𐙚 Gossips and Convenience Stores (fluff, angst) - some jjk first years gossiping about you and gojo's past.
𐙚 You're all I want. (hurt/comfort, fluff) - Gojo comes home to you after the shibuya incident.
𐙚 Jealousy, Jealousy (fluff, comedy) - your boyfriend pulls a silly stunt because of your favorite fictional character.
𐙚 Pathetic (angst) - Sukuna regrets leaving you when he sees you happier with someone else.
𐙚 We can't be friends (angst) - You removed Gojo from your memory completely.
SERIES｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
𐙚 Gossips and Convenience Stores (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, smut)- the story of how you single handedly managed to disrupt the equilibrium that is Gojo Satoru’s life.
𐙚 Pathetic (angst) - Sukuna regrets leaving you when he sees you happier with someone else.
𐙚 Untitled (fluff)- Sukuna isn't good with words yet he tries for you.
𐙚 Anything for you (fluff, hurt/comfort) - After a thousand years, Sukuna finally sees you again.
when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.
genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+
tags/warnings. explicit smut, violence, jealousy, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of cheating
notes. 7.6k wc. don't have much to say for now :'D i'll pour it all out on the last chapter. thank you for waiting on this one!
series masterlist -> episode fifteen (finale)
There were days, you realized, that were more forgiving than the others. At least you could say that in your world. You were so used to enduring the worst that life could throw at you—drained by endless tears, heartbreak, and disappointment. Yet, every so often, there came days when life granted you a brief reprieve from the pain. Perhaps it was to prepare you for another storm. Or perhaps it was a sign that your heart might finally find peace.
You hoped it was the latter. Because today seemed to be a better day, as the morning light broke across the whitewashed walls of the hospital as if to signal a new beginning. The rain had finally stopped, taking with it the gloom it had cast over the city for the past week.
After days of anxiety and sterile air thick with disinfectant, the world finally seemed to exhale with you. The doctor said Sachiro was well enough to be discharged. The IV lines were gone, the heart monitor silenced, and the medical tubes pulled out, leaving only small tapes and faint bruises on your son’s soft skin. He looked smaller somehow, fragile in a way that made your chest ache, though his smile was bright and unburdened like nothing had happened at all. What a strong boy, you thought in tearful silence. Feeling bad for your son, but also proud of his resilience as a mere 3-year old boy.
“Doctor, I can’t thank you enough,” you said in utmost gratitude to the person who saved your son’s life, “From fixing my heart, and now, Sachiro’s…”
“There’s no need to thank me, Y/N. This is my job,” he replied, smiling, “Besides, your father and I go way back. I know he’d have given me a hard time if I didn't handle yours and Sachi’s cases successfully.”
Your dad joined in with a chuckle. “I’m glad you know.”
While you and your father continued to speak to the doctor about medications, aftercare, follow-up tests, Sachiro sat cross-legged on the bed beside Satoru, eyes wide with child-like determination while in a conversation with his daddy. You caught the gazes they exchanged and didn’t miss the chance to eavesdrop, listening in on them while speaking with the doctor.
“Dada,” he said, with that little boy stubbornness he inherited from his father. “Let’s go home to your house.”
The words made you pause. Even your father did, too. Your dad’s brows even furrowed immediately as concern knitted across his lined face. “Sachiro,” he said gently, speaking as if Satoru wasn’t in the same room. “Grandpa's house is better for you. It’s quieter. You should rest.”
But Sachiro only shook his head, his little fists balled on his lap. “But Sachi want Dada’s house! I like it there.”
Satoru didn’t look at you when his son said it. As though he knew his son’s request was a landmine waiting to be stepped on, which was also why he didn’t interfere. Not one word from Satoru convincing anyone of anything. He simply stayed silent, allowing the decision to be yours and yours alone, even if he was the paternal figure to your broken family. Still, you didn’t miss the sadness that shone on your ex-husband’s eyes. Sachiro choosing to stay with his father seemed to have touched his heart in ways a normally disregarded parent would.
“I’ll come with Sachi.” You stood there, a folder of discharge papers pressed against your chest, suffocating from the weight of your father’s gaze on you before he even spoke.
“Y/N,” your father began, carefully, like he was afraid the wrong tone might make you snap. “It’s not… proper. You staying in another man’s house like that? You’re unmarried.”
His words bit into you sharper than they should have.
Unmarried.
As if the ring once on your finger, the vows you had spoken before God and family, the home you once shared with Satoru Gojou had never existed at all. As if the boy sitting there—your son, with his father’s blue eyes and his mother’s gentle mien—had been born without history, without consequence, without love that once ran so deep it drowned you both.
Your father’s voice then softened, cautious but only because he must have realized his poor choice of words. “People will talk, Y/N. They always do. I don’t want you to go through this again and have Ian clear up your name every time.”
And maybe he was right. Maybe the whole country would, yet again, feast on this rumor like wolves on a carcass—how the divorcee ran back into her ex-husband’s house the moment she had her chance again. How she stayed there with him, nights under the same roof, like his shameless paramour.
But they wouldn’t see the truth, would they?
They wouldn’t see the nights Satoru never left the hospital, slumped over Sachiro’s bed in the same wrinkled clothes, red-rimmed eyes refusing to close even when exhaustion carved shadows into his face. They wouldn’t see the way his hands shook when Sachiro cried in pain, the way his voice cracked when he told him it would be okay.
They wouldn’t see that this wasn’t about romance, or reputation, or whatever fantasy the world wanted to paint over it.
This was about a boy who wanted both his parents in one place because the machines that beeped by his bedside had reminded him—too early, too cruelly—that life could take them away.
Your father sighed beside you. “It isn’t right,” he murmured again, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “You're smart, Y/N. Don't make foolish decisions.”
“Dad, I…” Satoru suddenly spoke up, his voice laced with nervousness, so much so that he didn’t realize he slipped and called your father ‘dad’. “I’ll take good care of them. I’ll be by Sachi’s side until he recovers and I’ll help Y/N with everything she needs. I promise they’ll be—”
“Y/N, we should discuss this outside.” Your father callously ignored Satoru like he wasn’t there. And you watched how he was visibly hurt by the way he was treated by your dad. He didn’t deserve it, no matter how much pain you had suffered because of him, he was still human.
But Satoru wasn’t just any man.
He was your ex-husband.
Your son’s father.
The man who had once memorized every inch of your body like scripture and now hovered silently in the background, tucking Sachiro’s jacket into his overnight bag with hands too careful for someone so outwardly indifferent. He didn’t even try to join the discussion anymore. He gave up with his one attempt and respectfully just let you decide, like your word alone could shift the earth beneath his feet.
And maybe it could.
Because you saw the truth in the little things: how he was genuine about taking care of you and Sachiro, how he was hopeful to be given a chance at letting you stay in his home. He must have seen it as the perfect opportunity to make up with you, especially now that you still had many things to clear up and problems to resolve.
You exhaled slowly. “It’s just for a few days,” you said to your dad, your voice quieter than you expected as you stood by the door. “Until Sachi’s better. My decision is final.”
Your father looked at you like he wanted to argue, but the words never came. Because there was nothing improper about a boy wanting both his parents near. And there was nothing sinful about a mother wanting the same.
––
The days that followed blurred into something almost dreamlike.
Because Satoru Gojou, for all the chaos he carried in his bones, was steady now.
He didn’t outwardly show his joy per se, but the bliss he felt inside glistened like stars in his eyes. He seemed happy, very much so, now that his family was living together with him as if everything had finally settled into perfect harmony.
Satoru rose before you every morning, padding around his penthouse in quiet socks as he prepared Sachiro’s breakfast and made sure you had something warm to eat, too. You could tell he was very specific about what he cooked, choosing healthy ingredients catered to a recovering child and a pregnant lady. He even refilled the humidifier in your room, worried that the air was too dry and could trigger your allergies. He moved through the house with careful treading as this—the son curled up on the couch watching cartoons, you walking slowly through the hallway with one hand instinctively resting on your belly—was something he might wake from if he breathed too loudly.
And he never once touched you without permission. Not once, which was unusual of the Satoru Gojou you knew.
Every time his hand brushed yours when he offered you tea, every time he tugged the blanket higher over your shoulders while you napped on the couch, every time he looked at you like you were something worshipful—he waited. He waited and let you feel his devotion without demanding anything in return.
Maybe that was what softened you.
