talk.

Enjoy!

The clock reads 3:07 AM when you nudge Gojo awake. He groans, rolling onto his stomach, messy white hair splaying across the pillow.

“Satoru,” you whisper.

“Nooo,” he whines, voice muffled by the sheets. “Gojo is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later.”

You huff, poking his side. “Toru, I need ice cream.”

At that, he peeks one sleepy eye open. “Mmm, we have ice cream in the freezer.”

“Not that one.” You pout. “I want the caramel swirl from that one shop.”

He blinks. “Babe… that shop is in Paris.”

You give him the saddest, most dramatic frown imaginable, complete with wide eyes and a slight quiver of your lip. “But our baby wants it.”

Gojo groans, throwing the blanket over his head — but he’s already sitting up. “This is emotional manipulation,” he mutters, rubbing his face before rolling out of bed.

You grin. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, slipping on his blindfold and shoes, “This better be the best damn ice cream you’ve ever had.”

He grabs his hoodie and steps outside. In a blink, his technique flashes — and he’s gone.

About an hour later, he returns, dropping onto the bed next to you with a triumphant grin. “Alright, my love, my queen, my glowing goddess of pregnancy, behold!”

He pulls out a perfectly sealed tub of caramel swirl ice cream.

You gasp. “You actually found it?”

Gojo stretches, yawning. “I checked Paris and checked a place in Italy, then made a quick stop in Belgium. Had to make sure I got the best caramel swirl.”

You giggle, taking the tub from him. “You’re insane.”

“You knew that when you married me.” He flops dramatically onto your lap, eyes fluttering closed. “Now eat, so I can pass out.”

You take one bite and let out a satisfied hum. “Mmm… okay, this was worth it.”

Gojo cracks one eye open, watching you happily eat. His exhaustion melts into a soft smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It was.”

The next night, you nudge him awake again.

“Satoru.”

He groans, burying his face in his pillow, “Sweetheart…I literally bent space-time for you yesterday. Let a man rest.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “I just want some eggs with peanut butter on top.”

Silence.

Slowly, Gojo turns to look at you, staring like you’re the most confusing puzzle he’s ever encountered.

“You — you what?”

You pout, eyes wide and dramatic.

“Eggs with peanut butter. Extra messy. My poor, swollen feet can’t handle standing in the kitchen that long… help me, daddy.”

He blinks. Then, after a long pause, he mutters, “I should’ve stayed in Italy.”

Later that night…

Gojo lies sprawled across the bed, an open jar of peanut butter in one hand and a plate of scrambled eggs in the other. He stares at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him.

You’re already half asleep, curled up beside him, while he mutters softly to the swell of your belly.

“Listen, baby bean. We need to talk. Man to… fetus.”

He sighs, dramatically tapping a forkful of eggs against the peanut butter jar.

“I just wanna know. Why? Why the eggs and the peanut butter? Separately, sure. Weird but doable. But together?” He pauses, squinting at your stomach like it might give him answers. “Are you trying to test the limits of my love? Because spoiler alert…we’re already there.”

He takes a bite of the concoction and shudders. “Oh my god. It’s like sweet-salty betrayal. Why do you hate me? I brought you ice cream from three countries. I bent space-time. I might’ve tripped a few magical security alarms. And this is how you repay me?”

He leans in closer, whispering conspiratorially. “I’m just saying… if you’re trying to send a message from the womb, blink twice or kick once for ‘dad, chill.’”

A small kick bumps beneath his hand.

He freezes. Then grins like the idiot he is.

“Oh. Okay. Fair. That one’s on me.”

Still chuckling softly, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly, thumb tracing slow circles over your skin.

The room settles into a quiet hum, and then your voice drifts out, drowsy and warm. “Thank you, ‘Toru…”

A sleepy breath. “You’re a really good daddy, y’know…”

Satoru pauses, the grin tugging at his lips gentler now.

“Yeah?” he whispers, brushing his thumb over the curve of your belly. “You think so?”

You hum, already drifting back to sleep. “Mhm… even if you complain the whole time.”

He laughs under his breath. “Gotta keep my reputation intact.”

And his hand never leaves your belly. Not even after you’ve both fallen asleep.

[dandelionwishh]

It’s Not That Complicated

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Reader x Gojo Satoru

a late-night balcony drabble. toji asks one question about your ‘arrangement’ and instantly regrets it.

Warnings: Polyamory, Implied Smut, NSFW.

The night starts with a clink of beer bottles, a crackle of grilled skewers on the stove, and a handful of half-told stories between laughter. You’d made dinner before heading out for the night, leaving the boys to their plans with Toji. They promised to behave.

They don’t.

It’s nearly midnight when the three of them drift out to the balcony, the boys sprawled across chairs and Toji leaning against the railing, city lights flickering below like stars you can actually reach.

“So,” Toji says, flicking ash over the side, “how the fuck does it work?”

Suguru raises a brow. “You’re gonna have to be a lot more specific than that.”

Toji smirks. “You two. Her. The whole… arrangement.” He gestures with his bottle. “Y’all just… rotate days or some shit?”

Satoru snorts into his drink.

“Not exactly,” Suguru says, voice even, amused.

“You ever get jealous?”

“Not really.”

“Huh.” Toji looks out to the sea of lights. “That’s wild. I’d lose my goddamn mind if someone else touched my girl.”

With a lazy smile, Satoru says,

“Didn’t know you were so territorial. Kinda cute.”

Toji barks out a laugh. “I don’t share pussy. If she’s mine, she’s mine.”

Then he glances between them. “No, but seriously…are you guys, like… into each other too? I mean, you kiss? Fuck? What’s the deal?”

Suguru nearly chokes on his beer. Satoru just howls.

“What?!” Gojo wheezes. “Us?! Fuck no.”

Suguru’s shaking his head, lips twitching. “Nah. We don’t—there’s no crossing swords, man. We’re close, yeah, but not like that.”

“So you never kissed?”

“No.”

“Touched?”

“Nope.”

“...Never?”

Gojo laughs again, resting his beer on his thigh. “Look, we’ve seen each other naked a lot. Showers, onsens, fucking in the same room. I’ve seen this man cum so many times it’s not even shocking anymore.”

“Yeah, I don’t even blink when she moans his name anymore,” Suguru adds.

“Toji, I’ve high-fived him right after nutting.”

“God,” Suguru mutters. “That was one time.”

“So you’re just that close?”

They look at each other for a second. Not a pause, not hesitation. Just an unspoken knowing.

“Yeah,” Gojo says eventually, softer this time. “Guess we are.”

“She’s the only thing between us that’s ever made it physical,” Suguru adds. “We don’t need to fuck each other like that.”

