tw: death, 18+ only: sukuna is very protective over his little wife.
âWoah, sheâs hot!â
That was the first comment. SUKUNA knew then he wanted to kill this man.
âShit, look at her.â The vulgar stranger whistled, his lustful eyes trailing the curves of your body. âI hope I can get five minutes alone with her in the bathroom.â
Sukuna swallowed a sip of his dark liquor.
He and this stranger were the only two individuals at the gathering sitting on the couches instead of mingling with the others. It was the perfect spot for him to keep an eye on you, his sweet little wife, but him alone. This man? Who dared to join Sukuna on the couch and pour himself a shot of whiskey?
He was going to die tonight. Sukuna was certain of it.
Sukuna turned to face one of the bodyguards standing beside the couch â not that Sukuna needed any protection. Silently, he gestured in your direction, and the bodyguard immediately understood Sukunaâs wordless command.
The stranger watched the interaction take place. He watched the guard approach you and guide you over to the sitting area, and he smiled wildly.
âYouâre bringing her to me? Youâre a good man,â he said.
Sukuna took another sip of his dark liquor.
When you arrived, a kind smile on your face, Sukuna put his glass down on a nearby table and patted his lap twice.
Happily, you took your seat, and his large hand rubbed your hip.
Oh, the man was stunned. Angry.
âHey, I called dibs on that bitch first,â he spat.
Sukuna watched the corners of your lips fall as the man continued on, on, and on. During his ramble, Sukuna whispered in your ear, âClose your eyes and cover your ears, girl.â
You did as you were told, though it did little to muffle the sound of the gunshot that came seconds later.
The party guests were silent for a moment, but after observing you in Sukunaâs lap, a gun in his hand, and an unfamiliar dead body bleeding out on the couch, they were quick to return to their conversations.
After all, Sukuna owned this building. This party was his. And this wasnât the first time he had to murder someone on his kindhearted wifeâs behalf.
âHey,â Sukuna, who was aggressive with every other soul except for you, spoke softly. âIâll cheer you up when we get home, pretty girl.â
With him, that could have meant watching reruns of your favorite show with you, or him sloppily licking at your clit until you came repeatedly.
seeing spectres? got a ghost problem? it seems Satoru Gojo has one of his own - one he doesn't want to get rid of
synopsis: full-time nerd turned part-time amateur ghost hunter, you've become Gojo's favorite occupation! living with a roommate is hard enough - let alone falling in love with your (un?)dead one!
pairing: nerdjo x ghost!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and smut, oral sex (f! receiving), ghost GETTING head this time, roommates-to-lovers but one of them is dead lol, paranormal aspects ofc, fem reader, discussions of death, some darker themes but plenty of goofy gojo to go around, idiots falling in love, Geto being a skeptic, gojo is jealous and down atrociously bad
art by @chu-cho + divider by @petalpxl
Some things were sacred.
The faint taste of cherry chapstick that still cling to your lips. How delicately you'd interlace your fingers with his. The few seconds when he first wakes up in the morning, the fleeting moments where he could almost believe you were actually alive in his arms, hair tickling his face and your skin touching his skin.
So Gojo knew what he was holding was something holy.
To you, at least.
He hadn't meant to find it, a rare occasion where he wasn't even trying to be sneaky. Just struggling to clean out his closet while you were distracted by a new book he'd brought home in the living room, leaving you lounging on the couch, pages flipping on their own and the sound of your favorite song drifting down the hall. He was innocent for once, tossing clothes in the laundry basket and reorganizing shoes when he noticed the crooked floorboard, his fingers reaching out to see if it was properly secured just to discover how easily it could be pulled up.
And now?
He was trying his hardest not to open what very much appeared to be your diary, a familiar little heart drawn in the bottom corner of the cover.
You might actually kill him and send him straight to the afterlife if you discovered him with it.
Or even worse?
You might not even want to spend it with him anymore if you suspected he was snooping.
The stereo flipped off in the living room, and in a moment of panic, he was scrambling to fix the floorboard and stand up, shoving the small book into the bookbag hanging up in his closet. Dusting off his jeans and sliding into his desk chair right as the door creaked open.
"Hey," He nervously greeted, fiddling with his fingers as he felt your weight slide into his lap, wrists thrown around his neck before you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, lips tracing over the pale scars there.
Gojo tried to kiss your lips, just to miss and press a soft peck to the tip of your nose instead, earning a tiny giggle that made his cheeks flush pink.
If you were striving off his attention, he was getting addicted to yours.
Every kiss, every touch, every little sound and flash of color he could make out made him long for more, his heart hollowed out like he could try to trap you inside it, let you live there instead.
The dreams we're getting stronger too, and if he was convinced before, he was certain now that it was you there with him, you occupying his sleep the same way you occupied his space.
He actually got to see you there, got to laugh and linger in the weird limbo, even if he rarely remembered more than bits of pieces the next day. The shape of your lips. The crinkle by your eyes.
Sometimes a story you'd tell him.
Never the beginning or the end, but the bits in between.
Gojo attempted to draw you from the scraps he could recall, but uh, he wasn't exactly an artist. The little frowny face you'd scribbled next to a bunch of question marks on the page beneath it proved that.
"Satoru," A voice softly spoke, and he jolted.
Eyes going wide, everything else forgotten as he squeezed your sides tight, trying to wrap his brain around it.
You said his name. And he heard it.
Little laughs and faint moans were one thing. But a full word? Your pretty voice calling out to him?
His pulse pounded in his eardrums, threatening to drown you out, his fingers slipped under the thin fabric of the shirt he couldn't see just to feel your skin underneath, to feel as close to you as possible.
"I heard that," He breathed, disbelief still shining in his eyes. "I heard you."
"R-really?" A quiet stammer, just as nervous and flustered as he was. Gojo rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times before slowly nodding.
"Yeah," He answered, and then he was standing up, picking you up with him and laughing like he heard the funniest joke in the world.
You were heavier than he expected - for a ghost, he meant. Not weightless, but as if he was actually lifting your body.
Gojo could be clueless, but thankfully, he at least knew better than to voice that and accidentally annoy you.
"Say something else," He requested, anxious excitement of his own bleeding through when he set you back down, shaky hands clumsily trying to caress your cheeks, dying to hear you speak again. "Anything."
"Satoru," You repeated, giddy and trying not to giggle this time, your hands reaching up to cup his face, accidentally bumping into his glasses. "I like you. A lot."
"I like you more."
And seriously, even a skeptic like Suguru would have to admit you existed when you could actually talk to him.
"Satoru," Geto sighed, cutting him a look that was more concerned than surprised. "It was kinda funny at first, but I think you should see a doctor."
"C'mon," Gojo groaned, half-dragging him down the hall to the front door of his apartment.
It was a spur of a moment thing, meeting up after his shift ended a couple days later to show Geto the diary and once again, ask for advice regarding his love life. Or, uh, could he still call it that if you weren't living?
Either way, Geto took the book from him and flicked through it, probably expecting Gojo's handwriting, or some other hoax. But whatever he saw just made Geto scowl, asking what the fuck was wrong with him before he threw the diary in his own bag before Gojo could ask for it back.
And somehow, in his instance that he wasn't making any of it up, he accidentally ended up inviting him over after dinner.
Geto's lips were pressed in a thin line, disappointed or in disbelief, but choosing not to comment as Gojo turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.
The apartment was eerily silent.
Nothing on, no noises, curtains mostly drawn and long shadows cast across the the dim living room.
"Well," Suguru slowly said, letting out a second long sigh. "It's certainly creepy."
"Honey, can you come out? I want you to meet someone," Gojo called out, flipping on a lamp just for it to immediately turn back off. He laughed, like it wasn't, in fact, creepy, readjusting his glasses and wiping the sweat on his palms off on his shirt.
Were you upset? Or was this your idea of a joke?
Okay, he hadn't mentioned bringing Geto over, but he never considered you might mind.
"Please," He pouted, turning the lamp on again and glancing around the empty room. You tidied up while he was gone, all the books put up and a blanket nearly folded over the back of the couch. The lilies he'd bought for you died after a few days, but he was quick to replace them with fresh pink peonies instead (and actually buy a vase this time).
"Do you want the number for my therapist?" Geto deadpanned.
"She's real," Gojo insisted, and as if to prove his point, a book suddenly fell from the shelf, clattering loudly to the floor.
He could see the way Geto's brows were quick to cinch together, how his eyes squinted to slits as he searched for some clear string or mechanism to make it happen. But then the tv turned on, the remote floating as you started flicking through the channels, before tossing it back on the coffee table.
"Ha-ha," Geto dryly said. "Very funny. So how are you doing that?"
Then his jaw went tight, a flicker of surprise registering in his dark eyes, and Gojo guessed you were probably touching him, maybe grabbing his hand or poking him.
"He's not," You giggled, and Gojo noticed the fabric wrinkling on Geto's sleeve as if you were tugging on it. "I am."
He quickly realized bringing Geto over may have been a mistake.
And yeah, it was silly, and absolutely stupid, but you were his ghost, you were supposed to haunt him.
Not sit between the two of them on the couch and play a weird fucked-up version of twenty questions with Geto where you took turns answering questions about being dead - or alive.
He felt like a fucking idiot for not thinking of something like that sooner.
It didn't matter much though - you still passed on anything and everything personal.
How you died, if you had any family, only hesitantly offering your first name and age. The one you'd still be stuck at even when birthdays came and passed.
He did get confirmation you couldn't leave the apartment though. That you'd found yourself stuck here two years ago. How much you hated the tenant before him. That somehow the stuff that used to sap all your energy, like turning on the stereo or opening cabinets, was easy to do now.
In exchange, they tried to fill you in on modern events. Random bits of gossip or latest news stories. Gojo wondered if you wanted to ask about people you used to know, if there was someone out there who loved you that would kill for a chance to talk to you just one more time like this.
And all he discovered was just the thought of someone else having you, all of you, made his heart lurch, his stomach churn, every piece of him feel sick.
Even listening to Geto chuckle, to see his lips curl up in the same smirk that always made girls wilt and throw themselves at him, hearing your sweet voice speaking to someone else, that was already shitty enough.
But realizing he might never have even had a chance if you weren't confined here with him?
It fucking sucked.
His nervous chatter faded, folding his hands in his lap to keep from pushing up his glasses every second and feeling more like a ghost than you were.