Because you had told him you needed time. That he couldn’t just slide back into your life like nothing had happened, like there weren’t years of pain and mistakes between you.
But he made time feel weightless.
He made it so easy to forget the ache in your chest when he kissed Sachiro’s hair before bed, when he wordlessly washed the dishes after dinner, when he crouched down to tie your shoes one morning because you had bent down too quickly and he scolded you for it under his breath.
Was he only this sweet because you were carrying another piece of him inside you? You sighed, wondering why you still doubted his love even after the confession you both made that night by the lake. But you just couldn’t help but think deeply sometimes, and maybe stare at the view of the city while thinking of thoughts that should never consume you. Thoughts of whether he would have been this sweet and devoted if it was Akemi carrying his child. Was it cruelty that made you imagine Akemi pregnant with his child just to feed your jealousy, even after she told you she was dying? Or was it spite that kept you from feeling even a flicker of pity when she said Satoru left her like she was nothing? Perhaps you even took pleasure in knowing that after all her desperate wishing to have a baby with him, you were the one he had gotten pregnant, without even trying, for the second time around.
You were never an angel to begin with, especially not after everyone around you had been brutal and malicious. She didn't deserve to suffer that much, obviously. But life was simply never fair, and she wasn’t exempt from it.
The funny thing was, Satoru wasn’t even aware of the spiteful thoughts that plagued you during those silent afternoons. He had no idea how you would manage to work yourself into a fury over imagined scenes of him and Akemi in this very penthouse—repulsed by the visions your own mind conjured. Maybe you were being petty. Maybe it was just the hormones. But every time Satoru walked by, oblivious and unbothered, you were simmering hotter than before.
But maybe he sensed it in the way you protectively held your stomach sometimes when you thought no one was looking. Perhaps he noticed how your replies had shrunk to single words, or how you would send him an accusatory glare when he was merely trying to start a conversation. Maybe he felt it, too, in the way you looked at him—as if this man, this flawed, beautiful man, was somehow your greatest enemy.
Damn it. Perhaps it was time to admit it—was it truly jealousy burning through you, or was it the ache of being untouched by the man who supposedly was in love with you?
The room was quiet, and you sat at the edge of the bed in your nightgown, watching Satoru’s long frame as he got out of the shower, only a towel covering his lower half. His head tilted down like he didn’t dare meet your eyes too long. He looked almost anxious, though he would never admit it.
And he had been so careful with you. Too careful that it bothered you.
“Is Sachi asleep?” He cleared his throat once and tried to strike a conversation. But you didn’t answer. You ignored his pitiful attempt at talking to you, busying yourself by putting lotion on your legs. It felt humorous to have the upperhand now, with him clearly on edge, and you acting like you didn’t owe him any interaction. “...Y/N, did I do something wrong?”
You didn’t return his gaze. Instead, you closed the lid of the lotion and placed it carefully atop the nightstand. “No.”
Next thing you knew, the man was already standing in front of you, his damp white hair dripping down his toned body as he crouched down to meet your eyes. “You’ve been angry with me for three days now. Please tell me what I’m not doing right, I’ll fix it.”
“Leave me alone,” you muttered, still avoiding his gaze while opening the drawer, only to see an unopened box of condoms. They weren’t meant for you, clearly. He had probably saved it for when Akemi used to visit. And he knew that was exactly what you were thinking the moment he saw the box, too.
“That’s not…” He tried to explain, but what was the point? You knew they were sexually involved before her illness had worsened. Satoru could only sigh under his breath, the sound closer to defeat than frustration, then placed his hands on your knees with bright blue eyes that begged for your understanding. “I’ll throw it away.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You clearly knew what a condom is,” you shot back, your tone sharp enough to cut. “Should’ve used it on me that night at the cabin.”
For a moment, he was caught off guard by your remark, but then he shook his head and let out a soft chuckle like something had just clicked in his mind, something that made all this absurdly amusing.
“What?” you asked, irritation sharpening your tone.
Satoru reached out, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before lightly pinching your cheek. “Nothing,” he murmured, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You acted like this when you were pregnant with Sachi, too.”
“What are you talking about?” You slapped his hand away, scowling.
He only laughed quietly, moving closer until his warmth pressed against your side. One arm slipped around your waist, the other covering your hand. “You were always irritated with me back then,” he said, voice gentle, teasing. “And jealous. A lot.” He nuzzled your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. “Are we having a boy again?”
You hated it. The way your chest tightened, that stupid rush in your heartbeat. It only ever happened because of Satoru. You couldn’t even remember the last time your heart fluttered wildly like this, but somehow the memory was still there, vivid enough to shatter every wall you had put up.
“Why do you keep your distance?” you finally asked, your eyes meeting his ocean blues. “Why ask me to sleep in the same room as you when it would be more proper to sleep apart?”
He wasn’t oblivious—he had to know what you were implying, how your words really pointed to his reluctance, his lack of intimacy, and the insecurity you were feeling because of it.
“We just got out of the hospital,” he explained, almost cautious. “And you’re pregnant. I wanted to look after you but still respect your space. I thought… maybe you needed time.”
But you had laughed, incredulous, pulse fluttering. “Time?”
And that was all it took. Because then his arms dropped to his sides. His shoulders straightened. His blue eyes darkened, and you knew—you knew—that thin rope of restraint was about to snap.
“You think it’s easy for me?” His voice was strained, like a puppy being deprived of treats. “Every night I lie next to you, and all I can think about is you. Touching you. Tasting you. Being inside you. You have no idea what you do to me.”
Your breath caught, heart hammering by his confession. “But you—”
“And how you wearing this thin nightgown,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine, “does unspeakable things to me.”
Literally so. Because you didn’t need to look down to see the bulge growing under his towel. You didn’t need to search his face to find the lust brewing behind his eyes. And somehow, his reaction excited you. His visible restraint woke all the desire you had been craving to satiate.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Satoru’s voice dropped low as he caught your chin between his fingers. “There’s a reason you end up pregnant every time I touch you.” His eyes lingered on your mouth, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Let me remind you why.”
It was him who crossed the line first. Him who kissed you, loud and passionate, pulling you tighter by the waist as if he might burn alive if he didn’t. He groaned into your mouth with a raw, guttural sound that went straight through you, hands gripping your hips like he was finally done pretending he didn’t want this. When he lifted you—effortless, like you weighed nothing—and made you straddle him, his mouth never left yours. Not once. His kiss was everywhere: down your throat, across your collarbone, all over your chest, tracing fire over your skin.
And when his fingers tugged the strap of your nightgown, you realized just how long he had been holding himself back.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your neck.
You grabbed a fistful of his white hair. “Don’t you dare.”
That was all he needed.
He had ripped your nightgown easily, though careless, and elicited a shriek from you. That was the last thing you thought he would do, but Satoru was getting rougher by the second, clearly because of your provocation. He was acting like an animal released from being in a cage for too long. He was hungry. Very hungry. And putting his mouth on your bosom was his first favorite treat.
You leaned against him as he circled his tongue along your nipple—teasing, suckling, and a little bit of biting. “H-Hey!”
“Sorry.” He displayed a smug smile before proceeding to suck your other tit. “Got carried away.”
While his mouth was on your breast, his hand was kneading the other. He massaged the slope with both a gentle yet rabid touch, flicking the nipple, and then back to squeezing your tit as if he was touching it for the first time. It was at that point where you couldn’t suppress your moans anymore. You shamelessly melted into his touch, driven half-mad by the days of unspoken want that had finally come undone.
And in your own sensual frenzy, your hand reached down to just where his bulge was. It was hard, begging to be released, and twitching underneath the towel. He moaned from your slightest touch. Then, got too excited when you started rubbing him, he almost couldn’t breathe.
“Y/N…” He pulled away, only to bury his face into the crook of your neck. “You’re driving me insane.”
“Did I tell you to stop?” you asked, almost sternly, which only excited him even more.
His smirk was that of a man who had won the jackpot. How arrogant! And so, he continued kissing your breasts, one after the other, and especially enjoyed when his face was between them. He didn’t have time to do all this back at the cabin, since that moment was unexpected and it was your first time reuniting in bed after many years. But you remembered Satoru loving your pair, giving them equal attention and leaving every inch of skin with marks that belonged to him.
Did he love doing this to Akemi, too? Did he kiss her body like this? Left marks all over her skin like this?