Toji shakes his head, lets out a dry laugh. “You two are fucking insane.”

He pauses, then shrugs. “But… yeah. I get it.”

Gojo throws him a lazy glance. “Just say you want in, big guy.”

Toji doesn’t even look at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

They all laugh again, the city twinkling beneath them. Somewhere inside, a picture frame vibrates slightly as the washing machine kicks on. The house smells like leftover garlic and a little like whatever cologne Suguru’s always wearing. You’ll be home soon, and the boys don’t even know they’re waiting for you until they hear the front door unlock.

[dandelionwishh]

Together at Last

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru x Reader

Summary: Suguru has been away on a week-long work trip, and Satoru has seized every opportunity to indulge in his time with you. Now that Suguru is back, it's his turn to claim you.

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, 18+, Domestic Relationship, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamorous Relationship Dynamic. Minors Do Not Interact.

The front door clicks open, and the low, warm sound of Suguru’s voice echoes through the house like thunder in the euphoric storm you and Gojo had just made in the laundry room.

“Sweetheart?”

You and Gojo stumble out, both breathless, slightly dazed, and very clearly caught mid-something. Gojo’s shirtless, his lean torso dusted with sweat, grey sweats hanging low on his hips. His white hair is slightly mussed—like someone had just tugged it—and his expression? Smug. Unbothered. Very much the look of a man who’d just had you pressed against the shaking washer during the spin cycle.

You, on the other hand, are practically glowing. You’ve thrown on your brand new silk robe, the deep champagne color shimmering against your warm skin—but it’s barely tied together, a loose knot at your waist that does nothing to hide your legs or the soft sway of your hips. The robe just manages to contain your chest, the thin fabric clinging to the swell of your breasts. Beneath it, you’re completely bare.

The moment you hear Suguru’s voice, your head snaps up, heart jumping. And the second you see him—standing in the entryway, suitcase in hand, black button-up rolled to his forearms—you forget everything else. You let out a breathless, eager sound and run straight for him, the robe fluttering with each step and revealing far too much leg with every bounce.

Suguru freezes in place as you leap into his arms, your arms flinging around his neck. He catches you with ease, one strong hand gripping under your thigh, the other wrapping around your back as he holds you tight.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, voice already warmer. He buries his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply as though he’d been starving for your scent.

“I missed you so much,” you breathe, holding him like he might vanish if you let go.

“I missed you too,” he replies instantly, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then his voice drops an octave, almost teasing. “Looks like you were distracting yourself while I was gone.”

You feel his hand slide down the back of your thigh, brushing over bare skin, and his brow lifts just slightly. “New robe?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, breathless, hiding your face in his neck.

He chuckles quietly, but his grip tightens—like he’s subtly reminding you that he sees everything. Every inch of your skin, every place Gojo’s hands might’ve been.

After a moment, Geto gently sets you down, hands sliding over your sides as he does. His eyes linger on you for a breath longer before turning to Gojo, who strolls over with that maddening smirk.

“Glad you’re back, Suguru,” Gojo says, slinging a casual arm around his best friend’s shoulder. “House was too quiet without your grumpy ass around.”

Suguru huffs a laugh and claps him on the back. “Yeah? Didn’t sound too quiet from the hallway.”

Gojo only smirks wider.

“You two’ve been busy. Making babies in the laundry room, huh?” he says playfully, eyes flicking to you for just a second, smug and sharp and glowing with satisfaction.

Your face burns. You swat Gojo’s arm without any real heat. “We were doing laundry,” you mumble.

“Mm. Sure,” Suguru murmurs, clearly not believing a word of it.

Gojo stretches, eyes already drifting toward the back of the house. He looks at Suguru.

“I’m heading out for a swim,” he says, tossing the words casually over his shoulder. “We’ll talk business later.”

He disappears toward the back patio and glass doors, sunlight spilling across his broad shoulders, wind ruffling his hair.

Once he’s gone, Suguru’s hands find your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his lips brush your temple.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs softly. “Things got messy. I didn’t want to be away from you this long.”

“I know,” you whisper, fingers curling in his shirt. “You’re here now.”

His hand smooths down the curve of your spine, fingers dragging lazily along the dip of your lower back before settling there.

“You really wore this to do laundry?” he murmurs, voice low and just a little incredulous, tugging gently at the hem of your barely-tied silk robe.

You squirm a little under his gaze, sheepish. “It was a gift from Satoru...”

Suguru huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s heat in his eyes now. “Mm. I see.”

His hand slips a little lower, fingers splaying possessively. “Bet he loved that.”

You hide your face in his chest, mumbling something that sounds a lot like “maybe.”

He carries you upstairs, drawn to your touch like a man lost at sea.

By the time you reach the master, he’s kissing your neck and whispering how much he missed you, his words warm against your skin. You reach over to start the bath, fingers twisting the gold faucet as steam begins to curl into the air. The sound of water filling the tub becomes a soft backdrop to the way his hands slide slowly over the silk of your robe.

His fingers untie the delicate sash with reverence, letting the fabric fall open like he’s unwrapping something sacred. His eyes drag down your body, drinking in every bare inch he’s been aching for, and he lets out a quiet, almost breathless curse—his thumb brushing the inside of your hip like he’s grounding himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this.”

You tug gently at the hem of his shirt, urging him out of it. He lets you undress him piece by piece, his hands never leaving your body for long—fingertips skating over your waist, your collarbone, your cheeks. There’s no rush. No urgency. Just longing and love, stitched into every small touch.

The two of you step into the warm water together, limbs tangled, breath steadying. The bath is slow and loving, his touch a balm after a long absence. He worships your body like he’s missed every part of you—and he has.

Afterward, when you’re wrapped in soft clothes and humming in the kitchen while making lunch, Gojo and Geto slip into the study. Quiet voices, hushed business. Things you aren’t allowed to ask about. But you trust them.

They trust each other.

And even when they’re silently competing for your attention in different ways, you know you belong to both of them.

———

That night, the three of you curl up in bed—wine glasses in hand, the covers loosely tangled around your legs, the balcony doors open just enough to let in the salty breeze.

You’re nestled between them, your head on Suguru’s chest and your feet brushing against Satoru’s thighs. The dim bedside light makes the room glow golden, casting soft shadows that sway with every flicker of the breeze.

“I started going back to that yoga class,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass lazily. “You know, the one with that girl who always starts drama for no reason.”

Suguru hums, brushing your hair from your face. “The one who told everyone you stole her mat?”

You nod with a sigh. “That one. She’s still convinced I’m secretly out to get her.”