But you noticed, your body brushing closer against his while you pried his hands apart to hold one. He had to look away, hoping you wouldn't notice how sweaty it was, that you wouldn't start wishing you lived with Geto instead of him.
What if you started thinking his rants were boring? What if you thought Digimon was immature compared to Geto's more tasteful interests?
Almost like you could sense his anxiety, you leaned in closer, and he felt your breath on his neck. Slow kisses trailing upward, canines scraping against his tendons until your mouth settled on his jaw. Reminding him where your affections still laid.
"Hey, Suguru," Gojo managed, squeezing your hand as he cleared his throat. "I'm pretty tired. Mind heading out? I'll call you tomorrow."
Technically-speaking, he was tired. Therefore, it wasn't a lie.
To be totally honest though?
He wanted your lips somewhere else. Wanted your nails raking down his shoulder blades and your warmth wrapped around him.
"Sure," Geto replied, meaning to push off the couch only to accident push off your leg instead, and you let out a cute little yelp while he chuckled. "Sorry, sweetheart."
Yeah, no, Gojo was never inviting Geto back.
There was no way in hell he was sharing you.
And you didn't mind, did you?
He could take care of you - great care of you even!
His palms spreading your thighs and pinning them down to the mattress, the small shorts and your underwear he couldn't see shoved aside so he could get a taste of you.
Dragging his tongue over your slit, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking softly while phantom fingers tugged and pulled at his hair. Getting tangled as you moaned his name, hips arching up off his bed.
"Taste so good, baby," He groaned, eagerly licking and lapping at you while his glasses fogged up.
Were you more sensitive like this?
It sure fucking seemed like it - every exploratory drag of his tongue made you whine and whimper.
Your thighs were tense, muscles twitching as you strained to close them together, squirming to get more friction when he dove in deeper. He'd been at it for half an hour, but he just couldn't seem to get enough.
His lips were glossy, slick with spit and you, but he was pretty sure he could live off of this, sustain himself on your kisses and your cunt.
"Satoru," You whined, and he released one of your thighs to shove two fingers inside instead, scissoring and stretching you out just to hear the strangled gasp escape your throat. Pretty little broken breathing, picturing what you might look like with your head thrown back against his pillow while he fingered you until you were begging to cum. "Please, ple-"
"Be my girlfriend," He huffed, like he wasn't knuckle deep and you weren't dead.
"Y-you know I-I," You were stuttering, but he didn't want the reminder of what you were probably going to say.
That he should probably find a living girl when all he wanted was you.
"Just say yes," He quietly murmured, returning to sucking on your clit while his fingers drove back in deeper, your walls squeezing at the soft plea of his voice.
"Alright," You weakly murmured, your voice strained. He was rutting against the bed, his cock already painfully close to cumming in his boxers as your thighs trembled under his touch. "I'm yours."
He didn't know who finished first.
Just that he'd do anything to finally fuck you.
Settling for snuggles underneath the sheets post-shower, damp hair sticking to his forehead while you fixed his glasses, your naked body resting on top of his.
Softly sighing, his arms wrapped around you, your fingers running over his scars like they were something you found beautiful.
Like he was something you found beautiful.
For the first night in months, he dozed off to a dreamless sleep. Eyes fluttering closed, just to crack them open to bright sunlight streaming into his room a handful of hours later.
Blinking a few times, brushing your hair back with a yawn, murmuring something half-incoherent that hadn't fully left his lips when he glanced down and saw you.
Actually saw you.
You hadn't noticed yet, your cheeks still squished against his chest, eyes closed. He wasn't sure if you could actually sleep, or if maybe it was still a matter of habit, like breathing or blinking.
Tentatively, he reached out, his fingers finding flesh, soft and sweet and his, although your form still flickered, almost translucent as he traced over your cheekbones.
summary. Gojo Satoruâstrongest, cockiest, and, according to him, the hottest man aliveâbows to no one. Until you came along and suddenly, heâs on his knees.
word count. 10.6k (i..dont know)
content. mdni fem! reader, zombie apocalypse au, violence, blood, pet names, satoru is a certified tease, cute banter because we love that here, they're so down bad for each other, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, loss of virginity (reader), breeding, creampie, soft satoru <3
author's note. i miss my man
The sky had been burning when the world ended.
You were fifteenâjust a kid with scraped knees and a heart too big for the horrors it was about to witness.Â
Sirens wailed through the streets, helicopters thundered above, and the sharp stench of smoke and decay clung to the air like death itself. One moment, your parents were urging you to run, voices trembling with fear. The next, everything shattered. A scream. Blood. The gurgled breath of something that wasnât quite human anymore.
You had survived. Somehow. Alone.
But the cost of survival was everything.
-
The woods are silent, save for the crunch of your boots over frostbitten leaves. The moon hangs high above, pale and cold, casting everything in an unforgiving glow. You keep your knife gripped tight in one hand, the other cradling your growling stomach. Itâs been three days since you last found anything remotely edible.
Every snap of a branch, every whisper of wind feels like a threat. Years alone have trained you to expect the worst.
Then you pause.
Smoke. Just a wisp of it in the air. You sniff again, slower this time. It's faint, but definitely there.
You move like a shadow, quiet and cautious, weaving through trees toward the scent. And then you see it:
A flickering campfire nestled in a hollow clearing, throwing gold and orange light onto the figures beside it. Two men. Asleepâat least, you hope they are. One is lying flat on the ground, the other propped against a log, limbs long and sprawled, a blindfold covering his eyes.
Thereâs food by the fire. Real food. Bread. Cans. Water.
You inch closer, heart hammering. Itâs been years since youâve seen other people. You donât know if that makes this moment safer⊠or far more dangerous.
You creep into the circle of warmth, fingers itching toward the supplies. Just one thing. Thatâs all you need.
You barely breathe as you crouch beside the campfire, the heat brushing against your frozen skin like a long-forgotten comfort. Your fingers tremble as you reach for a loaf of breadâreal breadâbut just as your hand closes around it, your boot nudges something metallic.
CLANG.
The tin can hits the ground, and for a moment, silence swallows everything.
Thenâmovement.
You whip your head toward the two figures by the fire. One shoots upright in an instant, long-limbed and alarmingly fast. The other groans awake, slower, disoriented. You donât even have time to run.
"Don't move," the taller one saysâvoice low, commanding. You meet his gaze andâholy hell.
Snow-white hair, cerulean eyes. He stands like someone whoâs fought the world and won. His blindfold hangs around his neck, exposing everything. It's himâthe one with the voice that makes your skin prickle and a face that doesnât belong in this nightmare world.
"Well, well," he drawls, taking a step forward. "And here I thought we were the only pretty faces left."
You swallow, frozen. His companion grabs a weapon, steps forward too, more cautious.
"Who are you?" the second man demands.
The white-haired manâs eyes never leave yours. He smirks.
"Sheâs hungry. Look at her. Poor thing."
You clench your fists. Youâve survived too long to be pitied.
"Touch me and I swear to godâ"
The man raises his hands, mockingly innocent.
"Easy, sweetheart. No oneâs touching you⊠unless you want us to."
You scrunch up your face, disgusted and his grin widens just a little.
You lift your knife. âI donât want trouble. I just need food.â
âIâd say knocking over our supplies in the middle of the night is kinda trouble,â the dark-haired one says. His hair is tied back, strands falling loose around his face, his grip on his weapon steady. âWho are you?â
You swallow thickly. Itâs been so long since anyoneâs asked you that. Your voice is hoarse. âJust someone trying to survive.â
The white-haired one takes a lazy step forward, hands raised in mock surrender.
âChill, Suguru. Sheâs not here to kill us,â he says, and then turns back to you. âYou got a name, mystery girl?â
You eye him warily. ââŠWhy do you care?â
He grins. âBecause mineâs Gojo Satoru. And this grumpy one is Suguru.â
Suguru rolls his eyes. âDonât tell her our names, dumbass.â
But GojoâSatoru, apparentlyâjust shrugs, looking far too amused for someone who just woke up to a stranger trying to rob him.
Your fingers tighten on your knife. But something about him⊠those eyes⊠that voiceâŠ
âYou really gonna stab the guy who might be your best chance at staying alive?â he asks, cocking his head. âCome sit. Eat. Or run. Up to you.â
Your stomach growls loudly.
Satoru grins wider. âThatâs what I thought.â
You slowly lower your knife, but donât put it awayânot yet. Your eyes stay locked on them as you inch closer to the fire. The warmth should be a comfort, but your muscles are still taut, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Satoru sprawls back onto a log like heâs done this a hundred times. Heâs still smilingâlazy, smug, like heâs enjoying this little show. Suguru doesnât relax. He stays seated, but his eyes follow your every move, knife still held tight in his hand.
You kneel beside the fire, close enough to reach the food, far enough to lunge away if you need to. Thereâs a dented pot with some kind of stew, still warm, and a few pieces of bread wrapped in cloth.
âHelp yourself,â Satoru says, waving a hand like heâs offering a royal feast. âWe even warmed it up for you.â
You shoot him a glare but reach out cautiously, taking just a little. You sniff the stew first. Watch them.
âDonât worry, itâs not poisoned,â Suguru says dryly.
âThatâs what someone who poisoned it would say,â you mutter, tearing off a bite of bread.
Satoru snorts. âSheâs got a mouth on her. I like her.â
You ignore that. Instead, you eat slowly, eyes flicking between them. They donât move. Suguru keeps watch. Satoru lounges like this is the most interesting thing thatâs happened all week.
âHow long have you two been out here?â you ask finally.
âLong enough,â Suguru says, tone clipped.
"Too long," Satoru says, tossing a pebble into the fire like this is just another lazy night for him. "We move around, but we've got a base. Old prison, about twenty miles from here. You?"
You donât answer right away.
âAlone,â you say after a beat. âIâve been alone.â
The fire crackles between you.
Suguruâs gaze softensâjust for a second. But Satoruâs smile stays.
âWell,â he says, stretching out his long legs, âyouâre not alone anymore.â
You narrow your eyes. âIâm not staying.â
âDidnât say you had to.â He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. âBut something tells me you might not leave either.â
Heâs not threatening. Heâs just⊠certain.
Youâre crouched by the fire, still tense, still not entirely trusting, when Satoru leans back on his hands, head tilted.