Out of sheer frustration, you pushed Satoru back. His eyes went wide, startled, as if to ask what was wrong, but your glare silenced him. You stepped between his legs and yanked at the towel around his hips. There, his hard member stood, pulsating and dripping at the tip. Your finger traced the veins on his throbbing cock, making it angrier than it already was.
“Y/N, please…” His face begged you to do more.
And it sure was entertaining to see him like this after a long time. Back when you two were married, you did it everyday like animals in heat. You were so smitten, so passionate, so intoxicated with your toxicity that every push-pull ended in the most satisfying, most mind-blowing sex.
You were on your knees as he looked at you, his entire length being stroked by your hand, before you placed your tongue flat on his tip. Satoru cursed under his breath and threw his head back, but you continued to roll your tongue along the head—the pink and swollen head—then finally started wrapping your lips around his girth.
Even with Toji, you never enjoyed giving head the way you did with Satoru. Perhaps it was the connection, or perhaps, it was simply because you prefer doing it to someone you really loved.
“Fuck,” your ex-husband growled, seeing your head bobbing up and down as you sucked every inch of him. “That feels so fucking good.”
You even kissed the sides, the ridges, then put him back completely in your mouth. This time around, you forced it all the way down your throat, resisting the gag reflex but still ended up choking on his cock. Goddamn were you horny. You knew this was the pregnancy hormones, but you wanted more and you couldn’t be stopped.
“Y/N.” He sat up as you jerked his member, his entire length coated by your saliva, while he started pulling you up. You stood before him as he was face level with your tummy, and his hands began tracing your legs, your hips, until he was able to playfully squeeze your bum. Satoru looked up at you, then. With eyes that screamed of bliss, his chin resting on your belly where your baby would be in. His breath ragged as he looked at you. All of you. His hands traced your curves, lingering over your belly as though it was sacred, before he kissed lower, lower, worshipping you with his mouth until you were trembling, arching, gasping his name like a prayer. “Can I…?”
Nodding, you could feel him give your buttocks a final squeeze before he started lifting your leg over his shoulder. The other stayed on the floor, which gave him the best access to see your pussy. And of course, he didn’t waste any second before he dove in.
“Satoru—”
His lips were on your clit in a snap, tongue lapping between your folds—slurpling, suckling, and tasting your slick inside. The deeper he was, the weaker your legs felt. But his strong arms held you in place, fingers digging into your thighs as though he could hold you here forever. Although one hand switched places with his mouth every now and then—one moment his hand would palm your pussy, the next his mouth would be kissing your entrance, his tongue swirling in it and around it.
“God, you taste so good,” he groaned, two fingers now stretching your core and entering you in and out, “Been dreaming about this… about you… every damn night.”
“Mhmm—”
He sure took his sweet time with the foreplay that by the time he made you lay in bed, you were already catching your breath. Your legs were already shaking, and your head was already dizzy. But it was not enough, no. Not for the both of you. You wanted him inside just as he wanted to be inside you.
So by the time he finally had you in a perfect, comfortable position, he spread your legs apart and placed his tip at your entrance. His lengthy cock teased, circled, and then rubbed against your clit. Again and again. Purposefully so, because he chuckled at the way you glared at him impatiently.
“Hnng—! Just put it inside.”
He did it slowly when he slid into you, careful but deep. You swore you felt the world tilt off its axis. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath uneven, like he was trying to keep it together even now. You could see his girth coated with slick, with every entrance to your pussy making you clench around him tighter.
“Mm—fuck!”
“You drive me crazy,” he muttered, hips snapping harder now, and faster, too. Each thrust shaking through you until your words broke into gasps. “All I want… all I ever want… is you.”
You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled sharp and hot in your belly. He kissed you through it, swallowed your cries, held you so close it felt like he might break you apart just to keep you. His bed was steady enough not to make any noises through the walls, but it was your moans that echoed loud enough across the room. The squelching, the whimpering, the snapping of skin-to-skin.
“Satoru, I’m gonna…”
He held your hips in place, slamming himself balls deep into you, and watching your breasts bouncing all over the place as he raced to chase his climax. “Me, too, baby.”
Both of you were tangled in sweat, and the sound of your own ragged breathing filled the room until he released thick ropes of cum inside you. You couldn’t tell how much, but he stayed inside you for a minute or two, giving your lips a sweet peck before he finally pulled out. Almost immediately, his cum came spilling out of you. They dripped out of your hole as if they were too full and no longer had space inside.
It was filthy and tender all at once—love and obsession and devotion and ruin. And you remembered his words earlier, how this was why he could get you pregnant so easily. Funnily enough, it wasn’t just about how much of his semen was inside you. Not literally. It was the love and passion he was pouring into your lovemaking. It was how your body would always recognize his, as though you two were perfectly made for each other.
When it was over, he scooped you into his arms, wrapped tight like he couldn’t bear to let you go. He kissed your temple softly, reverently this time.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how much I love you, Y/N. Through anything and everything. You’re my only one.”
––
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the living room curtains, warm and golden, catching in the strands of Satoru’s hair as he sat cross-legged on the floor with Sachiro perched in his lap. You sat beside them on the couch, one hand idly resting on your belly, watching the way Satoru absentmindedly fixed the cowlick in Sachi’s hair while the boy leaned against him, still groggy from his sleep.
It felt domestic in a way you hadn’t felt in years. Too peaceful. Too comfortable. Like the war between your hearts had quieted for this one stolen moment.
“Good morning, Mama!” your little boy greeted.
“Morning, my baby.” You added it with a kiss to his forehead. “Did daddy make you breakfast?”
Sachiro hugged his teddy bear as his eyes fixed on the television screen. “Yes, Mama. Sachi ate pancakes!”
Satoru gave you a quiet look then. It wasn’t anything naughty. In fact, he had a very thoughtful gaze, seemingly worried that he might have gotten too rough with you last night. “I’ve prepared you a plate there and some apple juice.”
“Thank you,” was your simple reply. No morning kisses, no overly sweet gestures. Your son still wasn’t aware that his parents were expecting again, so you were treading the situation carefully. It also helped that Satoru could read through your movements and respected you enough to handle it at your own pace.
“Hey, Sachi,” you began softly.
He turned to you, wide-eyed, curious. “Yeah, Mama?”
You swallowed, glancing once at Satoru before you said it. “You’re… going to be a big brother soon.”
For a moment, there was silence.
And then—
“Huh?!” Sachiro twisted in Satoru’s lap so fast the man almost lost his balance. “A baby? Like… a real baby? In your tummy? Right now?!”
You nodded, lips twitching and unsure what to make of your son’s reaction. “Yes, right now. Mama is pregnant.”
His jaw dropped like you had told him the moon was moving into the guest room. “But… but… how did it happen?” He blinked rapidly, the picture of childlike innocence, before his little nose wrinkled. “Wait… don’t tell me. I think I know.”
“Oh, do you now?” Satoru acted surprised, poking his son’s cheek. You smothered a laugh into your palm. He didn’t even bother hiding his.
“Yeah,” your son said confidently, looking between the two of you with all the gravity of a seasoned detective. “It’s because you and Mama love each other again, right? That’s how it works! Auntie Gen told Sachi babies are born when the mama and dada love each other.”
You froze for half a second. Love? You quickly forced a smile. “Something like that.”
But then Sachiro tilted his head again, eyes darting between you and Satoru like he was connecting even bigger dots. “Is Dada going to be Mama’s husband?”
The words fell into the room like pebbles into still water. Quickly enough, your body went still and Satoru’s hand froze midair on his son’s back. The boy looked between you both expectantly, as if marriage was the obvious next step, as if it was the only logical conclusion to his parents having another baby on the way.
You opened your mouth, then closed it, then forced a small, gentle smile. Sometimes, Sachiro was a little too smart for his age. “That… is for another conversation, my sweetie.”
Satoru stared at you for a good minute, careful not to cross any boundaries and give answers unaligned to your own. But you could tell how much he had wanted to say yes to Sachiro, to say that his dream of bringing his family back together was no longer far-fetched.
Meanwhile, Sachiro squinted like he wanted to protest, but then his face lit up, wide and beaming, his entire little body vibrating with joy as he threw his arms around Satoru’s neck. “I’m gonna be a big brother!” he announced, muffled against Satoru’s shoulder. “Dada, we need to buy a big house like grandpa’s now!”
Satoru chuckled then. “Of course, buddy.”