“Obviously,” Satoru says dramatically, sipping his wine. “You’re a dangerous woman. Look at you. Menacing.”

You grin. “Speaking of dangerous—I heard there’s a new beach club opening next weekend. I want to go. It’s supposed to be super exclusive.”

Suguru doesn’t miss a beat. “Then we’ll take you.”

“Yeah,” Satoru adds, tapping your thigh. “You’ll be the prettiest thing there, so they’re lucky to have you.”

You smile, cheeks warming. “You’re both too much.”

“Not enough,” Suguru murmurs, kissing the side of your head.

You lean back with a little sigh. “I have a vet appointment for Mochi tomorrow. She’s due for her vaccines. And I need to pick up a few things before my trip with my sister.”

Satoru groans. “Ugh. Italy.”

“You’re gonna leave us for two whole weeks,” Suguru adds, feigning offense.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you giggle, setting your wine on the nightstand. “Besides… I already have a whole house rented. I’ll FaceTime you every night.”

Satoru perks up. “Every night, huh?”

You smirk. “Every night. Long, slow FaceTimes. Just to give you… some kind of relief.”

Suguru chuckles, low and warm. “You’re cruel.”

“And you love it.”

They’re both smiling now, wine forgotten.

“Oh,” you say suddenly, glancing between them. “We kind of have to tell you something…”

Satoru sighs dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, so… we might’ve broken another expensive thing.”

Suguru raises a brow. “Let me guess… the antique vase on the balcony?”

You cover your face, and Satoru grins guiltily. “I swear, it just… it got in the way.”

“It got in the way,” Suguru repeats, deadpan.

You all dissolve into laughter, the kind that leaves your cheeks sore and your stomach warm.

Eventually, the laughter dies down. The mood shifts—soft, heady. Satoru slides your wine glass away and leans over you, mouth brushing your shoulder.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I really hate when you wear things I can’t rip off.”

Suguru slides his hand under the covers, tracing slow lines along your thigh. “It’s alright. I’ll be gentle to make up for him.”

Then, as the wine settles warm in your veins and the moonlight cuts soft silver patterns across the bed, Suguru leans up on one elbow and gently pulls you toward him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice low and quiet like a prayer, as his hand slides down to guide you onto his lap.

You let him move you, straddling him easily, your back to his chest as he reclines against the headboard. You’re still in that impossibly thin white long-sleeve, one that barely covers your nipples and clings to every curve. Below, your soft panties are nearly translucent in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

Satoru’s standing at the foot of the bed now, shirtless and already a little breathless, watching you both with a slow curl of a smirk. He’s waiting, giving you and Suguru your space—for now.

But Suguru’s patience is thinner.

You shift your hips teasingly against him, pressing your warmth into the hardening bulge beneath his sweats, and he lets out a deep, shaky breath. His hands glide up your thighs, your waist, then higher, palms wide and reverent as they slide beneath your shirt. The fabric lifts as he moves, and soon he’s mouthing at your shoulder, trailing kisses toward the side of your neck.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he whispers into your skin.

You smile, tilting your head to give him better access. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

He cups your breasts from behind, thumbs brushing lazily over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. He groans softly, hips shifting under you as he grows harder by the second. “Fuck. This shirt—this body—what you do to me…”

When he lifts your shirt fully and pulls it off, it lands somewhere behind you both, forgotten. Then his mouth is on you again, kissing and licking your breasts, sucking gently as his arms wrap around your waist to hold you in place. Your head falls back against his shoulder, moaning softly as he grinds up into you, your soaked panties doing little to mute the heat between you.

Satoru finally steps closer, slow and deliberate. He’s already hard, his sweats doing a poor job of hiding it, and your mouth waters just watching him peel them off. He doesn’t speak—he just watches you, eyes low and heavy, like he’s taking in a private show. You reach for him instinctively, stroking him slowly until his breath hitches.

You guide him closer, licking softly along his tip before taking him into your mouth—and Satoru groans low in his chest, one hand finding the back of your head as you work him deeper.

Suguru watches too, his hands still worshipping your body, still rolling your nipples between his fingers while he grinds up into you, his cock aching beneath the thin barrier of your panties.

The heat builds slow and steady—soft moans, gasps, quiet praises. Suguru eventually lifts your hips and slides your panties to the side, lining himself up and pushing into you with one smooth, deep thrust.

You cry out around Satoru, your hands gripping his thighs for balance, and Suguru holds your hips steady as he fills you completely.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans into your neck. “You missed me that much?”

You can only moan in response, thighs trembling as he starts to move beneath you, long slow thrusts that push you up to your knees only to bring you crashing back down on him again. His cock stretches you in the way only he can—deep, thick, and unhurried, like he wants to feel every inch of you clench around him.

And Satoru—still standing, still in your mouth—starts to fuck your throat with shallow, gentle rolls of his hips, moaning when your tongue swirls around the head of his cock. “Fuck, baby… you’re so good to us…”

It’s overwhelming, addictive. Suguru’s mouth against your neck, his cock driving up into you from below; Satoru’s hand fisted in your hair, the taste of him hot and heavy on your tongue.

Your first orgasm sneaks up on you—fast, intense, crashing down like a wave. You pull off Satoru with a gasp, crying out as you grind down hard on Suguru, body shaking as he holds you through it.

“That’s it,” Suguru whispers against your ear. “Cum all over me, baby.”

They flip you after that—Satoru pulling you onto your hands and knees while Suguru leans back, stroking himself lazily as he watches you fall apart again.

Satoru fucks you hard this time, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise. His thrusts are fast, relentless, angled to hit that perfect spot that leaves you a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.

“Thought you said you could handle it,” he growls, voice rough with pleasure. “Didn’t you say you’d be a good girl?”

You’re already close again—your second orgasm building fast, heat coiling low in your stomach, thighs shaking with the effort to stay up. Suguru kneels beside you to hold your face and kiss you through every broken moan.

“Cum again,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit in soft, tight circles. “Cum for us, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

You shatter again—loud, breathless, body pulsing as pleasure rips through you. Your arms nearly give out, but Suguru catches you, cradling your head while Satoru keeps fucking into you, chasing his own release now with frantic, shallow thrusts.

And when he finally spills inside you with a deep groan, Suguru is already taking your mouth again, slipping behind you once more to guide his cock into your still-wet, still-pulsing heat.

They finish together that second time—Satoru watching with a fucked-out smirk as Suguru holds you tight, his pace slow but hard, pushing you both to that final climax.

You collapse between them after, sweaty and spent, lips swollen, body aching in the best way.

You don’t even know who pulls the covers over the three of you first—but you fall asleep tangled between them, warm and loved and absolutely wrecked.