âYou should come with us,â he says, like itâs the simplest thing in the world. âYouâll be safer.â
Your eyes flick to Suguruâhe doesnât hide the way his jaw clenches.
âShe could be a liability,â Suguru mutters. âYou donât know her.â
âNo,â Satoru agrees, grinning at you. âBut I like her.â
Suguru sighs, deep and disapproving, but you see itâthat soft flicker in his eyes that means heâs already given in.
Satoru turns back to you. âWeâre heading out at first light. If youâre in, pack whatever youâve got.â
You nod, hesitant. But, maybe⊠maybe this is the start of something.
-
A gentle nudge to your shoulder. Then a voice, light and annoyingly cheerful.
âWake up, sleepyhead. Big day today.â
You blink awake to Satoru crouching beside you, white hair a wild halo against the rising sun. He grins.
âYou snore, by the way.â
âI do not.â
âYou do. It was cute.â
You groan, dragging a hand over your face. âRemind me why I agreed to come with you again?â
âBecause Iâm charming,â he beams. âNow come on. We've got a long way to goâand Suguruâs already in a mood.â
You raise an eyebrow. âMaybe he wouldnât be if you stopped talking.â
âOhhh, savage!â he clutches his chest, stumbling back like you just stabbed him. âYou wound me, stranger.â
You roll your eyes and sling your bag over your shoulder. âNot a stranger anymore, remember? You practically adopted me last night.â
Satoru grins, falling into step beside you. âTrue. Youâre my problem now.â
âJoy,â you mutter, but your lips twitch despite yourself.
Suguruâs already waiting up ahead, arms crossed, brow arched like heâs already tired of this nonsense. âYou two done flirting or should I keep walking?â
You open your mouth to protest, but Satoru gets there first.
âJealousy doesnât suit you, Suguru.â
âI will leave you in the woods,â Suguru replies flatly.
âYouâd miss me in an hour.â
âYou wish.â
You stifle a laugh and glance between the two. âAre you always like this?â
Satoru flashes you a grin. âBuckle up, sweetheart. You havenât seen anything yet.â
-
The trek through the forest had been relatively quietâbirds rustled above, trees whispering overhead, and Satoru talking your ear off. But midway through the journey, something shifts.
Suguruâs head tilts first, eyes narrowing at the faint crunch in the distance. Not a squirrel. Not a rabbit.
You hear it next.
Low. Guttural.
A hiss.
Then another.
They come from the trees. Slow at firstâone stumbles into view, then two, then more. Rotting limbs. Glazed-over eyes. That sickening gurgle of hunger.
âAw, shit,â Satoru grins like itâs a party. âLooks like weâve got company.â
Suguru already has his blade drawn, calm as ever. âDonât play around, Satoru.â
âNo promises.â He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck with a sharp tilt. âTime to impress the new girl.â
The first zombie lungesâand Satoru moves. A blur of motion, too fast to follow. The undeadâs head twists unnaturally before it even hits the ground.
Suguru moves more fluidlyâclean, precise slashes. No theatrics. Just deadly efficiency. His blade slices through two more, not even a drop of blood on him.
But they just keep coming.
Your heart pounds in your ears. Adrenaline surges. Youâd been careful to avoid confrontation all these years, but this is different. You're not alone anymore. And you wonât be dead weight.
You draw your bladeâsharpened scrap metal turned makeshift macheteâand steady your breath.
One charges. You duck, spin, and drive the blade clean through its skull. Another reaches for you. You kick it back hard, burying your weapon in its chest before pulling it free with a grunt.
Satoru whistles low. âWell damn.â
âFocus,â Suguru mutters, cutting another down.
You move together now, three separate forces of destruction.
Satoruâs grinning like a madman, whirling and laughing with every kill. âYou seeing this? Sheâs got bite!â
Suguru flicks blood off his blade. âYou could take a lesson from her.â
Zombies litter the ground within minutes. The forest falls silent againâexcept for your panting breaths.
Satoru walks over, brushing blood off his cheek. âWell, that was fun. You good?â
You nod, chest still heaving. âPeachy.â
âOkay, badass,â he says with a grin, then nudges your shoulder playfully. âI take it back. Youâre not just some lost little stray. Youâve got some claws.â
Suguru simply gives you a once-over, silent approval in his gaze.
You sheath your blade. âTold you I could handle myself.â
Satoru grins wider. âYeah, and it was hot.â
-
The journey's been long, your legs aching from the endless trek, your guard never once loweredânot even with Satoruâs ridiculous jokes or Suguruâs unnervingly sharp eyes on you.
But when the trees begin to thin and the rusted silhouette of a massive abandoned prison looms aheadâwalls towering, fences lined with jagged barbed wire, and lookout towers standing tall like watchful sentinelsâyou feel something you haven't in years:
Hope.
Gojo stretches lazily, like the walk didnât faze him at all. "Home sweet hellhole," he grins. "Bet you werenât expecting this kind of palace."
Suguru doesnât say much, just gestures for you to follow. The guards on the watchtower whistle low when they see the trio approaching, and the gates creak open. Inside, the prison yard is aliveâpeople bustling, fires burning in steel barrels, children laughing (actual children), and survivors moving with purpose.
You're stunned. You didnât think this kind of order still existed.
A kid runs up to Gojo. âSatoru! Youâre back!â
âObviously,â he winks, tossing his jacket at the kid. âMiss me?â
You stare, wide-eyed.
âYouâre like⊠respected here?â
âTerrifying, isnât it?â Gojo deadpans. âStick with me, newbie. Iâll show you the ropes. Maybe even let you survive.â
Suguru glances back, quiet for a moment. âDonât get too comfortable. Itâs safe, but itâs not paradise.â
Gojo leans closer to you as you're led through the gates.
âDonât worry. If anything tries to eat youâaside from meâIâll kill it.â
Your face burns and he just smirks like heâs got you all figured out.
âAww, donât get all shy, now. Whereâd all that bite from earlier go?â he teases, voice low and entirely too smug.
You shove him with a scowl, cheeks still flaming. âShut up, lecher.â
He stumbles back with a dramatic gasp, hand clutching his chest. âLecher? Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.â
Suguru sighs ahead of you. âIgnore him. He gets like this when heâs not punched often enough.â
Gojo just throws an arm around your shoulders, unbothered and still grinning. âAdmit it, you missed human interaction.â
You glare up at him. âI missed silence.â
âToo bad,â he chirps, âyouâre stuck with me now.â
You follow Gojo through the looming gates of the old prison turned fortress, the creak of rusted metal echoing off cold concrete walls. The place is⊠intimidating, but secure. High fences, makeshift watchtowers, guards with weapons patrolling like hawks. Survivors glance your wayâcurious, cautiousâbut no one approaches just yet.
âWell,â Gojo grins, throwing his arms out dramatically, âwelcome to paradise, sweetheart.â
You shoot him a glare, but before you can answer, a voice calls out.
âDonât call new recruits that, Gojo.â
A tall woman leans against the infirmary doorway, cigarette dangling between her fingers, lab coat stained with faded blood. She looks you up and down, then flicks ash to the ground with a sigh.
âIeiri Shoko. Iâm the doctor over here,â she says. âYou look like hell.â
ââŠThanks?â
âShe means âyouâll fit right in,ââ Gojo says brightly, nudging your shoulder. âSheâs got a warm heart under all that⊠nicotine.â
Before you can respond, another figure approachesâsharp, calculating, blond hair swept neatly back and a stern face that reads no nonsense allowed.
âNanami Kento,â he introduces himself. âI hope you know how to follow rules.â
âAnd sheâll stay alive longer if she learns structure.â
You barely have time to absorb that before someone barrels into the conversation like a human golden retriever.
âGojo-sensei! Youâre back!â
A pink-haired young man skids to a stop beside you, eyes wide with excitement. âWhoaânew person?! Hi! Iâm Itadori Yuji!â
You blink, overwhelmed by the sudden burst of energy.
âYuji,â Gojo sighs fondly. âTone it down a little, yeah? Sheâs been through it.â
Yujiâs smile softens. âRight, sorry. Stillâwelcome. You hungry? Weâve got canned peaches! Theyâre not that bad if you hold your breath.â
A scoff cuts through the chaos.
âThatâs how you welcome someone? âPeaches if you hold your breathâ?â
You turn to see a girl with sharp eyes, short auburn hair, and a confident stance stroll up like she owns the place.
âKugisaki Nobara,â she says, hand on her hip. âDonât let the dumb smiles fool youâYujiâs annoying, but heâs not dangerous. Usually.â
Yuji pouts. âRude.â
And last, from the shadows near the barracks, a low voice.
âDonât overwhelm her.â
A tall boy steps forward, dark hair, brooding expression. Cold eyes meet yours briefly before shifting away like heâs already bored of this interaction.
âFushiguro Megumi.â
You blink. âNice to meet you⊠all.â
âYouâll get used to the chaos,â Nobara says. âEventually.â
Gojoâs grin widens, like a proud dad watching his weird little family.
âSee? Told you youâd like it here.â
Youâre not sure yet. But for the first time in years, youâre not alone.
-
The base is a repurposed prison, all concrete walls and rusted bars, but the way Gojo walks its halls, it might as well be a palace.
You roll your eyes but follow him in. He gestures with a dramatic sweep of his arm. âYour very own cellâer, suite.â
The room is small, but clean. A bed shoved into one corner, a patched-up mattress, and even a chipped mirror on the wall. You nod, impressed despite yourself.
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. âI gave you the one with a window. You can thank me later.â
You smirk and step back out into the hallway. âTrying to impress me, Gojo?â
âOh, absolutely. Iâm a peacock in the apocalypse, baby.â
You laugh under your breath and follow him down a narrow hall. Thereâs a dip in the concrete, a crack in the floor you donât notice until your boot catchesâyour heart jumps as you pitch forward, but Gojoâs arms are immediately around you.
Strong. Steady. Warm.
âCareful now,â he murmurs, voice all silk and smugness. âYou fell for me already?â
Youâre pressed against his chest, your breath caught in your throat, face heating up. He doesnât move right awayâhis hands settle on your waist, casual and intimate in a way that makes your stomach flip.