And for that moment, with Sachiro grinning like Christmas had come early, you let yourself believe in this fragile, imperfect little happiness. But still, there were many things to worry about. When your son mentioned his grandfather, you were immediately reminded of the things you still need to clear out before you can fully live in this dream-like fantasy.
It didn’t surprise you how soon Satoru joined you in the kitchen the moment his son had become too engrossed in the cartoon he was watching. He knew there were things he had to clarify, so approaching you for a private talk was the next thing he did.
“You told him,” mentioned Satoru, reaching for your hand. “Does this mean you’ll keep our baby?”
You solemnly looked into his eyes. “It’s ours.”
His warm lips pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “Thank you for letting me be a father to them, Y/N. I promise I’ll live my whole life serving you and our kids.”
Sighing, you squeezed his hand. “But Satoru, we still have to tell them.”
He looked up, confused. “Tell who what?”
You hesitated, lips pressing together before you exhaled slowly. “I mean, my family. My dad, Gen—them.” The words felt strange on your tongue, even though they were your family, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “They’re not going to take it well, Satoru,” you warned softly. “After everything, they’ll think I’m out of my mind.”
He didn’t flinch. Not at all. He simply wrapped his arms around you, his gaze softening in a way it only did for you. “You’re right,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “They need to hear it from us first before anyone else. I know they won’t accept it right away, but I’ll fight for you. I promise I’ll do everything until I earn their trust again. Maybe not fully, but even a scrap is enough. Even just trusting that I won’t ever hurt you again. Because I know I won’t.”
“Satoru…”
“I mean it, Y/N.” He pressed his forehead against yours like a groom reciting a vow. “I lost this once. I’m not losing my family again. Not you. Not our kids.”
You stared at him, this man who had once been reckless with your heart, now speaking like he would burn down the world just to keep it safe.
And for the first time in years, the idea of a future with him didn’t feel like a betrayal of yourself.
It felt like coming home.
––
The Creston mansion never felt so cold in your years of living there. It was the opposite of the Gojou mansion, where the air of toxicity lingered in every corner of their estate. But to your own family’s place, you couldn’t remember the last time those beige walls felt so lifeless. Its marble pillars, the polished brass of its doors, the cold gleam of chandeliers—everything felt hostile tonight. It had always been your father’s pride, his empire, the seat of his authority. But as you stepped inside with Satoru’s hand brushing lightly against your waist, you felt like a criminal walking into the gallows.
Am I simply overthinking? You took a deep breath, but even the air felt shallow.
Gen was there first, rising from the velvet chair with a smile that faded the moment she saw Satoru trailing behind you. Your father sat across the room, his reading glasses low on his nose, glancing briefly at the two of you before setting aside the papers in his hand.
“Gen, Dad,” you spoke first, cutting the tension before it could rise. “How are you?”
“We’re fine. How’s Sachi doing?” Gen asked as soon you both sat on the couch. “Is he recovering well? I thought you were going to bring him today when you texted me you’d stop by.”
You offered a small smile. “He’s pretty great, actually. He still needs more rest, but Satoru takes good care of him.”
Your dad nodded. “Are you going to bring him next time?”
“Of course, Dad.”
There was small talk at first. Forced politeness. Gen asking about Sachiro’s daily maintenance. Your father commenting about the food his grandson should eat. They both pretended like the air didn’t reek of tension while Satoru sat silently beside you, respectful, composed, with his hands folded in front of him.
But it was that one question. So plain, so harmless on the surface—yet heavy with implication that unsettled you.
And it came from your father. “Since Sachiro’s getting better, I suppose you’ll be coming back home in a few days, right?”
“I… I’m not sure about that one, Dad.”
Your father’s gaze hardened at your answer. “What do you mean?”
You drew in a deep breath, deep enough it could’ve filled an entire oxygen tank. The words sat heavy in your throat, but you couldn’t force them out, no matter how much you wanted to. No matter how much you had to. Maybe it was fear. But of what? That your family wouldn’t approve? You already knew they wouldn’t. That they’d demand you return to the mansion immediately? That wasn’t even the worst of it.
So you said nothing. You just sat there, lost in the storm of your own thoughts, not until Satoru’s fingers slipped over yours, squeezing your hand gently. It was his silent way of reminding you that you weren’t alone. That whatever came next, he was staying. Because his love was worth fighting for.
Your father, displeased to see your hand-holding, broke the silence. “Y/N, what is this—”
“Dad, I’m pregnant.”
The house fell into stillness.
Even the birds outside stopped chirping.
“WHAT?!”
Gen blinked rapidly. Your father froze mid-motion, one hand still on a teacup that crashed onto the floor later. It was like the air thickened in a single breath, everyone caught in it, everyone waiting for the obvious name to be spoken.
“Toji’s, right?” your father finally asked, voice flat, cold. It was intentional. The question was disgustingly intentional that you couldn’t believe it came from your father at all.
“No!” you quickly denied, “You know we’ve broken up months ago, Dad. It’s not his!”
You could see Gen shaking her head, a hand pressed to her face as if holding herself back from exploding. But her sharp, furious eyes found Satoru in an instant. She seemed to have seen this coming, but refused to believe that her suspicions had actually come into fruition. “Is it the night of Shoko and Suguru’s wedding?” she demanded, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “The one that turned into a cheating scandal—again—involving my sister?”
Your ex-husband swallowed hard, guilt flickering across his face. “It is.”
Your father’s eyes darkened.
And then he moved.
It happened so fast, the way he lunged at Satoru before anyone could speak, his fist slamming across your ex-husband’s jaw with a sickening crack. “You goddamn son of a bitch—!”
“Dad, stop!” you screamed, but nothing could stop an angry father whose daughter got hurt over and over. He grabbed Satoru by the collar, spitting words like fire as his fist landed on him again and again. “Dad, please! Don’t hurt him!”
Even Gen tried to help out. “Dad, that’s enough.”
“You bastard! You despicable bastard!” he roared, his voice shaking with fury you had never seen in him before, not even when Satoru’s first cheating incident tore your world apart. “You already ruined her life once—humiliated her, made her suffer—and now you trap her again? Another child? Another lifetime of misery with you?!”
Satoru took the hits, grunting, stumbling, but not once raising a hand in defense. He let your father vent every ounce of hatred into his body until finally, he caught his breath and pushed back.
“I love her,” Satoru declared, jaw bloodied, eyes wild. “I’m s-sorry. I know it didn’t seem like it, I know I’ve hurt her far too many times for you to believe it, but I fucking love her, and I’m not going anywhere this time! I already wake up every day hating myself for the things I did to her. But this—” He reached for you even as your father shoved him back, “—this is my family. And I will fight for them, with or without your blessing.”
“Blessing?” your father seethed, “You dare speak of blessings after wrecking my daughter’s life?” He turned to you then, his face red, his eyes full of both fury and heartbreak. “If you choose him, Y/N… you choose this bastard and you are no longer my daughter. No longer a Creston. No inheritance. No name. Nothing.”
“Dad, please,” you sobbed, stepping between them, your hands shaking as you held your father back. “Please don’t do this. Please.”
But your dad wouldn’t listen. His voice cut through the room like a blade, speaking words that you never in your life thought he would utter. Words that even Gen herself, no matter how callous she was, could never speak to you.
“If you walk this path with him, Y/N, you walk it alone,” warned your father, “You will be disowned by this family. Completely.”
You felt the world shatter under your feet.
Satoru tried to reach you, his hand trembling as he whispered, “Please don't do this to Y/N—”
But the guards came before he could finish. At your father’s command, they grabbed Satoru by the arms, dragging him toward the door as he struggled, shouting your name. “Y/N! Please, Y/N!”
“Stop!” you begged and cried and pleaded to everyone in the room, but no one listened.
And the more Satoru resisted, the more they were aggressive to him. “Let me go! I need to talk to her! Y/N!”
His voice echoed through the marble halls until the heavy doors slammed shut, leaving you behind, shaking, sobbing, frozen solid to your place as your father’s ultimatum rang in your ears like a death sentence.
––
Satoru didn’t remember how he got home.
One moment he was being thrown out of the Creston mansion like a criminal, and the next thing he knew, he was in the penthouse alone, pacing like a madman, replaying the events in his head until it made him sick.
You didn’t come out of the mansion. You didn’t walk out the door. Not even when they dragged him out like he was nothing. Not when he called your name with his voice breaking in half.
You stayed. You stayed behind.
And Satoru knew what that meant.