[miiilowo]

sorry for bitching and whining. unfortunately i have to or else ill start killing and eating people instead

[dandelionwishh]

Back in Control

Pairing: Modern AU Sukuna x Wife!Reader

Summary: After weeks of frustration, Sukuna finally gets his cast off and immediately takes back control

Warnings: NSFW, implied smut, dominance, possessiveness, intimacy, Sukuna being Sukuna, mild manhandling.

Pt.2 of this.

Enjoy!

Sukuna had been counting down the days.

He hated being out of commission. Hated relying on you to do things for him. Hated not being able to move the way he wanted. And most of all, he hated the way you’d taken control while he was injured—not because he didn’t love you, but because he was the one who ran things, not the other way around.

So the second the doctor finally cut his cast off, Sukuna was done with being babied.

"Now, Mr. Ryomen," the doctor said, "your leg will still need time to regain full strength. No intense activity for at least another few weeks, and absolutely no—"

Sukuna was already standing, rolling his ankle experimentally. "Yeah, yeah, I’m fine."

You shot him a look. “Sukuna—“

"Come on," he said, already making his way to the door. "I’m driving."

You blinked. "The hell you are!"

But he was already heading toward the parking lot like he hadn’t just spent weeks being unable to move properly. You hurried after him, grabbing his arm. "You just got the cast off, and the doctor didn’t clear you for driving yet!"

He looked down at you with a smirk. "And?"

"And you’re not driving."

"Who’s gonna stop me? You?"

You huffed. "Yes."

He laughed. "Cute."

Before you could argue further, he snagged the car keys from your bag with infuriating ease and unlocked the car. You stood there, hands on your hips, as he slid into the driver’s seat.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, getting into the passenger side.

Sukuna smirked as he started the engine, rolling his shoulder like he was shaking off the last remnants of his temporary helplessness. "Damn right."

And then he drove home like a man who had never been injured at all.

---

The moment you stepped inside, the shift was instantaneous. Gone was the grumpy, frustrated man who had been snapping at you for helping him. Sukuna was back to being the dominant force of nature he always was.

"You," he said, pointing at you as he strode toward the kitchen, "make dinner."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I’m handling everything else. You’ve had enough fun playing boss."

You stared at him. "Playing boss?"

He turned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah."

You scoffed. "Sukuna, I had to take charge because you were injured!"

He gave you a sharp grin. "Well, I’m not anymore."

And true to his word, he took back control of everything. You barely had time to process before he was already going around, fixing things that he thought had been left in disarray while he was stuck with a cast.

You rolled your eyes but made dinner anyway. Honestly, you weren’t surprised—this was so like him. The man had been waiting weeks to reclaim his throne. You just let him have it.

After dinner, Sukuna finally turned his attention back to you.

"Run a bath," he ordered.

You glanced at him. "For you?"

"For us," he corrected, eyes gleaming. "Haven’t touched you properly in weeks."

Your face warmed. He had been… very insistent about still getting what he wanted even with his cast, but you had been the one holding back, not wanting him to overexert himself.

But now?

Now there were no restrictions.

You swallowed, but nodded, heading to the bathroom. You ran the water, making sure it was warm, adding a little bit of oil for good measure. When you turned, Sukuna was already leaning against the doorframe, watching you.

The air changed immediately.

"Undress," he said simply.

You hesitated for only a second before slowly reaching for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. You felt his gaze darken as you shimmied out of your pants, then your underwear. When you finally stood bare before him, he exhaled sharply.

"Get in."

You did, sinking into the water, letting the warmth soak into your skin.

The water rippled as you settled in, the warmth licking at your skin, easing the tension from your muscles. A second later, Sukuna joined you, sliding in behind you, his massive frame dwarfing yours as he pulled you back against his chest. His arms coiled around your waist, possessive, claiming.

"Comfortable?" His voice was deep, teasing, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly but refusing to give him the reaction he was undoubtedly waiting for. His fingers trailed down your arms, slow and deliberate, before dipping beneath the water, grazing your thighs. You shivered, but still, you remained silent.

Sukuna clicked his tongue, displeased with your lack of response. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you further against him, forcing you to feel the heat of his body. His lips brushed against your shoulder, his teeth scraping over your damp skin before he bit down—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a sharp jolt of sensation through you.

"Missed me, didn’t you?" he murmured, his voice dark, knowing.

You bit your lip, your fingers gripping the edge of the tub as his hands roamed higher. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He scoffed, his tone laced with amusement, but the way his fingers flexed against your thighs told a different story. He was growing impatient.

His hand drifted between your legs, teasing, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

"Try again," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

Your silence was answer enough.

He chuckled, low and dark, lips grazing your ear. "Tch. So stubborn." His fingers tightened around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control. His other hand continued its slow torment, setting your nerves on fire, pulling soft, breathless whimpers from your lips.

"Say it," he ordered, his voice thick with arrogance. "Admit you missed this. Missed me.

Your resolve crumbled as pleasure coiled in your stomach, your body betraying you. "I did," you gasped. "I missed you."

Sukuna growled in satisfaction, his grip tightening as his lips claimed your neck. "Good girl."

[medblackcoffee]

Fushiguro…

[dandelionwishh]

In Sickness and In Seduction

Pairing: Modern AU Sukuna x Wife!Reader

Summary: Sukuna comes home from the hospital with a broken leg and absolutely hates that he has to rely on you now.

Note: This was inspired by @yenayaps motorcycle accident one-shot. Thank you!

Warnings: Sukuna being Sukuna, mild degradation, suggestive content, established relationship, Sukuna being a menace, cursing, dominance, NSFW.

Pt2. Here.

Enjoy!

Sukuna was pissed.

Not at his broken leg—though, yeah, that was pretty damn annoying—but at the fact that he had to rely on you to do everything for him now. He hated it. Hated being helpless. Hated that you had to pick up the slack when he was usually the one running things.

So, of course, he reacted the only way he knew how—by being a total dick.

From the second you brought him home from the hospital, it was nothing but scowling and snapping at every little thing you did.

"Need help getting up the stairs?"

"No."

"You should probably elevate your leg."

"Did I ask?"

"Do you want me to—"

"Just leave it."

You took it for a while, understanding that this was just how Sukuna dealt with frustration. But after three days of his growling, grumbling, and outright refusing your help, you’d had enough.

When he once again barked at you to stop hovering, you crossed your arms and glared down at him. "Fine. Suffer then."

And you meant it. You let him struggle. Let him realize how fucking hard it was to do things on his own with one good leg. You watched him fumble with simple tasks—reaching for things, getting up from the couch, maneuvering with his crutches like a stubborn idiot—and you said nothing.