You shove him off with a flustered glare. âShut up, lecher.â
He grins, wide and infuriating. âThatâs more like it.â
The rest of the tour is quieter. You pass rooms where others sleep, the mess hall, the infirmary where Shokoâs set up shop. You even glimpse Yuji hauling supplies with Nobara snapping at him in the distance.
But then Gojo stops in front of a heavy iron doorâno windows, no markings. His face changes. The joking fades.
âWhatever you do,â he says, voice low, âdonât go into the commissary. Not alone. Not ever.â
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness.
âWhy?â
He doesnât answer immediately. His blue eyes sharpen beneath his snowy lashes.
âBecause even monsters like us keep our secrets somewhere,â he says softly. âAnd some doors are locked for a reason.â
You stare at him, heart knocking against your ribs.
But he flashes you that lazy grin again, like nothing happened. âNow come on. You havenât seen the courtyard. Yuji likes to wrestle people out thereâitâs horrible. Youâll love it.â
And just like that, the moment passes⊠but the warning stays.
-
The rooftopâs quiet late at night.
The chaos of the base fades into a hush, just the distant hum of wind brushing over cracked cement and rusted fences. You lie back against the cool surface, arms behind your head, eyes fixed on the sky above. For once, itâs clear. A spatter of stars gleam like glass shards across a velvet sky.
You let yourself breathe.
No infected. No screaming. No fear.
Just the stars.
Footsteps approachâlight, familiar, cocky.
âI knew you were a stargazer,â Gojo says, easing himself down beside you with a dramatic sigh. âYouâve got that dreamy, melancholic look. So poetic.â
You donât look at him. âYouâve got that annoying, uninvited energy. So parasitic.â
He barks out a laugh. âOw. You wound me, sweetheart.â
A beat passes. Then another.
You can feel him watching you, but for once, he doesnât speak.
And somehow, thatâs more unsettling.
ââŠYou alright?â you ask, finally glancing his way.
Heâs leaning back on his elbows, white hair messy from the wind, blue eyes locked on the starsâbut theyâre distant. Quiet. A far cry from their usual teasing glint.
âIâm heading out tomorrow,â he says casually. âScouting mission. Few days tops.â
You blink. âOh.â
Something flickers in your chest. It shouldnât. Not like this.
âOh,â you repeat, softer. âRight.â
A part of you wants to ask why heâs going. Another part wants to pretend it doesnât matter. You settle for neither, chewing your lip, trying to ignore the weight settling in your gut.
Satoru glances at you then, his smirk lazy but his voice just a touch softer.
âTry not to miss me, yeah?â
You scoff. âIâll throw a party the second you leave.â
âThatâs what they all say,â he murmurs, leaning just a little closer. âThen they realize how boring life is without me.â
His smile is all mischiefâbut behind it, thereâs something warmer. Something real.
And for once⊠you donât fire back. You just look at him.
Maybe youâll miss him a little. Just a little.
-
You donât expect his absence to linger. But it does.
You feel it in the small silencesâthe way the mess hall feels quieter without his dumb jokes echoing through it, how sparring sessions feel colder without him barging in with some smug, offhanded comment about your form.
At night, you find yourself back on the rooftop. The stars are still there, but they donât sparkle like they used to. Itâs stupid, you tell yourself, because what kind of person starts depending on a man like that?
Heâs loud. Heâs infuriating. He teases you relentlessly.
But⊠he saw you. When you thought no one ever would again.
Shoko notices the way youâve been spacing out more. She doesnât say anything until the third night.
âYou okay?â
You nod. Too quickly. âFine.â
She squints at you. âYouâre not fine. Youâre moping.â
âIâm not moping.â
She clicks her tongue. âActing like someoneâs girlfriend.â
You nearly knock your cup over. âIâm notâ!â
But you donât finish that sentence. Because the words feel too close to something youâve been avoiding.
You try to bury itâtell yourself itâs just concern. Youâre just⊠grateful. Itâs not like that. You donât miss his stupid smirk or the way he always stands too close just to fluster you. You donât care about how his hair always looks so damn soft, or how his voice drops a little when heâs serious with you.
You donât.
You donât.
Then the whispers start.
âNo signal from the scouting team.â
âThey were supposed to be back by now.â
A cold chill snakes down your spine.
You start going to the gate more. Just to check. You pretend itâs coincidence.
Itâs not.
You catch yourself gripping the straps of your bag harder than usual. Youâve never hated waiting so much in your life.
Until one eveningâ
The gates finally creak open.
Your breath catches in your throat as the guards call out a name. Several figures walk through the archway, dust and blood clinging to their clothes.
And there he is.
White hair, blue eyes. One sleeve ripped off, a gash on his collarbone, dried blood staining his neckâbut heâs alive.
âSatoru,â you whisper, already walking forward.
His eyes find yours instantly. That grin pulls at his lips like it never left.
âAww, did you miss me?â
You donât answer. You just hit his shoulder. âIdiot.â
But then your hands linger, and before you can stop yourself, youâre pulling him into a tight hug.
He stiffens, just for a second. Then his arms slide around you, strong and warm.
âTry not to cry too hard,â he mutters, voice lightâbut thereâs something tight beneath it.
âI hate you,â you mumble into his shirt.
âSure you do,â he chuckles, and when you pull back, his smile softens.
You donât know what this feeling is. Or maybe you do. You just donât want to name it yet.
But you know this: Youâre glad he came back.
And for now, thatâs enough.
-
You wander the halls of the prison alone, the hum of fluorescent lights above your head flickering inconsistently. Satoru had taken the kids out back for training, and with nothing to do and no one to bother you, you figured youâd finally explore the rest of the base.
The place was massiveâtoo massive. Each cell block looked like the next, corridors looping endlessly into each other until your curiosity outweighs your sense of direction. One door, rusted and slightly ajar, catches your eye.
You shouldâve turned around.
You push it open.
Inside is dark, dusty. Shelves line the walls, broken crates and old rations tossed everywhere. You wander deeper, hesitant but unaware. That isâŠuntil it hits.
The smell.
Rotting flesh, stagnant air, the thick, unmistakable stench of death.
And thenâmovement.
Shuffling. A low groan. Shadows twitch. A hand smacks against a shelf and knocks it over with a crash.
They're here.
Your eyes snap wide and panic sets in instantly. There are so many.
You run.
You shove a metal shelf in their path, throw an old stool, anything you can get your hands on to slow them down. Your breaths are shallow, desperate. But just as you near the exitâ
Your ankle gives out.
A sick snap, searing pain, and you crash to the floor with a cry. You scramble backward, pressing yourself against the wall, using your good leg to kick anything that comes close.
This is it. This is it.
You squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding.
Gunshots.
The sound like thunder crashing right next to your ear.
You blink up, barely processing the white blur tearing through the undead like paper.
âI told you not to go in here!â he shouts, voice slicing through the chaos.
âSatoruâ!â
The zombies turn just in time for Satoru to drive his fist into the nearest oneâs chest, cracking bone and sending it flying back into the others like bowling pins.
âSeriously?â he growls, stepping in front of you, his broad back shielding your crumpled form. âI leave you alone for five minutes.â
One lunges from the side. Gojo ducks effortlessly, grabs it by the throat, and slams it into the ground so hard its skull splits open on impact. Another claws at his shoulder, but he just grabs its wrist, twists, and kicks out its knee in one brutal motion. It collapses, and he doesnât even look as he drives a sharp piece of wood through its head.
And thenâyou're in his arms. Just like that.
Lifted effortlessly, pressed against his chest as he strides out of the hellhole.
You cling to him, trembling.
âI didnât know it was the commissary,â you whisper between sobs. âI didnât mean toâI didnât knowâI justâGod, Iâm so sorry, Gojo, Iââ
His voice is low, firm, but gentle. âHey. Breathe. Iâve got you.â
You look up at him, lip quivering. âIâI made you worryâŠâ
âYeah, you did,â he says with a wry little smirk, but his eyes are too soft, too relieved to match it. âDonât ever do that again, got it?â
You nod.
âGood,â he murmurs, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face. âBecause if I lost you... Iâd have to kill the rest of the world just for pissing me off.â
Your breath hitches.
You stare up at him, heart pounding, face flushed from more than just the sprint for your life.
âW-What kind of psycho logic is that?â you mutter, trying to deflect, your voice barely steady.
Satoru smirks down at you, still holding you effortlessly in his arms like you weigh nothing. âCâmon, donât act so surprised. Iâm dramatic, havenât you noticed?â
âYouâre insane,â you whisper, trying not to combust under his gaze.
âAnd youâre blushing,â he points out smugly, nose nearly brushing yours. âKinda cute, actually.â
You twist in his hold, hiding your face against his shoulder. âShut up,â you mumble, voice muffled.
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. âCanât. Teasing you is the only thing keeping me sane these days.â
You can feel the tension slipping away, replaced by something heavier, warmer. He lowers you gently onto a nearby bench just outside the danger zone, kneeling before you like itâs second nature, hands skimming your calves as he examines your ankle again.
When he looks up this time, his expression is different. Less playful. More raw.
âI meant it, you know,â he says quietly. âYou scared the hell out of me in there.â
You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. âI didnât mean toââ
âI know,â he cuts in, hand brushing yours. âBut next time, brat, wait for me. No solo adventures.â
Your lips twitch. âYouâre calling me a brat now?â
âBorrowing the title. Think I earned it after saving your ass.â
You huff a laugh, cheeks still warm. ââŠThanks.â
His grin softens. âAnytime.â
And just like that, you both sit thereâhis fingers still wrapped gently around your hand, his thumb rubbing absent circles over your knucklesâas the adrenaline fades and something else takes its place. Something quieter. Heavier. Charged.
-
Satoru insists on carrying you the whole way to the infirmary, ignoring your every protest.
âThis is unnecessary,â you mutter, burying your face in his shoulder to avoid every curious glance.
âYou twisted your ankle and almost got mauled. Humor me,â he says, smug but gentle, like the two can coexist in him with ease.
He kicks open the infirmary door with his foot.
âDelivery for one idiot who wandered into a no-go zone,â he calls out casually.
Shoko looks up from her desk, raising a brow at the sight of you both. âWell, well. If it isnât the baseâs golden boy and his damsel in distress.â
âI wasnât distressed,â you blurt out instantly, wiggling in Gojoâs hold.
âOh?â she hums, amused. âYou sure? Because I couldâve sworn I heard âGojo! Help!â from all the way down the hall.â
You splutter. âThatâs notâ I meanââ
âLoudly,â she adds with a pointed smirk.