Blood ran thicker than water, after all. And Satoru envied you for it—for the way your family stood together, for how naturally you fought for one another. His own family was nothing like that. Broken, dysfunctional, poisoned from the inside out. He couldn’t quite grasp how yours could love so fiercely, so selflessly. It didn’t sink in right away why you would choose them over him, why cutting them off wasn’t as simple for you as it had been for him and his own family.
His chest caved under the pain of it. He staggered into the living room and slammed his fist into the wall so hard the frames rattled. Again. And again. Until his knuckles split and the sharp pain screamed up his arm, but never enough. He wanted to break something, everything. Maybe himself most of all.
“Why,” his voice cracked, “why can’t I fix this?!”
He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Was it God? Was it his subconscious? Regardless, the questions fell out like prayers no one would answer. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in his hands, tears spilling freely now, the mask ripped off until only the wreck of a man was left behind.
He thought about you. About the way you had stood there between him and your father, crying like the world was ending. About how he had ruined everything once before, and now here he was again, cursed to repeat it like some sick punishment.
“God, I just want my family back! Please… Please, I’m s-sick of this! I’m fucking sick of it!” he choked out, his voice breaking as his fists hit the wall again, with each punch harder than the last. The plaster cracked and his knuckles throbbed, so much so that he wondered if he broke his hand, but he liked it that way. He wanted to feel it burn, wanted it to hurt because he deserved it, because maybe if it hurt enough, it would erase the never ending guilt crawling under his skin.
And he would’ve gone on like that if not for the tiny, fragile voice behind him. “Dada?”
That was the only thing that made Satoru freeze. He turned around to see Sachiro standing there in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes with one hand, and the other holding onto his teddy bear. He looked so small, so breakable, and his innocent gaze moved from the blood dripping down Satoru’s knuckles to the tears on his face.
“Are you… okay?”
Something in Satoru snapped then, not from anger this time but from the sight of his son looking at him like that. He quickly dropped to his knees, pulling the boy into his arms so tightly Sachiro squeaked at the suddenness of it.
“I-I don’t know, buddy,” he whispered into his son’s hair, his voice shaking so hard it hurt. “I don’t know what’s going to h-happen to us.”
“Dada, why you crying?”
“Because…” Satoru shut his eyes, inhaling sharply, “because I keep messing everything up. I-I can’t bring your mommy back. I’m sorry, Sachi. I’m so sorry I can’t give you the family you deserve. I… I failed you. I failed mommy and our baby. I’m so lost.”
Sachiro wrapped his little arms around his father’s neck like he was trying to hold him together even though he was too small to fix anything. “I’m here.”
Even his tiniest, most innocent gesture was enough to split Satoru open. Because after everything, after convincing himself, even for a fleeting moment, that he could be a perfect father to his kids, he was reminded over and over that he would never be.
He couldn’t even manage to be a decent husband, let alone a good man. A cheater. A coward. A pathetic excuse of a man who had ruined everything good that ever reached for him. He disgusted himself down to the marrow. He was a piece of shit, an asshole, a useless good-for-nothing scumbag—
The doorbell rang. Once.
Damn it!
Then, again.
God fucking dammit!
“Dada.” His son tugged at his shirt. “Someone’s at the door.”
Satoru stiffened, wiping his face with his sleeve. He wasn’t ready to face the police, not after he had just broken down in front of his son, and still drowning from the heartbreak of losing you. Couldn’t your father give him even a little bit of mercy and just let Sachiro stay the night?
Satoru felt like he was losing his mind.
The lock clicked. Footsteps crossed the threshold.
He turned toward the door with his heart pounding, Sachiro following him behind.
...
...
And there you were.
Standing with your bags, eyes red from crying, looking at him like there was never any other choice but him.
Gojo x Reader
Genre: fluff, angst with a happy ending
Summary: the 2 times Satoru was late to your date and the one time he was extra early.
wc: 2.2k
The first time Gojo Satoru was late to your date, you were livid.
You checked your watch for the fifth time. The second hand ticked away louder than the chatter of the café, louder than your heartbeat that was already sinking into disappointment.
He was late.
Technically, it was your first date, but you’d already started counting it as a failure.
Why did you even agree to this stupid date?
All your theories of him being an asshole are circling your brain— he thinks of you as a game probably, it’s the thrill of finally getting you to say yes after 2 years, maybe he doesn’t like you anymore, or he’s gay now all of a sudden. After 30 more minutes, you were already imagining countless scenarios of beating him up ‘accidentally’ during your practices.
Atleast, it’s keeping you sane from waiting.
You sighed, the sound drowned by the clinking of cups and low hum of conversation. Grabbing your bag, you pushed your chair back and stood up.
The metal legs scraped sharply against the floor. The noise made a few heads turn, but you didn’t care. You’d told yourself not to get your hopes up. Not for anyone and definitely not for Gojo Satoru.
You were halfway to the door when a voice called out behind you.
“Sorry I’m late, sweets.”
You froze. That voice.
But when you turned, the irritation on your face melted into horror.
He looked like he’d crawled straight out of a battlefield. His white shirt was torn and soaked in blood, his collar stained dark red. His usually pristine hair was messy, matted with dried blood.
A nasty gash split across his cheek, and there was…God, was that a fucking scar on his neck? He literally looked like he’d been stabbed before getting here.
“Satoru, what the fuck?! you’re bleeding!” you sputtered, rushing toward him. “Let’s get you to Shoko or a hospital or something, what the hell—why are you even here?”
He was smiling, though, those damned blue eyes still sparkling like nothing was wrong. Only Satoru can pull up a shit-eating grin after being stabbed like that.
“Because I have a date.” He whined. “And I know you’re pissed at me for being late. Are you even paying attention to me right now?”
“You look like you died!”
“Correction,” he said, voice laced with that insufferable humor even through the pain. “I almost died.”
You stared at him, speechless, your pulse spiking for all the wrong reasons. His grin widened, though his hand shook slightly as he lifted a small paper bag.
“But I got you mochi,” he said, like that made up for the blood loss. “You’re gonna love this, I swear. See? I didn’t forget.”
You blinked, torn between panic and exasperation. “You’re an idiot. Let’s go to the hospital now. Please.”
He just shook his head, that boyish stubbornness still shining through even as a trickle of crimson slid down his jaw. “Nope. Not after our date. I worked two years for this date. Two years of you rejecting me, the most handsome and one of the two strongest sorcerers in the world, and I’m not letting one little stab wound ruin it.”
You exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half a groan, stepping closer to steady him before his knees gave out. His body was warm, too warm, and trembling under your touch.
“You’re unbelievable, Satoru.” You sighed, running your hands through his hair. “C’mon, let’s reschedule the date to next week when you’re better.”
“Only if you agree to go on another date with me after.”
After agreeing for a second date in advance, he makes sure to always be at the place at least 30 minutes earlier— you weren’t sure if it was because he’s afraid you’d scold him or simply because he doesn’t want to keep you waiting. Maybe both, among other reasons.
The second time your husband was late, it was for 19 days.
You know your husband loves you very much. If he could, he’d leave everything else for you. He would throw away the whole world just to be home in time for dinner. But you also knew that your Satoru was simply not that kind of person. Your Satoru was never meant for an ordinary life.
He is the strongest, and with that strength came burdens too heavy for anyone else to carry. He was born to protect, to stand between the world and its ruin. You always knew he couldn’t always choose you, and that was okay.
You understood. You always had. Loving him meant loving the weight he bore, even when it meant being left behind.
It meant accepting that there would be nights you’d eat alone, mornings you’d wake up to cold sheets, and days when his smile existed only in your memory.
Because marrying your Satoru, the man who kissed your forehead when you were half-asleep, who brought you sweets just because he thought of you on the way home, the gentle, selfless man who made you laugh until you cried, was the same Gojo Satoru the world leaned on.
You didn’t mind at all. It’s a small price to pay for marrying the love of your life.
But now your husband was sealed.
You stopped coming home on time. You took on missions you shouldn’t have. You barely slept. Anything, everything to avoid walking into an empty house. The bed is too cold and empty, his scent barely there anymore.
You were reckless and desperate. If you stayed still too long, the ache would swallow you whole.
And you worked yourself raw trying to get him back. Every fight, you chased them all carelessly, bleeding for a chance to reach him. Because you refused to believe the strongest sorcerer in the world would leave you like that.
And then, nineteen days later, he finally came back.