Until, finally, one night, he let out a long, aggravated sigh. "Alright, alright. I get it."

You raised an eyebrow. "Get what?"

His jaw tensed. It physically pained him to say it, but he finally grumbled, "I’ve been an asshole."

You smirked. "Yes, you have."

"Don’t push it," he muttered.

Despite his awful attitude, you couldn’t help the way your heart softened. You sat beside him, nudging his arm. "You know, I really don’t mind taking care of you, Sukuna."

He scoffed. "I mind."

"I know," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "But it’s just temporary. You’ll be back to running things soon enough."

His crimson eyes flickered to you, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, without warning, his large hand slid onto your thigh.

"Speaking of running things…"

You frowned. "Sukuna."

His lips curled. "What?"

"You just got home from the hospital."

"And?"

"And you have a broken leg."

"Yeah? That’s not stopping me from fucking you."

You shot him a deadpan look. "You should be resting."

"I will. After I get what I want."

You snorted, about to push his hand away when he suddenly grabbed your thigh and dragged you onto his lap. A gasp left your lips as you steadied yourself, suddenly way too aware of how warm and solid he felt beneath you.

"Sukuna—"

"Shh," he hushed, eyes darkening as his fingers dug into your hips. "I don’t need my damn legs to fuck you properly."

Your entire body flushed at the raw confidence in his voice. You knew he meant it, too. Sukuna never said anything he couldn’t back up.

Still, you made a weak attempt at resistance. "I just don’t want you to hurt yourself—"

His lips crushed against yours, swallowing the rest of your protest. The moment his tongue slid against yours, all logic flew out the window. His kiss was deep, possessive, as if he were starving for you. When he pulled back, his lips were barely an inch from yours, his breath heavy.

"You think I’m fragile?" he rasped.

You shivered. "No."

"Good," he smirked. "Then be a good girl and take care of me properly."

His grip on your waist tightened as he shifted beneath you, pressing you against something unmistakably hard. Your breath hitched.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered.

"And yet, you’re still sitting here." His hands started roaming lower, slipping beneath your shirt, his voice dropping to something rough and commanding. "C’mon, wife. If I can’t handle everything myself right now, then you better do it for me."

And that was all the warning you got before he took control of the situation—even with his broken leg.

[dandelionwishh]

The Return of a King

Summary: After six long days away, Sukuna returns to the estate, ravenous with need for the one thing he’s been denied—you.

Pairing: Heian Era Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: Heavy tension, possessiveness, rough handling, marking, intense desire, implied smut, Sukuna being Sukuna.

Enjoy!

The estate was quiet when Sukuna returned, the moon casting pale silver light over the courtyard as his footsteps echoed against the stone path. Midnight stretched deep into the sky, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the lingering smoke of burned incense.

Six days.

Six days without you.

Sukuna was not a man prone to patience, nor was he one to be controlled by something as baseless as longing. And yet, here he was, standing on the precipice of need so sharp it was nearly unbearable.

His body was tight, aching from the absence of your touch, the memory of your warmth haunting him in the restless nights he had spent away. Six days of war councils, territorial disputes, and bloodshed had left him with a hunger that no meal could satisfy, no conquest could quell.

He needed you.

But first—

His upper set of arms flexed as he rolled the tension from his shoulders, turning to the two retainers who had followed him through the gates.

"Report," he ordered, his voice a low rumble of impatience.

One of the men bowed deeply, quick to appease him. "All is as you left it, my lord. Your lands remain secure. The matters of the southern province have been resolved, and your concubines have remained within their quarters without issue."

Concubines.

His jaw tightened. The word meant nothing to him now. There was only one woman he had any interest in seeing tonight.

"And her?" he asked, voice sharper, hungrier.

The retainer hesitated only briefly before lowering his gaze. "She has kept to your chambers, my lord. The servants say she spends much of her time in solitude. She has not left the estate."

Sukuna exhaled slowly, something possessive curling in his gut at the thought of you waiting for him all this time. Good. You were his. You belonged to no one else.

"Leave me," he commanded, already turning toward the main wing.

The retainers bowed, stepping aside as he strode past them.

The halls were dark, the flickering lanterns barely illuminating the silk-draped corridors. His heartbeat was steady, his mind sharp, but the closer he got to his chambers, the more something primal clawed at his control.

Six days.

Too long.

By the time he reached the heavy doors to his chambers, his restraint was hanging by a thread. He shoved them open without hesitation, stepping into the dimly lit space.

And there you were.

Curled beneath the silk sheets, your body bathed in the glow of the dying lanterns. The soft rise and fall of your breathing was the only sound in the vast room, your form delicate against the massive bedding.

His fingers twitched.

You looked untouched. Unclaimed. His.

Sukuna exhaled slowly, forcing himself to undo his outer robe with deliberate slowness, the fabric slipping from his shoulders and pooling onto the floor. His muscles were tense, his body burning from the restraint he had forced upon himself since the moment he left you.

He approached the bed, lowering himself beside you, his heat instantly sinking into your sleeping form.

And then, with the gentleness of a predator savoring his prey—he touched you.

His lower hands slipped beneath the sheets, palms gliding over your bare skin, reacquainting himself with every dip and curve he had been starved of.

A soft inhale left your lips as you stirred, your body instinctively molding against his touch. He smirked against the shell of your ear, voice low and needy.

"Did you miss me, little thing?"

You shivered, the sound of his voice pulling you from the depths of sleep. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with drowsiness as you turned to face him.

"Sukuna…?" Your voice was soft, disoriented.

He hummed, fingers trailing down your thigh, savoring the way your body reacted to his touch. "Who else would it be?"

Your brows furrowed slightly, sleep still clinging to you. "You're back…"

He grunted, his grip tightening on you. "And you're still here. Just where you should be."

Your lips parted, but whatever you meant to say was lost as he dipped his head, pressing his mouth against the curve of your throat. His teeth scraped against your skin, not quite biting, but warning—demanding.

He wanted you.

Now.

You gasped softly as his hands grew bolder, sliding over your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. His breath was hot against your ear, his voice rough with days of restraint.

"You’ve been untouched in my absence." It was not a question. It was a fact.

Your breath hitched as his grip tightened. "Of course—"

"Good," he growled. "Because the only hands that will ever touch you are mine."

You trembled at the weight of his claim, at the undiluted hunger laced in his voice.

Six days.

Six days of waiting.

Six days of need.

And now, as he pressed you into the sheets, his body heavy with intention—

You knew he would make up for every second he had been gone.