Satoru just laughs and sets you down on one of the cots, his hand lingering a little longer than necessary on your back before stepping aside.
âSheâs fine. Just the ankle,â he says. âBut maybe check if she sprained anything else. She fell pretty hard.â
Shoko moves closer, completely ignoring the medical part for now, because sheâs too focused on watching the both of you squirm.
âOhhh,â she teases, eyes sparkling. âLook at the two of you. Cute. Almost like a couple.â
You and Satoru freeze at the exact same time.
âNope!â
âNot a couple!â
âDefinitely not!â
You shoot each other a panicked glance and then immediately look away, flustered messes in stereo.
Shoko snorts. âUh-huh. Sure.â
You glare. âCan we just focus on my ankle now?â
âFine, fine,â she drawls, clearly enjoying herself. âJust sayinâ. Wouldnât be the worst match. You get saved, he gets to play hero. Very fairytale.â
âI hate all of this,â you mutter under your breath, while Satoru just smiles to himself, unbothered but definitely pleased.
When Shoko starts wrapping your ankle, he leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching.
And you swear you see itâthat tiny, knowing glint in his eyes.
Like he wants her to say it again.
Because maybe, just maybe⊠he doesnât mind the idea.
-
Itâs later that night when thereâs a knock at your door. Youâve barely had time to settle in, still awkwardly hobbling around on one foot with your bandaged ankle.
âWho is it?â you call.
âItâs your favorite,â comes the unmistakable voice from the other side.
You roll your eyes but canât stop the tiny smile tugging at your lips. âDidnât know Nanami suddenly got chatty.â
A muffled chuckle. âHa. Hilarious. Open up.â
You limp to the door and unlock it. Satoru is standing there, a little disheveled, hands full.
âBrought you dinner,â he says casually, holding out a tray with two mismatched bowls, steam still curling from the soup. âFigured you might be tired of Shokoâs painkillers and snark.â
You blink, caught off guard. âYou didnât have to.â
âI know,â he says dramatically, stepping in without being invited. âThatâs what makes me so noble.â
You laugh despite yourself, and he grins like that was the goal all along. He sets the tray down on your little desk, then gestures toward your bed.
âCome on, sit. Canât have you falling over again. One near-death experience per day is my limit.â
You sit, trying not to look too charmed when he settles next to youâclose, but not too closeâjust enough for your knees to brush.
âI still feel terrible about earlier,â you say after a moment, poking at the edge of your bowl. âI didnât mean to worry you.â
âYou didnât worry me,â he says too quickly, too nonchalantly.
You glance up. âLiar.â
He sighs and leans back on his hands, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
âFine. Maybe I panicked a little. Sue me.â
A silence lingers, not uncomfortable. Just⊠warm.
Then, softer: âDonât do that again, okay?â
You look at him, really look at himâthe shadows under his eyes, the slight dip in his brow, the way his voice softens when itâs just you and him.
And something in your chest stirs. Something thatâs been creeping in, slow and steady, ever since he offered you food by a fire that first night.
You nod. âI wonât.â
He glances over, catches your gazeâand doesnât look away this time.
Thereâs something unspoken passing between you. Familiar. Intense. Safe.
âYouâre really something, yâknow that?â he murmurs.
You raise a brow. âThat supposed to be a compliment?â
He smirks. âDepends. You gonna fall harder for me if it is?â
You flush instantly. âSatoruââ
He laughs and nudges your bowl toward you. âEat before it gets cold, princess.â
You grumble under your breath but dig in.
And Satoru?
He watches you with that same lopsided grin, heart doing something stupid in his chest.
Because yeahâmaybe you fell.
But maybe heâs been falling, too.
-
Itâs past midnight when you stir.
The pain in your ankle has dulled to a throb, but it isnât what wakes you. Itâs⊠something else. A presence. Warm. Close.
You blink against the low glow of the hallway light seeping under your door, and when your eyes adjustâ
You see him.
Satoru.
Slouched in the chair by your bed, long legs awkwardly folded, head tipped to the side, snowy hair falling across his face in soft, messy tufts. His mouth is slightly parted, breathing slow and even. His arms are crossed, like he hadnât meant to fall asleep there.
Like he was just keeping watch.
Just in case.
Your heart does a little flip.
You shift quietly, trying not to make a sound. But even with all your care, the mattress creaksâbarely. His eyes snap open immediately, hand twitching toward a weapon that isnât there. Pure instinct.
Then he sees you. And relaxes.
âOh,â he breathes, voice gravelly with sleep. âYouâre awake.â
You sit up slowly. âWere you⊠here all night?â
He rubs the back of his neck. âNot all night. Just since⊠yâknow. Evening.â
You squint at him. âSatoru.â
He sighs. âFine. Yeah. All night.â
You stare at him. âWhy?â
He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. âWanted to make sure you didnât wander off again and get yourself eaten.â
You frown. âYou shouldâve slept in your room.â
He smirks. âWhat, and miss out on babysitting you?â
You chuck a pillow at him.
He catches it easily and grins. But when he sees you holding his gaze, that grin softens.
âI just wanted to make sure you were okay,â he admits, quieter now.
Something gentle settles in your chest. You pull your blanket up and scoot slightly to the side.
ââŠThereâs space. If youâre tired.â
He blinks at you. âAre you asking me to cuddle, orrrrâŠâ
You glare. âIâm offering you a more comfortable sleeping arrangement.â
He doesnât hesitate.
He slides in beside you carefully, so carefully, like youâll break if he jostles you too much. And then you feel the warmth of him next to you, his presence steady and solid and safe.
ââŠThis okay?â he murmurs, his voice a whisper in the dark.
You nod.
And slowly, slowly, you feel his fingers brush yours under the blanket. He doesn't hold your handânot yet. Just touches.
Testing the waters.
You donât pull away.
And in the silence that follows, you hear his breathing even out again.
But yours?
Yours is all over the place.
-
Morning sunlight filters through the barred window, casting soft stripes across your face.
You're warm. So warm.
Your cheek is pressed against something solid. Something that rises and falls gently beneath you. And thereâs a hand resting at the small of your back, pulling you closer, keeping you there.
Your heart skips.
Your eyes blink openâand there he is.
Gojo Satoru. Asleep. Face relaxed and serene, messy white hair haloed in gold light. His other arm is curled under your pillow, supporting your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And you're lying on top of him.
Your breath catches in your throat.
You should move. You need to move.
But just as you're about to untangle yourselfâ
Click.
The door creaks open.
You freeze.
âOh my god,â comes Shokoâs voice, casual, amused, and way too smug. âWell, wellâwhat do we have here?â
You nearly leap out of bed, scrambling to sit upâonly for your body to protest painfully, and you wince with a hiss.
Satoru wakes with a start, blinking up at Shoko in confusion before slowly realizing the position you're in.
âOh,â he says blankly. âMorning, doc.â
You swat his shoulder. âSay something useful?!â
Shoko just leans against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like sheâs discovered the worldâs juiciest secret. âNo no, donât let me interrupt. I was just checking on the patient, but clearly, sheâs in very good hands.â
Youâre burning. âItâs not what it looks like!â
Shoko raises a brow. âOh, so you werenât cuddled up like two lovebirds all night? Should I tell Nanami youâve finally found someone willing to put up with your nonsense, Satoru?â
He stretches lazily and pulls the blanket back over himself with a smirk. âActually, yeah. Tell him. Maybe then heâll finally stop lecturing me about responsibility.â
You groan and bury your face in your hands. âIâm never going to live this down.â
You glare at Satoru through your fingers. âThis is your fault.â
He grins. âYou offered me a spot on the bed, your majesty.â
You shove a pillow at him. He catches itâagain.
And then he smiles, soft and teasing, voice still a little raspy from sleep.
â...So. Want me to sleep over again tonight?â
âGet out.â
-
The first few days are rough.
You try to walk without limping. Try to reach for things on your own. Try not to feel like a burden.
But then thereâs him.
You wake up to warm food at your bedside, Satoru leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin. âBrought you breakfast in bed, sweetheart. Donât get used to itâIâm not always this nice.â
He very much is.
He offers his arm without asking when you need support. Doesnât mention it when you wince or grit your teeth. Just lets you lean on him, like youâve always belonged there.
You try to carry something heavy across the hallâhe appears out of nowhere, snatching it from your hands. âTsk. You trying to die or what?â
You try to help in the kitchen. He catches you wobbling and swoops in with a hand around your waist. âWhoa there, Bambi. What happened to âtaking it easyâ?â
You try to sneak off to explore the base again. He corners you in the hallway with a look that says absolutely not. âYouâre still healing, brat. Unless you want me to carry you everywhere again?â
Cue your entire face combusting.
Heâs annoying. Cocky. Ridiculously persistent.
ButâŠ
He adjusts your blanket when youâre asleep on the couch. Tucks a water bottle by your side without saying anything. Teaches you how to balance properly on one foot so your ankle can recover without straining the other.
And at night, when you think everyoneâs asleep, you catch him checking on youâquietly, carefully. Making sure youâre okay.
You pretend not to notice.
But your heart notices. It notices everything.
-
You stand in the middle of your room, shifting your weight onto your healed ankle, then back again. No pain. No tightness. Just a deep breath and the quiet realization:
Youâre better. Finally.
The door creaks open without warningâbecause Satoru never knocksâand in he strolls with his usual swagger and two mugs in hand. âMorning, sweetheart. Brought youâ"
He stops in his tracks.
Youâre standing. Not limping. Not clutching the edge of the bed for balance.
Just⊠standing.
He squints, slowly lowering one mug. â...Why arenât you in bed?â
You raise a brow. âBecause Iâm not dying?â
âOh no. Absolutely not.â He sets the mugs down and points a very offended finger at you. âYou donât just get to get better without warning me. I was emotionally invested in this arc.â
You laugh. âSorry to ruin your Florence Nightingale fantasy.â
âRuin? Excuse you, I was thriving. Whoâs gonna let me spoon-feed you now?â
You roll your eyes, limping toward him just to mess with him. âI could pretend, if it makes you feel better.â
âDonât tempt me.â
He walks over before you can say anything elseâhis hands hover, cautious at first, then one slides to your waist. âYou really okay?â
You nod. âIâm good. Really.â
Satoru lets out a breath he didnât realize he was holding. Then he grins. âAlright. Guess that means I can stop being your personal nurse and go back to being your favorite nuisance.â
Youâre smiling. Heâs back to teasing. But thereâs a softness in his eyes that lingers a little too long, a thumb that brushes your hip before falling away.