You didn’t even think the moment you saw him. You just ran to him. To Satoru with his blindfold off and his smile is still infuriatingly soft despite looking so tired.
The air around you cracked with cursed energy, but all you felt was relief as you slammed into his chest.
“Y–You idiot!” you choked out, fists pounding weakly against him. “You went and married me only to get yourself sealed in a goddamn box! You were gone for almost a month, Satoru!”
He caught your wrists gently, pulling you into his arms, his touch trembling.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, his breath trembling against your temple. “I’m so sorry.”
You felt him exhale, slow and shaky, before his hands came up to cup your cheeks. His thumbs brushed away your tears, though his own eyes glimmered suspiciously behind his lashes. “I missed you too,” he said, his lips twisting into that faint, tired smile. “It felt like years for me.”
You swallowed a sob, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket as you buried yourself against his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear. You’d dreamt of that sound every night he was gone, terrified you’d never hear it again.
“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Not until we’re gray and old and wrinkly as fuck. Promise me, ‘Toru.”
He let out a quiet laugh, the sound shaking just as much as his shoulders did. “Okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “I won’t. I promise.”
You stayed like that for a long time, clinging to him like gravity itself depended on it, his arms wrapped so tight around you that your ribs ached. You could feel his cursed energy flicker around you, gentle and protective, like it recognized you too.
When you finally pulled back, your fingers found the side of his face, “You look awful,” you muttered, your attempt at teasing ruined by the tremor in your voice. Then you traced your hands towards his biceps, to his chest. “But sexier, what the hell?”
He grinned, that stupid, lopsided grin that always made your heart stutter.
“You look beautiful,” he countered easily. “Guess that’s why I had to come back. Can’t leave my beautiful wife for too long.”
You sniffled, half-crying and half-scolding. “If there’s a third time you’re gonna be later than this, I swear, I’m gonna divorce you.”
Satoru chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure I’m never late again.”
True to his word, he was never late again.
In fact, he was too early. Way too early for the next one.
Several years early.
A call of your name interrupted your train of thoughts.
The voice is too familiar.
You froze. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you turned toward the sound, afraid that your mind was playing cruel tricks on you. You’d heard that voice a thousand times in your dreams, replayed it in memories until it slowly fades. But this… this felt real.
And when you finally saw him, you knew it was.
He’s finally in front of you, your Satoru.
Devoid of any scars or any trace of battle. His white hair glowed faintly under the golden light that bathed the endless horizon. He looked youthful, peaceful, angelic even. The same smile you fell in love with curved his lips, and when he looked at you, it was like the world finally made sense again.
“Satoru?” you let out a shaky breath.
“You missed me?”
He caught you in his arms with a small laugh, spinning you once before holding you close. His warmth seeped into you, familiar and comforting, like coming home after a lifetime away.
When he finally kissed you, it wasn’t hurried or desperate just like the time he was sealed for almost a month. It was soft and reverent, devotion slipping through in every kiss. You could taste tears, maybe his, maybe yours.
“You’re too early,” you murmured against his lips when you finally pulled away, smiling through your tears.
He chuckled quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I couldn’t wait to see you, sweets.”
Your smile faltered. “You shouldn’t be here though…” Your hand trembled as you touched his cheek. “Oh, Satoru, what did they do to you?”
He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck “Oh, you know,” he said softly, voice laced with something heavy. “I’m not needed there anymore. I can be with you now. Besides…” He looked up again, eyes soft, almost shy. “It was hell without you.”
“You were supposed to grow old,” you whispered, your voice breaking.
Satoru grimaced faintly, eyes clouded with the memory. He didn’t want to remember your death-- how he’d screamed until his throat tore, or how he’d refused to let anyone touch you, how he’d sat there long after your heartbeat faded.
And now, here you were. Hands warm, eyes bright, looking at him with that same mix of love and concern that always undid him. You looked just like you did in that last moment, but very much alive and smiling at him like you never left.
You were the greatest thing that ever happened to him. His life’s only reward and redemption.
It didn’t matter that you went first.
He was always going to follow you.
“Alone? Without you?” Satoru scoffed. He holds you a bit tighter, his breath tickling the skin of your neck. “I was supposed to grow old with you, remember?”
You laughed weakly through your tears. “You’re still such an idiot.”
He grinned. “Your idiot.”
He leaned back to look at you, his eyes glinting with something mischievous. “Why’d you leave me, hmm? I thought we agreed we’d go out together. You know, couple’s suicide?”
You snorted softly, shaking your head. “It’s not really suicide if it’s non-negotiable, 'Toru.”
“Fair point.”
Then, more quietly, you asked, “Did you die alone?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, gaze distant for a second. “Unless you count my students watching me. Guess I didn’t make it easy for them.”
You frowned, brushing your thumb over his jaw.
The thought of him dying like that, surrounded by duty, made something inside you ache. He wasn’t granted a gentle goodbye. His death didn’t even give him the dignity he deserves.
He seemed to read your thoughts, smiling softly as he placed his hands over yours.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and comforting, “I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m with you, baby. I’m home.”
Your tears fell freely, your chest aching with all the love and grief tangled together. “I know, but—”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to your lips. “This is the part where you shut up. I’m here. I love you. And I’ll never be late again. Don’t wanna keep my wife waiting.”
You laughed, shaky but real, resting your forehead against his. “In our next life,” you whispered, “let’s meet in college. Or high school. Something normal. We’ll fight over dumb things. We’ll live long enough to complain about back pain.”
He chuckled softly, brushing your tears away. “Sure. I’ll make sure to be rich as fuck again, so I can spoil you rotten.”
You smiled faintly. “Yeah?”
He hummed. “You’ll marry me again, right?”
You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Depends,” you teased. “Are you gonna be late again for our first date?”
“No, baby. It’s just you and me.”
You rolled your eyes, laughter bubbling through your tears. “What a sap.” You glanced over his shoulder, noticing the faint silhouettes waiting in the distance. “C’mon. There are people waiting for you. I’m not the only one who missed you.”
synopsis: to his annoyance, sukuna has spent the last 100 years searching for you— tearing apart every corner of the world, trying to find where you had run off to after ending a relationship that lasted over 2 centuries- with just a note. he was going to find you, whether it be the last thing he did. he just wasn’t sure whether that determination was driven by the love he surprisingly still had left for you, or the anger he’d grown to have against you. it was you that begged to be turned, after all— saying you couldn’t live without him. well, turns out you could, and you have.
and just when he thinks that maybe it might just be time for him to give up, he sees you casually walking down the lively streets of tokyo, as if you hadn’t managed to piss off one of the world's oldest vampires.
cw: smut & angst w/ a happy ending, profanity, blood and violence, lots and lots of yearning on both teams, sukuna's very klaus coded lol
NOTES: 3k w/c this chapter!!
m.list | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four
Two things come to Sukuna’s mind upon learning that Suguru, not only gave you his card, but that you also called him the morning after the exhibit:
You must’ve put two and two together and figured out that yes, Suguru is an acquaintance of his. Because why else would he have been there?
Suguru has no idea what he just unearthed, all from simply wanting to make a new friend.
He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone quite as persistent as you— he’ll give you that. Is he mad? Not exactly. The thought of you running around with Suguru and that fucking dumbass made him laugh at first.
That dumbass being Satoru, by the way.
It’s amusing. He knows you. It may have been years since you last spoke, but it’s obvious you haven’t changed that much. To think that you’d be able to keep up with those two was laughable. That’s not to say that they’re bad people or anything, they’re just… a lot. Suguru’s not the pacifist he presents himself to be. Then there’s Satoru, who is as crazy as he looks, if not, more.
Then there’s you, the one who was always too squeamish to go out and get her own food and spent the last century tucked away in small, quiet places— just fucking sheltered.
You, my dear, have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, all in the name of getting closer to him. Watching your bubble of delusion pop is something he now looks forward to.
Which is why he’s still getting ready for tonight’s party, despite hearing the news that you, Suguru’s new “friend”, will be attending. It won’t be long until you get yourself into some trouble, and you can bet that he’ll be there. Not to save you—fuck that. He’ll be there to savor the guilt ridden look on your face when you realize how much you took your old life for granted.
—
You have made many mistakes in the past, and you’ve also made many stupid decisions.
Tonight is no exception.
You did put two and two together the morning after the exhibit. At first, you were hesitant to give Suguru a call, but you eventually grew a pair and started dialing.