[dandelionwishh]

Left Behind: Pt. 6

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (Ft. Choso angst)

Summary: You waited for him. He never noticed. Is it too late?

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love Triangle, Heartbreak, Choso regret, Gojo being possessive, Gojo being down bad for you.

PART1 PART2 PART3 PART4 PART5

You don’t know where you’re going at first. The weight of your conversation with Choso lingers in your chest, heavy and suffocating, but there’s only one person you want to see.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, leading you through the quiet halls of Jujutsu High, past the dorms, past the training grounds, until you find yourself standing in front of the one place you know he’ll be.

You don’t even knock.

You push the door open, breath uneven, heart hammering against your chest, and there he is. 

Gojo is sprawled on his couch, one arm thrown over his head, blindfold pushed up to reveal tired but alert eyes. He glances at you, and in an instant, the teasing remark on his lips dies.

He sits up slowly, scanning your face like he’s trying to read between the lines of a story you haven’t told yet. You inhale sharply, your throat tightening.

 “I ended things with Choso.” Gojo doesn’t speak right away.

His expression doesn’t change, but something in the air shifts. The playful arrogance he wears like armor is nowhere to be found. Instead, there’s something quieter, something raw lurking beneath the surface.

“I thought I wanted to fix it,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I wanted to go back to the way things were.” You shake your head, exhaling sharply.

“But all I could think about was you.” The words taste like truth, like something inevitable, something that’s been waiting to be spoken into existence.

Gojo exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he says, voice lighter than the intensity in his eyes. “It’s about time you caught up.” You let out a weak laugh, something close to relief. “You knew?” He smirks, but it’s softer than usual.

“Sweetheart, I’ve known for a while.” The distance between you is too much. You close the space, moving toward him before you can second-guess yourself, before the last remnants of doubt can creep in.

He watches you with careful patience, letting you take the lead, letting you decide. And then, finally, finally, you reach for him. His hands are on you in an instant—gentle but firm, fingers pressing into your waist, grounding you. His breath is warm against your skin as he tilts his head, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Say it,” he murmurs. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “I want you.”

 A sharp inhale. A beat of silence.

Then, Gojo crashes into you, lips meeting yours with a desperation that leaves no room for hesitation.

His kiss is everything—hot, deep, consuming, like he’s been holding back for too long, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t claim you now. But you’re not slipping away. You’re right here, and you’re not going anywhere.

His hands roam, memorizing every inch of you, like he’s trying to make up for lost time. When you break apart for air, he presses his forehead against yours, laughter slipping past his lips, breathless and exhilarated. “You’re mine now,” he says, voice low and possessive in a way that makes your stomach flip. You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I am.” And this time, you don’t look back.

The world feels different now. Lighter. Brighter. Days with Gojo are filled with warmth and laughter, the kind that makes you forget what it ever felt like to be waiting for someone to choose you.

Because with Gojo, there’s never a question. He’s all in—always has been, always will be. It’s in the way he pulls you into him when he thinks you’re too far.

In the way he brings you sweets without asking, lacing his fingers through yours as you walk through the city. In the way he looks at you like you’re his world And you are.

It’s been over a year since things ended with Choso, and you haven’t spoken since. Not because of bitterness, not because of anger, but because some wounds don’t need reopening.

You moved forward, and eventually, so did he. At least, that’s what you thought. Until one evening, when you run into him again.

The sun is setting, casting deep amber hues across the sky, and you’re making your way back home when you feel it—his presence. Heavy, lingering, just a few steps behind. You turn, and there he is. Choso looks the same but older in a way that has nothing to do with time.

He’s standing a short distance away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. You don’t move. Neither does he. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence.

Then, softly—almost hesitantly—he says, “I wasn’t sure if I should say hello.” You inhale, exhale, steadying yourself before giving him a small nod. 

 “Hi, Choso.” His eyes flicker with something you can’t name. “You look good.”

So do you, you almost say. But that feels too familiar, too close to something you shouldn’t touch anymore. Instead, you just smile politely. “Thanks.” He hesitates, shifting slightly.

 “How have you been?” Happy. Loved. Home in a way you never were with him. But you settle for, “I’ve been good.” Choso studies you carefully, like he’s trying to piece together all the time he missed. And then, cautiously, he says, “I’ve missed you.”

Your chest tightens—not with longing, not with regret, but with the weight of the past pressing against the present. Because for a brief second, you remember how much you loved him. You remember waiting, hoping, hurting. You remember all the ways he didn’t choose you when it mattered most.

But then, before you can respond, another voice cuts through the air—a voice that belongs to the one person who has never made you feel like an afterthought. “Sorry, buddy,” 

Gojo’s voice is lighthearted, but the edge beneath it is unmistakable. “She’s a little busy being in love with me.”

You turn just as Gojo approaches, casual but deliberate. His arm slides around your waist with practiced ease, fingers pressing against your hip like he’s reminding both you and Choso exactly where you belong.

Choso’s expression doesn’t change, but his posture stiffens. “Gojo.” Gojo grins, tilting his head. “Miss me?” You sigh. “Satoru.” Gojo ignores you, his attention still on Choso. He doesn’t need to ask why he’s here. He already knows.

For a long moment, Choso doesn’t speak. Then, quietly, he says, “I just wanted to see her.” Gojo hums, pretending to consider it. “Yeah, see, I get that. She’s very pretty.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple, voice dropping just slightly. “She’s also taken.”

Something flickers in Choso’s eyes—something resigned. Like maybe, for the first time, he understands that you’re not coming back. 

And then, as if the universe itself wants to make sure there’s no room left for doubt, Gojo pulls something from his pocket—a small, velvet box—and flips it open. A ring.

Your breath catches. Your world tilts.

 “Satoru—”

“Shh,” Gojo teases, grinning even as his hands are slightly unsteady.

“I had a whole speech planned, but I think we all know what I’m gonna say.” He kneels, gaze locked onto yours, something soft and certain and entirely Gojo. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” His voice is steady, without hesitation. “And I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

Tears prick at your eyes. You cover your mouth with your hands, laughing, crying, breaking all at once. And then you nod—because of course, of course, of course.

Gojo grins, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into him, his arms wrapping around you with the kind of certainty you once begged for.

When you finally look back, Choso is gone. But this time, you don’t watch him leave.

[dandelionwishh]

Left Behind: Pt. 5

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (Ft. Choso angst)

Summary: You waited for him. He never noticed. Is it too late?

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love Triangle, Heartbreak, Choso regret, Pregnancy, Gojo being possessive, Gojo being down bad for you.

PART1 PART2 PART3 PART4 PART6

Choso tries.