He missed taking care of you.
And maybe, just maybe, you kind of miss being taken care of.
-
Youâre jogging laps around the edge of the prison yard, the early morning chill nipping at your cheeks. Itâs peacefulâquiet enough that your footsteps and the rhythmic beat of your breath are the only sounds you hear.
Until a familiar voice breaks through the silence.
âWell, well, if it isnât my favorite brat, back in action.â
You slow down, a smirk tugging at your lips as you turn toward the voiceâand promptly choke on air.
Satoru.
Stretching.
Shirtless.
His snowy hair tousled from whatever ungodly workout heâs been doing, sweat gleaming on the hard lines of his chest and abs like the universe conspired to craft a Renaissance painting just to spite you. His sweats hang low on his hips, revealing that infuriating V-line that should not be legal in a post-apocalyptic society.
You blink. Once. Twice.
He grins, catching the way your eyes are very not subtly stuck on him.
âLike what you see?â
You scowl, instantly turning your gaze to a very fascinating patch of dirt on the ground. âPlease. Iâve seen better.â
âMmhm.â He takes a deliberate step forward, arms crossing over his annoyingly perfect chest. âName one.â
â...â
âThatâs what I thought.â
You huff and start jogging again, forcing your eyes to stay forward. But then he jogs up beside youâshirtless and smug, of courseâand easily matches your pace.
âYou sure youâre fully healed? What if you, I dunno⊠trip and fall again?â he says, tone mockingly sweet. âNeed me to catch you, princess?â
âIâd rather faceplant into a zombie.â
He laughs, low and lazy. âI dunno, that sounds painful. Better to land on something soft. Like me.â
You glare at him, cheeks burning. âYouâre the worst.â
âAnd yet,â he nudges you playfully with his elbow, âyouâre still jogging next to me. Whoâs really winning here?â
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck. But deep down, you know.
Heâs definitely winning.
-
After the jog, Satoru insists you âcool downâ with some light sparring. You roll your eyes, but follow him to the training mats anyway. Heâs already bouncing on his heels when you step in front of him, still shirtless, still smug.
âYou sure youâre up for this?â he teases. âWouldnât want to break you again.â
âIâm more worried about bruising your ego,â you shoot back, taking your stance.
He whistles low. âFeisty. I like it.â
The sparring beginsâlight jabs, easy dodges. Youâre nimble, focused, but he is... effortless. Every time you swipe at him, he ducks with a grin. When you go in for a kick, he sidesteps and lets out an exaggerated yawn.
âYou done yet, sweetheart?â he asks, still dancing around you. âAt this rate, I could do this blindfolded.â
âShut up and hold still!â you lunge at him againâthis time faster, bolderâbut he grabs your wrist mid-swing and spins you around so fast the world tilts. Before you know itâ
Youâre pinned.
Back hits the wall. His hand holds your wrists above your head, other arm braced beside you. His body is dangerously close, breath fanning your cheek. His tone shifts, deeper. Rougher.
âYou keep mouthing off like that,â he murmurs, eyes gleaming, âI might start thinking you want me to put you in your place.â
Your breath catches. âIââ
âHmm?â he leans in, lips ghosting your jaw. âNo witty comeback now?â
You try to move, but his grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that this isnât a game anymore.
âI could kiss you right now,â he whispers, âand thereâs nothing you could do about it.â
Your heart hammers in your chest. âYou wouldnât.â
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
âWanna bet?â
Your breathing is shallow, heat rising to your cheeks. Youâre acutely aware of how close he is, the way his chest brushes against yours with every breath, the sharp glint in his eye, the smirk thatâs far too smug for your sanity.
And thenâ
His lips graze your neck. Barely there. A soft brush of heat against your skin. You flinchânot out of fear, but from the jolt that shoots down your spine. Goosebumps bloom instantly. His breath tickles your skin.
âSensitive,â he hums, lips ghosting up toward your jaw, â...cute.â
âSatoruââ you whisper, voice barely audible.
He pulls back just enough to look at you. His gaze drops to your lips, heavy and unblinking. And he leans in, slower this time, like he wants you to feel the anticipation. You can feel your heartbeat in your throatâ
And thenâ
âAM I INTERRUPTING SOMETHING?â
You both jolt like youâve been electrocuted.
Satoru spins around with a groan, still caging you against the wall. âShoko. Seriously?â
She stands a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow cocked and a wicked smirk playing at her lips. âWow. Could cut the tension with a scalpel. Should I come back later or just pass you a condom now?â
âShoko,â you squeak, face on fire, squirming to escape Gojoâs hold.
He lets you go reluctantly, chuckling under his breath. âYou wish you caught the good part.â
âI did catch the part where your face was buried in her neck like a starving vampire,â Shoko deadpans.
You bury your face in your hands.
Satoru just laughs. âYou jealous?â
âPlease. I'd rather not watch my coworkers dry hump in public,â she says, already turning on her heel. âAnyway. You two lovebirds done? I need one of you to help with supplies.â
âYeah, yeah,â Gojo waves her off. Then he glances back at you, still all flushed and flustered, and leans down one last time to whisper in your ear:
âTo be continued, princess.â
And just like that, he strolls off like nothing happened.
You're left against the wall, heart pounding, neck tingling, completely and utterly undone.
-
Itâs quiet for once.
Most of the clan is out on a supply run or patrolling the perimeter. Youâd offered to stay behind, helping Shoko reorganize her medical supplies before wandering off with a basket of laundryâwarm clothes folded under your arm as you pace the empty corridors of the prison, barefoot, relaxed.
You finally set the basket down in the communal quarters, humming under your breath while sorting through what belongs to who. Itâs⊠peaceful. The late afternoon sun slants in through the high windows, bathing everything in warm light.
Untilâ
âPicking up where we left off?â
You jolt, nearly dropping the shirt in your hands.
Gojo.
Leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy like he just woke from a nap. His eyes are glinting beneath the lazy droop of his lashes, and that smirkâthat godforsaken smirkâis unmistakable.
He saunters in before you can get a word in.
âGeez, you sneak up on people like a damn ghost,â you mumble, cheeks already burning as you turn back to the laundry.
âAw, donât be shy now,â he teases, coming closer. âYou werenât so shy when I had you pinned against the wall.â
You stiffen. âYou got interrupted. Big difference.â
âOh? So you wanted me to kiss you?â
You glare at him over your shoulder, but heâs already behind you, arms slipping around your waistâloosely at first, giving you a chance to push him away.
You donât.
âI was thinking about you,â he murmurs against your ear. âAll damn day. Thought Iâd come see how you were holding up without me.â
âI was fine,â you huff, but itâs so breathless it betrays you instantly.
He chuckles. âThat right?â
His hands glide up your sides, slow and sure, fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. âCâmon, sweetheart. Just admit itâyou missed me.â
You turn in his arms, glaringâbut itâs weak at best. âYouâre so full of yourself.â
âMaybe,â he leans in, forehead brushing yours, voice dropping, âbut I still remember how fast your heart was beating last time.â
You swallow.
And this time? Thereâs no Shoko to walk in. No patrols due back. No reason to stop.
You hesitate for a beat.
And then you pull him in by the collar.
The kiss is feral. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. Weeksâmonthsâof tension snapping all at once. His hands find your waist, gripping tight as he hoists you up like you weigh nothing.
âFuckââ he groans against your lips. âYouâve been killing me, yâknow that?â
You wrap your legs around his waist and tug him closer. âGood.â
He pulls back, grinning. âOh, you wanna play it like that?â
You donât get a chance to answer before heâs kissing down your jaw, your neck, dragging that maddening tongue of his down your collarbone. His hands are everywhereâpalming your hips, your thighs, sliding under your shirt like he owns you.
Which, at this point, maybe he does.
âTell me to stop,â he pants, hovering over your lips again. âTell me now, and I will.â
You look him dead in the eyes, tug his shirt over his head, and whisper:
âDonât you fucking dare.â
Your back hits the nearest wall with a muffled gasp, Satoruâs mouth already on yours, hungry and hot. His hands roam your body like heâs memorizing it with touch alone, fingers tugging at fabric with a frustrated groan.
âOff,â he growls into the kiss, already pulling your shirt over your head like it's offended him. He sets you down to pull your pants down along with your panties. And the moment youâre bare before him, he stands back, breath catching in his throat. His eyesâicy blue and blown wide with lustâroam your figure, landing on your chest like heâs just been given the meaning of life.
ââŠCan I motorboat your tits?â
You blink.
You laugh, startled and breathless. âAre youâare you serious right now?â
His lips curve into a wolfish grin, and heâs already surging forward to kiss you again. âMaybe next time,â he mumbles between kisses. âI donât think I can wait to taste you now.â
You arch a brow, teasing, breath catching when he trails his mouth down your jaw. âNext time?â
He chuckles, low and dark. âYou think Iâm letting you off the hook after this?â His hands slide down your waist, thumbs stroking your hips. âNah, sweetheart. Iâm gonna ruin you.â
Then he sinks to his knees.
The grin fades into something hungrier, more reverent as he kisses the inside of your thigh, dragging his teeth gently across soft skin. âSpread âem for me,â he says, voice a whisper but firm. And when you do, he groans like heâs just tasted something forbidden.
You cry out the second his tongue touches you, hands flying to grip his hair. He doesnât stop. Doesnât want to. Itâs slow, torturousâhis pace deliberate as he works you open, devouring like a man starved. His moans vibrate against your skin, and when your legs tremble, he just pins them open wider, groaning, âThatâs it⊠let me hear you, baby.â
Your back arches as Satoru licks another slow, devastating stripe up your core, tongue curling at your entrance before he moves to suck gently on your clit. Your fingers tighten in his hair, thighs instinctively trying to close around his headâbut his arms loop under your knees, spreading you wider, holding you open like he owns you.