And now here you are, taking shots with him, Satoru, and a girl you were literally just introduced to three minutes ago, Ieiri. Pretty name. Pretty eyes too. She’s so aloof with the two that it makes you think she’s either using them or has known them long enough to be used to their antics.
There's a party tonight— you’re assuming it’s a big one with how Satoru ripped the phone out of Suguru’s hand to tell you to “just wear something fucking hot,” and then proceeded to remind you all throughout the week via text message. It explains your dress that’s way too short and feels too tight, but maybe that’s also because not once in the years you’ve lived have you ever gone to a party.
Though it was more like a fucking rager— one that was strictly for vampires.
Held in some giant, yet somehow fancy, warehouse in the middle of nowhere, all so no one could hear the music blasting from the speakers that were strung up on the ceilings. Waiters that looked out of place— you could just tell whoever’s idea it was to have them here think a little too highly of themselves. They were dressed to the nines, walking around with silver platters, serving alcohol and champagne flutes filled with the best blood on the market.
And if the champagne flutes weren’t enough? There were live options too, with many guests openly feeding on willing(?) participants. Quite the culture shock for someone who spent their entire life tucked away.
Gojo’s tugging you around the place like a kid in a candy shop. All the different lights reflect on his white hair as he leads you to some VIP area, excited to introduce you to the others he and Suguru were talking about on the drive here. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but you find yourself staring, almost in awe, over all the different tones. It was just as interesting as everything else around you— until you feel a shiver run down your spine.
You’d think looking elsewhere would help you shake off that brief dark feeling you’ve grown used to over the years, yet the first thing your eyes land on is none other than Sukuna himself— the only reason why you came here in the first place.
You never took him to be the social kind, but there he was walking around in a boring art gallery, so why wouldn’t he be at something more exciting? He definitely looked like he was enjoying himself.
Maybe a little too much, actually.
He sat there as if the entire party was thrown just for him, lounging back on a fancy sofa like some fucking king. His white shirts rolled up to his elbows and buttoned half way down— it’d be easier to see his tattoos if he weren’t completely soaked in blood. There are three bodies already discarded around him, and horrifyingly enough, they all just so happened to look like you.
He wasn't done either, and is casually holding his third victim by the hair as he drank from them, who also looks just like you. And the worst part? He looked good doing it.
Gojo notices you staring and just laughs. “Don’t worry about him, Sukuna’s just got a bigger appetite than the rest of us. Don’t let him catch you staring though, or you might be next,” he teases, so blissfully unaware of the history you have with him.
You have no idea how to respond to that. You couldn’t even if you tried. The moment he said that, Sukuna raised his head and looked right at you, eyes faintly glowing as blood trickled down his chin. Your attendance didn’t seem to phase him, like at all. If anything, he looks pleased with himself. The bodies around him must’ve been quite the sight for you.
Then back he went to do what he came here for: Eat.
Suguru was the first person to notice the obvious shock on your face when you got to the VIP area after your little tour. He looks back and forth between you and Satoru, hoping his friend didn’t have anything to do with it. He was weird at times, but he wasn’t that fucking weird.
“I think Sukuna spooked her,” Satoru says, plopping a hand on your shoulder and giving it a friendly rub. The kind you give to someone when you’re giving them a pep talk.
“What did he say?” Suguru’s lips twitch as he asks, wondering what it could've possibly been this time. He wasn’t a stranger to Sukuna’s ways. He knew he wasn’t the best person either. If he had to tell you the truth, it was almost comical how bad of a person he could be at times.
“Nothing— just saw him doing his thing. Had a little pile around him.”
Little?
“Oh— yeah, don’t worry about him, sweetheart,” he chuckles, quickly brushing the topic off. “He’s pretty harmless… It’s been a while since he’s targeted his own kind.”
Oh my god?
You weren’t even going to ask him to elaborate on that. Instead, you just laugh with them and brush it off as if it were normal, even though it fucking wasn’t.
“Alright,” Satoru sings out, clapping his hands together once. “Let me introduce you to everybody.”
—
Sukuna lets the fourth body drop to his feet after deciding he’s had enough for the night. Rising from the couch and stepping over the little pile, he makes his way to vip, not because you were there, but because it was filled with the people he didn’t actually mind talking to. The people scattered around the dance floor were more like maggots to him.
They weren’t all that useless though, they were smart enough to move out of his way as he walked through the crowd, knowing he’d do more than just ruin their night if they didn’t. Some of these people were hundreds of years old themselves, and while that might mean something, it still didn’t compare to him. Most of their bloodlines traced directly back to either him or to an ancestor of Satoru’s. It was common knowledge within the community. It was also known that the Gojo Clan wasn’t nearly as blood-lusty as Sukuna was in his earlier years. Rumor has it he used to turn multiple people at a time because they were more fun to hunt. He apparently enjoyed having a little challenge.
The first thing Sukuna sees when he steps into the room is you, chatting away with Nanami and Utahime. You surprisingly don’t look out of place, with them at least, the two most boring people in this room.
Actually, boring might not be the right word— reserved. The type of people that’d make you think that the others might not be as bad if those two were able to tolerate everything that went on behind closed curtains.
“Oh, hey!” Suguru says as he walks up behind him, then gestures towards you. You look normal enough when you turn around and see them striding over to you, but he hears you stop breathing for a second. “This is the artist I told you about— the one I met at the gallery the other week,” Suguru mentions, choosing to avoid bringing up Sukuna’s sudden leave. He wasn’t very fond of being questioned.
There’s not one nervous bone in Sukuna’s body, giving you a subtle smile as he walks past you and sits on the couch to your left.
He then proceeds to act like he has no idea who you are.
“An artist, huh?” He repeats Suguru’s words in an amused tone. “What a cute hobby.”
He’s all relaxed now compared to the last time you saw him, but you know that small piece of information pissed him off. Behind the bored look and thrown back shoulders is a man who had a newfound hatred for painting— he’s as scornful as ever.
You smile and nod in response, having no other meaningful words to offer aside from a measly “yeah” to his little jab. Little, yet enough to send you spiraling. There was never much of a plan to begin with, even though there really should’ve been.
You wanna go home.
“You must be pretty talented with all the praise this one’s given you,” he says, pointing at Suguru, who’s starting to look a little nervous himself.
“I wouldn’t say that,” you softly laugh– one he sees right through, “you know what they say about practice though.”
“Of course,” he hums. “Working towards a goal— how human,” he adds, draping an arm over the sofa. “You’re given a gift… a mind and body that’s built to do more than just withstand time. An apex predator. Yet you waste your time playing with paint?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a waste of time–”
“No?” He cuts you off, tilting his head to the side. “You spend your days acting like a human when you’re not. You can’t eat like them, can’t live like them,” he laughs, ”you can’t even die like them.”
It's clear he’s just trying to rage-bait you at this point, but his comment still had a little kick to it. He wasn’t wrong— you can’t die, you’ve also forgotten the taste of your favorite meal a long time ago.
“Guess it’s just something to do with all the time I have,” you end up saying, all while pulling yourself back to reality. He sure was good at sending you back into an existential crisis, one you recently clawed your way out of. Just barely.
“Oof— looks like I hit a nerve,” he snorts, rising from his seat with his glass of scotch that was already empty. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll eventually realize that finding ways to fill that time is worthless, too.”
It’s nothing but silence as he walks off. Instead of walking to the door that led back to the rest of the party, he walks down one of the halls— off to do god knows what. You’re not even sure if you want to know at this point.
“Don’t take what he says to heart,” Suguru says after hearing a door click from a distance. “He’s just blunt like that—”
“He’s old as fuck, too,” Satoru cuts in, earning a smack on the shoulder from Ieiri. “What?! It’s true!”
“It takes him a while to warm up to others,” she says with a sigh. “Even then, he’s still… Sukuna. When you’ve been around for as long as he has, you just don’t really care for much. Years turn into seconds— that kinda stuff.”
“I can see that,” you murmur, taking a sip from your drink.
“Yeah, he doesn’t hate you or anything. You would’ve already been his dinner by now if he did,” Satoru adds, thinking it’d make you feel better.
It doesn’t.
Even when everyone moves on to an entirely different topic, you still find his words lingering in the room, filling you with the same dread that made you leave in the first place. You don’t regret your choice, but having him beat your own immortality into your head makes you question if that is true. If you’re actually just lying to yourself, and maybe in the back of your mind, you’re wondering if there’s a cure somewhere out there for this. It’s absurd to think about— the only way out is through him. Even if that was something you truly wanted, you highly doubt he’d let that happen.