You don’t expect him to, not after weeks of feeling like an afterthought, not after standing on the sidelines while he trained with Reina, while he shared pieces of himself with someone else, the pieces that used to belong to you.

But one day, when the space between you feels too wide to cross, he takes a step forward. He finds you outside the school, sitting beneath the shade of an old tree, legs stretched out in front of you as you pick at the seams of your gloves.

You don’t look up when he approaches, but you feel him—his presence, the warmth of him, the weight of everything unspoken pressing against your chest. “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend,” he says, voice steady but quiet.

Your fingers still against the fabric. Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet his. He looks… tired.

Not just physically, but in a way that makes your heart ache despite yourself. You exhale, leaning back against the tree. “Yeah,” you say, because there’s no point in pretending otherwise. 

Choso lowers himself to the ground beside you, close enough that you could reach for him if you wanted to.

He doesn’t touch you. He used to, without thinking—his hand on your lower back as you walked, his fingers brushing against yours in quiet moments, his lips against your temple just because.

But now, there’s hesitation, an uncertainty that makes something inside you twist. “I got caught up in training. I got caught up in—” He stops, jaw tightening. He doesn’t say her name.

Maybe he knows better now. Maybe it’s too late.

You stare ahead, watching the way the wind stirs the grass. “I waited,” you say, voice softer than you mean for it to be. “I waited for you to notice. To realize.” You swallow. “And you didn’t.” Choso exhales sharply, hand reaching for his forehead as if his head would topple over.

 “I know.” His voice is rough, strained. “I know, and I hate that I let it happen.” There’s sincerity in his words, in the way he looks at you now like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks. And maybe that should be enough. Maybe, if this were weeks ago, if you hadn’t spent all that time with Gojo—laughing, fighting, existing in a way that felt easy and unburdened—you would have let it be enough.

So you try. Because you loved Choso once, and maybe part of you still does. You take his hand that night, letting him kiss you slow and deep, trying to pretend that your mind doesn’t wander to someone else.

Trying to pretend that the weight in your chest is something other than longing for a different warmth, a different voice murmuring against your skin. The first time he pulls you against him again, it feels familiar.

But it doesn’t feel right.

The second time, you start to wonder if it ever will. And by the third, you know. It’s not the same anymore. You feel it in the quiet spaces between kisses, in the way your heart doesn’t race the way it used to.

You feel it in the way Choso holds you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers, and maybe he should be.

But the worst part—the part that makes you feel like the most awful person in the world—is that when you close your eyes, it’s not Choso you see anymore. It’s Gojo. His smile, easy and knowing. His laughter, unfiltered and bright.

The way he watches you like you’re something worth looking at, something worth holding onto. And when you realize that, you know you can’t keep doing this. The confrontation comes sooner than you expect, heavy with the weight of inevitability.

 It happens one evening when Choso finds you staring at nothing in the training yard, lost in thought. He steps forward, cautious, like he already knows what’s coming.

“You’ve been distant,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Even after I tried to fix things.” You close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before turning to face him. “I know.” Choso studies you, his dark eyes searching yours.

 “Is it Gojo?” 

 The question hits harder than it should. 

You part your lips, but the words don’t come right away. Choso lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “It is, isn’t it?” Your throat tightens. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t—” You exhale sharply, frustrated. “I tried, Choso. I really did.” His jaw clenches, fingers curling into fists at his sides. “So that’s it?” His voice wavers, something breaking beneath the surface. “You’re just… done?” 

Your eyes burn, but you refuse to let the tears fall.

“It’s not the same anymore.” Choso stares at you, and the hurt in his expression makes your chest ache. “Was it ever real to you?” You flinch like he’s struck you. “You don’t get to ask me that.” Your voice is unsteady now, shaking with the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the one who let go first.” 

His breath catches, eyes widening slightly. “I waited for you,” you whisper, the words tasting like betrayal on your tongue.

 “I waited while you spent all your time with her. I waited while you trained with her, talked with her, stood next to her like I wasn’t even there.” Your voice breaks, and you don’t care anymore.

“I was right there, Choso. And you chose her over me.” Silence.

Choso’s face is unreadable, but you see the way his fingers twitch, the way his shoulders tense like he wants to reach for you but knows he no longer can.

“You’re right,” he says finally, voice hollow. “I did.”

And somehow, that hurts more than anything. Because it means he knew. He knew all along, and he still let it happen.

You nod slowly, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say, and you mean it. Then you stand, walking away, not looking back.

This time, he doesn’t try to stop you.

[dandelionwishh]

Left Behind: Pt. 4

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (Ft. Choso angst)

Summary: You waited for him. He never noticed. Is it too late?

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love Triangle, Heartbreak, Choso regret, Gojo being possessive, Gojo being down bad for you.

PART1 PART2 PART3 PART5 PART6

You don’t mean to do it at first. The first time you find yourself lingering near Gojo, it’s unintentional.

You’re already feeling restless, the weight of Choso’s absence pressing against your ribs in a way that makes it hard to breathe. So when you hear Gojo’s voice, lighthearted and teasing as always, you gravitate toward it without thinking.

He’s leaning against a railing near the training grounds, tossing a wrapped candy in the air and catching it between two fingers, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He notices you immediately. “Well, well,” he drawls, pushing off the railing with a lazy stretch.

 “To what do I owe the pleasure? Finally realized I’m the most entertaining person around?” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it.

If anything, his presence is a welcome distraction.

“You’re the loudest person around. There’s a difference.” Gojo grins, tilting his head. His blindfold is off today, leaving you momentarily caught in the endless blue of his gaze. He watches you too closely, always too perceptive for his own good. 

 “You seem tense,” he comments, voice lighter than the weight of his stare. “Boyfriend trouble?” You scoff, but the words hit harder than they should.

 “Choso’s been busy.” There’s a shift in Gojo’s posture—subtle, but there. His smirk softens just a fraction. “Busy?” You exhale through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you look away. “Training with Reina. Talking with Reina. Sparring with Reina.” Gojo lets out a low whistle. 

“Ouch. Didn’t realize he was that stupid.” You huff, shaking your head. “He’s not stupid. He just—” You pause, lips pressing together before you sigh.

“He doesn’t realize how much it’s affecting me.” Gojo hums, stepping closer. 

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You glance at him, skeptical. “What do you suggest?”

His grin is slow, wolfish, like he already knows where this is going before you do. “Well, if he’s too busy, you could always hang out with me.”

You should say no. You should tell him it’s not that simple.

But there’s something about the way Gojo is looking at you—something teasing but sincere, something playful but undeniably warm. And maybe it’s the way Choso has made you feel like an afterthought lately, or maybe it’s just that Gojo is too charming for his own good, but you don’t think twice before answering.