âYou're not going anywhere,â he mutters, eyes flicking up, glazed over with lust and something dangerous. âTold you. Iâm gonna ruin you.â
Then heâs back at itâslower this time, tongue flattening against you, then circling, dragging soft groans out of you as the tension coils tight in your belly. He eats you out like heâs trying to memorize the taste of you, savoring every movement, every moan he draws. He alternates between deep, dragging strokes and sharp, teasing flicks, lips closing around your clit to suck just hard enough to make your breath hitch.
You cry out, hips bucking up into his mouth, and he growlsâlow and throatyâas if turned on by how wrecked you already are.
"Fuckâso sweet," he groans, voice muffled against you. âCould stay down here all night.â
And he means it. He shifts slightly, tongue plunging into you now, slow and shallow, nose nudging your clit as he drinks in every sound you make like it fuels him. Every little tremble, every whimperâhe devours it.
He doesnât stop. Not when you start trembling, not when you whine his name in warning. He keeps going, lips slick and relentless, untilâ
Your vision whites out. Your body tightens, back bowing, mouth falling open on a silent scream as you fall over the edge, pleasure shattering through you like a storm.
Only then does he pull back, lips and chin glistening. He breathes hard, eyes dark and blown, grinning like he just won a war.
âThatâs the sound I wanted to hear.â
He stands up again to pick you up, carrying you to the nearby table, settling you on it, completely bare under the low light, legs parted slightly, chest heaving. Youâre flushed, tremblingânot from fear, but anticipation. Nerves. Heat. Itâs all crashing together in your head, and he sees it.
His hands move to his waistband, fingers curling beneath the fabric of his pants. He tugs them down with practiced ease, freeing himselfâand your breath catches.
Your eyes drift down instinctively, and your stomach tightens at the sight of him. Heâs big. Thick, flushed, already hard and aching.
Your pulse stutters, nerves flickering to the surface. âOhâŠâ
âHey,â he says gently, fingers brushing your cheek. âYou okay?â
You hesitate, biting your lip. âItâs just⊠Iâve never done this before.â
Satoru freezes for a moment. His expression doesnât shift muchâbut his eyes, bright and blue, soften in an instant.
ââŠYou havenât?â he asks quietly, tone a stark contrast to the sinful smirk he wore earlier. You shake your head.
He exhales slowly, like heâs grounding himself. Then he leans in and kisses youâslow, patient, loving.
âWell, fuck,â he murmurs against your lips. âNow I really have to behave.â
You blink up at him. âYou? Behave?â
He chuckles, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. âOkay, maybe not completely. But Iâll go slow. Make it good for you. You trust me, right?â
You nod.
âGood.â His voice drops a little. âThen let me take care of you, yeah?â
Heâs gentleâso gentle it almost breaks you. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He pauses there, kissing over your breasts, fingers caressing your sides as though you might disappear if heâs not careful.
âYouâre so fucking beautiful,â he breathes. âGonna remember this forever.â
When he finally lines himself up, he doesnât rush. He keeps kissing you, whispering into your skin.
âBreathe with me,â he says. âNice and easy, baby. Just relax.â
The stretch burns, but his voice never leaves you. His hands never stop movingâstroking your sides, brushing your hair from your face, thumbing away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes.
âYouâre doing so good,â he murmurs. âSo tight, fuckâsqueezing me like you were made for me.â
Your breath catches, eyes fluttering shut.
âLook at me,â he says softly, âI wanna see your face.â
You meet his eyesâblown wide with emotion, affection, reverence. And thatâs when he starts to move. Slowly, so slowly you can feel everything. Every drag, every pull.
âFeels good?â he asks, and when you nod, he smiles like youâve just handed him the universe.
âYouâre perfect,â he groans, picking up pace just a little. âTakinâ me so well, sweetheart. My pretty girl, lettinâ me be her first.â
You moanâpart embarrassment, part blissâand he kisses the sound from your mouth.
âCanât believe no oneâs touched you like this before,â he mutters against your skin. âBut Iâm glad. Glad itâs me. Glad I get to show you.â
He starts rolling his hips deeper, each thrust slow and purposeful, coaxing pleasure out of you bit by bit.
âLet go, baby. Iâve got you.â
Youâre already gaspingâyour body burning, overstimulated from the build-up and the way he moves inside you. Every drag of him is a stretch, a delicious ache, and youâre trying so hard to keep up, to breathe, to hold yourself togetherâbut itâs too much.
And then it hits.
Your climax crashes over you like a tidal waveâlouder, sharper, more intense than the lastâand your body tightens instinctively, your walls fluttering around him like they donât want to let him go.
âFuckââ Satoruâs voice breaks, a guttural groan tumbling from his throat as he stills, trembling above you. âYouâre gonna ruin me, babyâŠâ
His grip tightens on your waist, jaw clenched as he tries to hold backâbut youâre squeezing him so tight, so perfect, and his restraint shatters.
âYouâre killinâ me,â he grits out, starting to move againâdeeper, slower, more intentionalâbut thereâs an edge of desperation now. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. âFeels so goodâfuck, I donât wanna hurt you.â
You shake your head, nails digging into his shoulders. âDonât stop,â you whimper, barely able to form the words. âPleaseâŠâ
He kisses you hardâlike he canât help himself, like youâre the only thing keeping him grounded. âYouâre doinâ so good for me, sweetheart. So, so goodâŠâ
ââToru-â you whimper.
That breaks him.
He groans, slamming into you harder, mouth finding your neck as he nips and kisses down to your collarbone. âFuck. Say it again.â
You whimper again, brain hazy. ââToruâŠâ
He kisses you slow then, deeper. Rough pace never faltering, but his hands gentler nowâone wrapping around your waist, the other brushing the hair from your face.
âMine,â he murmurs against your lips. âYouâre mine now, yeah?â
You nod desperately, legs locking around his hips. âYours.â
âDamn right,â he grits, driving into you harder, chasing both your highs with everything he has.
The overstimulation has tears stinging your eyes, your legs trembling, voice catching on every moan. And when that next orgasm builds too fast, too hardâit snaps through you like a live wire. Your body arches off the table, clamping down around him againâ
âand Satoru snaps.
âShitâtake it, baby. Let me fill you up, yeah? Gonna make you mine, fuck, you already areâlook at you...â he chokes out, thrusting deep one last time before he comes, spilling into you with a long, breathless groan. His arms wrap around you as if to anchor himself, holding you so close, like he needs to feel every inch of you, inside and out.
âLook at you,â he murmurs between pants, pressing kisses across your face. âTakinâ me so well⊠Youâre mine now, yeah? All mine.â
You nod, dazed and boneless, wrapped in his warmth.
And he stays like that, inside you, forehead resting against yours as he murmurs soft, reverent praisesâlike this wasnât just your first time.
Like it was everything.
Your bodyâs still tremblingânerves fried, skin flushed, heart thudding against your chest as if itâs trying to burst free. Youâre barely aware of anything except the warm, strong arms pulling you into a careful embrace, the kiss he presses to your temple like itâs the most sacred thing he could ever do.
âHeyâŠâ Satoru murmurs, voice all honey and rasp, rough around the edges but impossibly gentle. âYou okay?â
You nod, chest rising and falling against his, cheeks still hot, but thereâs a smile on your lips.
âYeah,â you breathe. âJust⊠wow.â
He laughs softly, the sound low and breathy as his fingers brush along your spine in lazy, soothing strokes. âYou were incredible,â he says, and he means it. Every word. âSo good for me. So perfect.â
Your face scrunches with a flustered noise, burying it into his shoulder. âStopâŠâ
âNever,â he grins, nosing into your hair. âYou donât get to be all pretty and sweet and make those sounds and expect me to stay quiet about it.â
You groan. âSatoruââ
âShhh.âÂ
His palm rests on your back as he holds you close, thumb drawing lazy circles. You can still feel the dull, pleasant ache of him inside you, the heat he left behind. His breath is warm against your cheek. Safe. Comforting.
âYou did so good, baby,â he murmurs again, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw. âFirst time and you still managed to rock my fucking world.â
Your heart stutters. âWasnât just the sex,â you say quietly.
He stills for half a secondâand then he smiles, soft and genuine.
âI know,â he whispers.
Youâre still breathless, body flushed and boneless in his arms when Satoru gathers you close, lips pressed gently to your temple. The air between you is warm, quiet save for the distant hum of life around the base. He shifts a little, glancing down at the table beneath you both, and you catch that flicker in his eyesâguilt, soft and creeping.
âI shouldâveâŠâ he starts, voice low, almost sheepish. âShit, I shouldâve taken you somewhere better. A bed, a blanket, something that wasnât a hardass table. It was your first time and I justââ He pauses, brows pinching like the regretâs eating at him now. âI got selfish.â
You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. âHey,â you whisper, leaning in until your lips ghost over his, shutting him up with a kiss so soft, so full of emotion it makes his heart stutter.
When you pull back, your smile is small but sure. âIt was more than okay. Because it was with you.â
Satoru blinks, breath caught in his throat. And for once, the man with a mouth like a wildfire doesnât have anything to say.
Until he pulls you tighter into his chest and mutters, âYouâre gonna be the death of me, you know that?â
You just grin into his skin. âGuess weâll go down together then.â
Then silence. Not awkward, not tenseâjust full of warmth. Full of everything. His arms around you. Your fingers laced with his.
You donât say it. Not yet. But maybe one day soon.
For now, the way he holds you like youâre something to be cherished?
Itâs more than enough.
author's note. finally have time to post consistently! last month or two were BUSY so couldn't do much </3 i'm proud of how this one turned out ^^ also, shoko is such a baddie i love her
cw: pure fluff. based on me and my husband đââïž
âYou always do thisâŠâ Satoru grumbles, pouting as he watches your fork hover over his plate.
â...do what?â You blink at him, feigning innocence, eyes flicking from his cake to the irritated gleam in his impossibly blue eyes.
He exhales dramatically, stabbing his fork into his dessert. âI offer to get you your own. You say youâre not that hungry. And yetââ he gestures dramatically at your thieving fork, âthe second my food arrives, suddenly you want some.â
You spear a bite of cake and pop it into your mouth, humming as the sweet vanilla melts on your tongue. âI wasnât hungry⊠but then I saw yours, and, wellâŠâ You shrug, licking a stray bit of frosting from your lip.
Satoru narrows his eyes. ââŠyouâre lucky youâre cute."
Itâs the same game every time. You insist you donât want anything, he orders enough food for an entire table, and then he acts personally victimized when you steal a bite. But the thing isâhe secretly loves it.