 “Fine. But don’t annoy me too much.” Gojo laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he guides you toward the courtyard. “No promises, sweetheart.”

Spending time with Gojo is easy in a way you don’t expect.

He’s loud, ridiculous, and shameless, but he’s also… fun. He keeps your mind off things, pulling you into playful arguments, roping you into games with the students, making you laugh more than you have in weeks. And it’s not just that—he listens.

Beneath all the dramatics, there’s a sharpness to him, a knowing that unsettles you sometimes. “You don’t talk about yourself much,” he comments one evening, both of you sitting on the roof as the sun sets.

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I talk all the time.” He smirks. “You talk, sure. But you don’t say much.” You open your mouth to argue but stop when you see the look in his eyes.

He sees right through you, like always. You sigh. “Maybe I just don’t think anyone really wants to listen.” Gojo is quiet for a beat, then he exhales. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “Wow, thanks.” 

But he’s serious now, head tilting as he studies you. “I’m listening, y’know.” And for a moment, just a moment, you feel something shift. It should just be fun. A distraction. But the way Gojo looks at you makes your chest feel too tight, makes something unfamiliar settle in your stomach

You don’t know when you started looking at him differently, when you started noticing the way his fingers brush against yours absentmindedly or how his smile softens when it’s just the two of you.

And then there’s Choso.

At first, he doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t think much of it. He’s too caught up in training, too caught up in his own world with Reina to see what’s slipping away. But then, one evening, you catch him watching. You and Gojo are sparring in the training yard, your laughter echoing in the open air as Gojo dodges your attacks with ease, taunting you like always.

He reaches out suddenly, grabbing your wrist and spinning you effortlessly, catching you against his chest in a way that’s almost too natural. You don’t even realize Choso is there until you turn and meet his eyes. He’s standing a few feet away, stiff and unreadable. His gaze flickers between you and Gojo, something sharp and unfamiliar beneath the usual calm.

Gojo, of course, notices. He smirks, resting his chin on your shoulder in an exaggerated show of closeness.

“You look tense, Choso.” Choso’s jaw tightens. “Didn’t realize you two were so close.” There’s something in his voice—something almost accusatory.

You straighten, pulling away from Gojo as you level Choso with a look. “I didn’t realize you cared.” Choso’s expression falters, just for a second. But it’s enough.

You don’t say anything else. You just turn and walk away, leaving him standing there as Gojo gives him a knowing smile, effortlessly bending down to pick up your weapon—like instinct at this point. His fingers curl around the handle with practiced ease, but his eyes never leave you, watching as you disappear.

At this point, Gojo’s whole world was you. 

The sparring sessions that stretched longer than necessary just so he could keep you close. The impromptu market trips to try new sweets, where he always bought extra just to see you smile. The morning tea that Choso used to bring but hadn’t in weeks—so now, without question, Gojo made sure it was waiting for you instead. And for the first time, Choso finally realizes.

You might not be waiting for him anymore.

[dandelionwishh]

Left Behind: Pt. 3

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (Ft. Choso angst)

Summary: You waited for him. He never noticed. Is it too late?

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love Triangle, Heartbreak, Choso regret, Gojo being possessive, Gojo being down bad for you.

PART1 PART2 PART4 PART5 PART6

Jujutsu High is always evolving—new threats, new allies, and, apparently, new teachers. You don’t think much of it when the announcement is made.

A temporary instructor will be joining the school for an indefinite period to assist with high-level training and evaluations.

It’s not unusual, and you’ve already established yourself as a capable sorcerer. Another teacher, even one with impressive credentials, doesn’t feel like a threat. At least, not at first.

The day she arrives, you hear about her before you even see her. “She’s crazy strong,” Yuji says over lunch, practically vibrating with excitement. “Like, Mei Mei level—but younger.”

Nobara hums in agreement. “And she’s gorgeous. Like, model-gorgeous. Seriously, it’s not fair.” 

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment. It doesn’t matter how strong or beautiful she is. You’re confident in yourself, and besides, you’re not the jealous type. Then, you meet her.

She introduces herself as Hikari Reina, and everything the students said was true. She’s stunning—tall, sharp-eyed, with an elegance that seems effortless.

Her uniform is crisp, her movements graceful, and when she speaks, it’s with a quiet authority that makes people listen.

You size her up immediately. She’s strong, no doubt about it.

There’s an undeniable precision to her aura, the mark of someone who’s honed their skills to near perfection. But you don’t feel intimidated. You offer her a polite smile and a handshake, and she returns both with an air of cool confidence.

“Looking forward to working with you,” she says smoothly. “Same here,” you reply, meaning it. At this point, you still believe that’s true.

 It happens gradually—so subtly that you don’t even notice at first. 

Reina integrates into the school with ease. The students respect her, the higher-ups admire her, and even Gojo seems interested in testing her skills. She doesn’t try to overshadow anyone, but her presence is undeniable.

 And Choso notices. The first time you catch it, you brush it off. It’s during a sparring session. Choso stands off to the side, arms crossed, watching as Reina moves with deadly precision. 

You’re used to seeing him observant, but there’s something in his expression—subtle but unmistakable.

Interest.

You shake it off.

Of course, he’d be impressed. He appreciates strength, and Reina is undeniably strong. It doesn’t mean anything.

But then, it starts happening more often. Choso begins training with her.

At first, it makes sense—he’s always looking to improve, and Reina’s skill set complements his. You tell yourself you have no reason to feel anything about it. But then, their training sessions start running late.

Then, they start talking more, standing close, sharing thoughts about battle strategies that you’re no longer a part of. And slowly, you start noticing the way he’s around less.

The shift in Choso’s attention isn’t immediate, but it’s undeniable. The late-night conversations you once had start becoming less frequent. When you seek him out, he’s often with Reina—discussing tactics, sparring, exchanging thoughts in quiet, intense discussions.

He doesn’t even seem to realize how distant he’s becoming. You try not to overthink it. Choso isn’t the kind of person who would intentionally push you away.

But the more you watch him with Reina, the more something gnaws at you.

One night, you finally bring it up. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her,” you say, keeping your voice casual.

Choso blinks, caught off guard. “Reina?” You nod. “She’s a good sparring partner,” he explains simply. “She knows techniques I haven’t trained against before.”

There’s no guilt in his voice, no realization that his absence has affected you. You swallow the bitterness rising in your throat. “Right. That makes sense.” He doesn’t notice the hesitation in your voice.

Or maybe he does, but he doesn’t think much of it. That night, for the first time in a long time, you fall asleep feeling alone.