Because when you reach for another piece, he doesnât push the plate away. He just watches, twirling his fork between long fingers, head tilting slightly, strands of white hair falling into his eyes as if he cannot believe this is happening to him.
âUnbelievable...â he mutters.
And thenâthereâs one bite left.
You expect him to shovel it into his mouth, just to be a menace. Heâs Gojo Satoru, after all. He loves his sweets almost as much as he loves annoying the hell out of youâitâs one of his favorite pastimes.
But instead, he sighs, scooping the last bite of cake onto his fork. He doesnât say anything. Just holds it up to your lips, the blue of his eyes shimmering like liquid crystal as he waits, watching you expectantly.
You hesitate, blinking at him. âI⊠thought you didnât like sharing?â
âI donât,â he murmurs, voice lower, softerânudging the fork closer. âBut⊠I do like you.â
Gojo Satoru may complain, may huff and sigh like itâs the greatest inconvenience in the world, but at the end of the day⊠heâll always give you the last bite.
Sukuna is the type of husband who NEEDS to hold you when he sleeps.
Before he started being in a relationship with you Sukuna had trouble finding sleep in most nights, probably due to his bad working routine and messy habits that got fixed after you came into his life. And now he can't sleep unless his wife is safely wrapped in his arms.
You could be watching TV after a day at work and Sukuna will come home next probably tired as hell and in need of a nap. He is quick to wrap his arms around your hips and gently take you into his arms as he carries you to the shared bedroom, Despite your endless protests asking him to take a shower first,
"Kuna you stink, go take a shower first"
"Calling your husband stinky? You wound me darling"
"Sukuna please.."
"Fine then, but we shower together"
"But I just showered-
"Too bad brat"
When it's time for sleep, he patiently waits till you're done with your skincare routine. And if you take way too much time for some reason, like your friend calling you at the last minute to spill the hot gossips of the day Sukuna is there to remind you he's ready and set for his bedtime by scoffing loudly enough for you to hear. Petty man.
Taking a pee at night? Grabbing a late night snack because you're hungry? Those are impossible to do without waking Sukuna up. The moment you sit up in the bed, he's already awake, grumbling in his sleep and asking what the hell are you doing before pulling you back to his arms.
That one time you managed to sneak out of the bed without waking Sukuna up. You mentally praised yourself for the victory as you snuck in to the kitchen to eat the last piece of the chocolate cake. Before you can even take 3 bites you hear footsteps behind and when you turned to look, it's half awake and half asleep Sukuna with the blanket hanging by his hips like a toddler who ran out of their bedroom searching for their mom. He's scrutinizing his eyes at you, trying to figure out what the hell are you doing. Then he sees the chocolate cake and the icing around your lips and his face instantly takes a betrayed expression.
"Kuna-"
"So you left your husband, all alone, in this fucking cold weather just for chocolate cake?"
"We have a heater-"
"That's not the point, the point is how a chocolate cake worth more than your husband"
"okay now you're being dramatic"
"This is straight up gluttony"
"Sukuna!!"
It's gotten bad to the point where you can't even sleep one night away without feeling guilty because you know this man is wide awake and restless without you in the bed. Yet you wouldn't change a single thing. The way Sukuna's strong arms wrap around you, keeping you warm and safe while soft hum of his snores disappearing into the crook of your neck, it's everything you will ever need.
Studying for your Ethics oral exam was already a pain. Doing it with your boyfriend? Now, that is what you call âself-sabotage.â
Tonight was supposed to be a productive study session.
Your Ethics professor had been on a power trip lately, deciding that an oral exam would be the best way to test you understanding of moral dilemmas and all those theoretical shit. Which meant you had to prepare for whatever godforsaken questions he might throw at you.
And who better to help you, right? Sukuna, your incredibly unhelpful boyfriend.
You flicked through your notes, glancing over at him sprawled on your bed, one arm thrown lazily over his forehead as he scrolled through his phone.
âAlright,â you started, trying to sound determined. âLetâs do a hypothetical situation. Moral dilemma time.â
He didnât even look up from his phone and just continued doomscrolling whatever he finds interesting, âDo we have to?â
âCâmon, babe, be useful for once.â
He then let out the most dramatic sigh. Is he fucking annoyed already? He stretched out on your bed like he had nothing better to do â which is true, heâs already done with all his exams for the semester while you only have this last exam. Threw his phone aside like he was being forced into this conversation. âFine. Impress me with your best morally damning question.â
You sat up straighter, grinning. This was your chance. You cleared your throat, âIf all your loved ones were drowning â me, Jin, Yuuji, and your dad â who would you save?â
Without even hesitating, he shot you a look like youâd just asked the dumbest question ever.
âIsnât it obvious? You.â
You blinked. âHuh? Why me?â
ââCuz youâre the only one who doesnât actively annoy me,â he said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
âBabe, youâre seriously telling me youâd save me over Yuuji? Over a literal baby?â You leaned forward. Yeah, you canât believe it.Â
Sukuna just shrugged, his expression completely deadpan. âYeah, Yuujiâs not you.â
Your brain short-circuited for a second. âThat doesnât make sense. Heâs a baby! e doesnât even know how to swim yet!â
âThatâs how the world works, babe.â
âHUH? What do you mean?â
âThen itâs Jinâs problem,â Sukuna said dismissively. âNot mine. My focus is on you. Always.â
You gasped, scandalized. âSukuna! This is your family! Your nephew is drowning, you heartless bastard!â
He smirked, eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievousness. âYeah, and? What, you want me to let you drown?â
âYou have no soul,â you muttered, rubbing your temples in frustration.
âDebatable,â he smirked, pure arrogance is radiating from him. He settled more comfortably on the bed. âBesides, itâs my dadâs fault for not teaching Jin how to swim properly when we were kids. Why should I clean up their mess? And why the fuck are we even in the ocean. You hate the ocean. Thereâs not a chance that weâll ride a cruise for 7 fucking days.â
âBecause itâs a hypothetical situation.â
âAnd?â
Groaning, you rubbed your temples and asked him the question youâve been meaning to ask since the day you met him â when he was kicking someone to the ground who had accidentally bumped into him (or not). âI swear to god, do you even have morals, âKuna?â
âDepends.â
âOn what?â
âWhether or not they benefit me.â
You couldnât let it go. Sukunaâs complete lack of regard for his family, his indifference to your please, was driving you insane. But you had one more card to play.
âOkay,â you said, leaning in with a grin and a dangerous glint in your eyes. âSo, what if itâs me and our future baby drowning? Who would you save?â
âHuh⊠you really want daddyâs cock right now, babe?â Sukunaâs lazy gaze flicked over to you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. You just slapped his chest in obvious annoyance.
He snorted and looked like he was about to answer in his usual carefree way, but then paused, as if he was processing the question for a second longer than usual.
âHmm,â he drawled, shifting on the bed, his gaze flickering between you and the empty space. âThatâs a tough one.â
Okay, wow. Your heart skipped a beat â was he actually taking this seriously now?
Then, without missing a beat, he leaned back, chuckling lowly. âWell, obvs, Iâd save you.â
You blinked, slightly relieved but also confused. âReally?â
âYeah,â he said with a fucking shrug, âyouâre the one whoâd actually appreciate being saved. The babyâs gonna be fine.â His smirk deepened. âBesides, if I saved the kid, whoâs gonna look after you? Wouldnât be much fun without you around, brat.â
Your brain short-circuited again for a second, processing both the arrogance and the unexpected tenderness in his words. âSo, youâre saying youâd just let our baby drown?â
He raised an eyebrow. âI didnât say that. I said Iâd save you.â He leaned closer, eyes locking with yours with a teasing grin. âBut hey, itâs just a hypothetical, right? Who the fuck knows if weâll even have a kid that doesnât know how to swim?â
Your lips twitched, trying to hold back a smile despite yourself. âYou are so full of shit, âKuna.â
âYeah, and you love it, brat.â His voice lowered, leaning in just enough for you to feel the heat of his words.
And before this even goes south (literally to some fucking session), you pushed him away and exhaled sharply.
âOkay, what about ethically?â You began, trying to keep your cool. âIn one of our ethical dilemma situations, do you believe catfishing is unethical?â
âWho would I even catfish? And why the fuck am I gonna do that when I have this,â he pointed at himself so arrogantly.
âI didnât even say that you would catfish someone. Iâm asking if you believe catfishing is ethical or not.â
âNah,â he answered immediately.Â
âNo?â
âNope. Thereâs no such thing as ethics. Itâs all just a societal construct.â
âSukuna,â you exhaled and squinted at him, âSo if we had met on a dating app, and I was actually some 50-year-old dude catfishing you, youâd just be cool with that?â
âBut it didnât happen and you werenât one. Or are you?â He teased.
âThatâs not the poiââ you groaned. Yeah, youâll never win with him in this kind of talk. âYou are actually impossible.â
Sukuna just grinned, completely unfazed. âBaby, if ethics were real, I wouldnât be in your dorm right now, watching you lose your mind over this stupid class.â
And honestly? He had a point.Â
You hated that he had a point.
But before you could come up with a retort, Sukunaâs hand was on your arm, pulling you up to sit on your bed. âEnough with the philosophical bullshit. Your brainâs fried. Weâre leaving.â
You blinked at him. âWhat? Weâre in the middle of ethically thinking, and youâre just pulling me out of here?â
âYeah,â he said, his tone softening just enough to be noticeable. âYour brainâs obviously fried since you started studying hours ago. Letâs go get some air. Youâre not gonna pass that fucking exam if you donât take a fucking break.â
âBut ââ
âIâm not asking,â he pulled you up from bed, guiding you toward the door with a hand firm on your back. âCâmon,â he added, without giving you a chance to argue. He was really not asking.
âAre you always this bossy?â You asked, half-smiling despite your frustration.
âOnly when I care,â he said, his voice laced with that same teasing arrogance as he slid his right arm around your shoulders. âDonât get used to it, brat.â
You rolled your eyes. âYouâre lucky youâre so damn good-lucking.â
âWith a big fucking cock, I know. Now, shut up and walk, brat.â
And for once, you didnât argue. Maybe he was right about one thing: a little time to breathe might actually make you feel better.Â
Even if it did come with a healthy dose of his cocky charm.
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