Given where you’re at, it’s not a thought that should be crossing your mind right now. You shouldn’t have even been here to begin with, but the thought of being in community, no longer feeling alone, sounded nice. Now that you’ve technically checked off “finding Sukuna” on your to-do list, and seeing how unwilling he is to speak to you, maybe this was the next step. To accept your mistakes and move on.
So instead of going home, the night goes on. You take all the shots handed to you, let the new friends you made drag you around all over the place, dance— you even laughed a little, though you still couldn’t help but feel guilty about it.
That’s where you have him all wrong. Watching you laugh and have fun from a distance doesn’t make him think you’re happier without him. But the moment he started to somewhat understand you was the moment he tore his eyes away from you.
He needed to step out, get some fresh air, and have a smoke. You’d think there’d be more people outside doing the exact same thing, but there’s not— just him and the night sky. He was wrong— he’s never seen a star form or burn out, not yet at least. But for now, thinking about how they’ve been around since his beginning was a good way to get his mind off things.
Until he hears someone stumbling out of the noisy warehouse. No, he doesn’t need to turn his head to know it’s you. He refused to listen to his own gut when he first walked into that gallery— not this time. Unfortunately, your scents ingrained in his head, even now, years later, when you’re body is filled with vodka.
“Oh don’t leave now, love,” he lazily murmurs the moment he hears you turn on your heel, still not bothering to look at you. “This is what you came for, isn’t it? To tell me how sorry you are, to explain why you did what you did.”
“I mean, yeah,” you mutter. “Then I remembered that you threatened to shove a dagger through my chest— I’m not really sure what to say to you.”
“Really?” he hums, taking a sip from his drink. “You looked pretty sad back there when I told you that you couldn't.” Die, that is. “I was sure you had a death wish when I found out that you’d be here,” he adds.
“Nope,” you sigh, almost sounding disappointed about it. “Just wanted to see you again.”
“How romantic,” he responds in the same bored tone. “You’re a persistent one, I’ll give you that.”
“I feel like you’ve always hated that about me.”
“I wouldn’t say I hate it. You were the one who begged for me in the beginning, though. Now look where we're at,” he says that last part bitterly.
“I know,” you murmur, still unsure what to say. There was sorry, but he hates apologies. You tried looking for him in the past, but you didn’t try hard enough, clearly. You both knew there weren’t any words that’d make it any better. And there’d be no point in admitting that you were scared, it’d just be an insult to him.
“It was written all over your face earlier,” he says, taking a deep breath and looking back up. “The panic. That’s why you left, to convince yourself there was more to all of this.”
“That’s not it,” you try to argue, but you’re cut off by a laugh.
“The only person you’re lying to at this point is yourself,” he snorts, rising up from his seat and walking up to you. He’s not angry this time, or in whatever mood he was in when he spoke to you earlier. The look on his face is relief— like he had just freed himself from a lifelong curse.
You have a feeling that lifelong curse is you when he gently takes your face in his hands, tenderly rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.
“How about this— go out and have some fun,” he has to be joking with the way he says it– too calm, too light. Your stomach begins to twist as he continues. “You made some new friends tonight, right? And I’m clearly not going to stop you from seeing them, so go enjoy yourself. And if that isn’t enough for you, then I’ll do it.”
“Do what?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief.
“You know what.”
notes: if ur confused on the “i’ll do it part”, he means go out there and have fun bc he already gets the gist on why she left. he’s still mad tho, so he pretty much said if that’s not enough for you and you truly feel like there’s something missing, come back to me so i can put you out of your misery (turn you into a past tense if ykwim) 💗 ALSO, taglist is open again please lmk in the comments if you wanna be tagged.
a/n: a man who yearns is a man who earns type shit
Sukuna didn’t think he’d ever be in this position.
Standing in his own kitchen, watching you, his ex, boil water like it was rocket science, while a cat named Ramen, your cat, technically his cat too, sitting smugly on the counter, tail flicking like he enjoyed the scene in front of him.
You’d found him lurking at Sukuna’s apartment building, thin and half-wild, glaring at anyone who dared to come near. He was a stocky shorthair with smoke-gray fur marbled in black tabby stripes. One ear was notched from some old fight, and his tail had that restless whip to it, like he was always judging. But it was his eyes that set him apart, unnatural, and startlingly red.
Now he was the most spoiled bastard alive, paraded around in sweaters, hoodies, and even a ridiculous little jacket with faux fur trim, a wardrobe no cat needed, all courtesy to you (and Sukuna’s card).
Motherfucker looks at him arrogantly like he owns the place.
He never thought breakups could look like this either. He expected slammed doors, blocked numbers, maybe the occasional box of forgotten things dumped on the curb.
Not… whatever this is. Not with you still here, setting off the smoke alarm because you somehow managed to scorch a pot of water.
“You burnt the water,” Sukuna said flatly, snatching the pot out of your hands. He’s wearing the bunny oven mittens that you bullied him into buying.
“What do you mean I burnt the water? Are you insane? Who the fuck burns water!” you snapped back, crossing your arms. "It's your pot that needs to retire."
Ramen meowed like he agreed with you, like the traitor he is.
You were too tired after taking Ramen to the vet then stopping by the store to stock up on his food, because apparently, even after the breakup, the two of you had fallen into a sort of joint custody. Your weeks revolved around vet appointments and shopping lists, and neither of you had been willing to back down.
It didn’t help that everything in his apartment still screamed you. The couple mugs you picked out, the horrible pastel throw pillows you insisted on, the plant you swore would survive, your fingerprints were on every corner but on his skin. You could’ve packed it all up. He could’ve thrown it all out.
Sukuna broke it first. “You could’ve just… ordered takeout.”
You scoffed, brushing past him to grab the instant noodles. “And let you think I can’t handle boiling water? No thanks.”
He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Ramen stretched, yawned, and hopped onto the floor, weaving between your legs like he knew you’d bend down to scoop him up. And of course you did.
You hugged your cat against your chest, refusing to meet your ex-boyfriend's eyes. He didn’t look at you either, just busied himself scrubbing the pot even though there was nothing left to scrub.
“It’s fine.” He grumbled, bitterly eyeing at the way you were running your hands through Ramen’s fur. “I’m hungry anyway, I want real food.”
And to make matters worse, you had once drunkenly admitted that Ramen was named after him, because it sounded like Ryomen. In that way, there will always be a reason for the two of you to be together just in case you break up.
The irony was clearly salt in an open wound.
You rolled your eyes. “Then cook something. You’re the one with the actual knives.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered under his breath, though the sharpness was dulled.
Still holding Ramen, you perched on the edge of the counter, watching him shuffle around his own kitchen like a stranger.
Sukuna never cooked unless you made him, half the utensils were things he only owned you'd gone on a frenzy with his card and bought them. All of his things were as much yours as his.
He yanked open the fridge, glaring at the contents as though they had personally wronged him. “You bought tofu again,” he said accusingly.
You shrugged. “It’s healthy for Ramen.”
“Ramen doesn’t eat tofu.”
“Yeah, but I do. Sometimes.”
The silence stretched. He grabbed eggs, set the pan on the stove, and cracked them with unnecessary force. You slid down from the counter and placed Ramen on the floor, watching as the cat trotted straight to Sukuna’s legs and rubbed against them.
You sighed and pulled two bowls from the cabinet—your bowls, ones with little cartoon cats painted on the rim, and set them on the table. It was muscle memory, and only when you stepped back did you realize what you were doing.
Sukuna noticed too. His jaw tightened but he didn’t say anything. The smell of fried eggs and tofu filled the kitchen, warm and almost nostalgic, like a weekend morning from when things between you weren’t so fractured.
By the time he slid the plates onto the table, Ramen had already jumped onto a chair, claiming his spot like this was his dinner too. You sat across from Sukuna, fiddling with your chopsticks. He didn’t look at you, and you didn’t look at him, but somehow, you still ended up eating together.
It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t hostile either.
Just… strange.
Familiar enough to stir something in his chest.
Ramen meowed, demanding a piece of egg. You caved first, slipping him a bite. Sukuna clicked his tongue but didn’t stop you.
Long after dinner was over and the clock had already slipped past midnight, the apartment was quiet, save for the romance movie (it was your favorite) in the background and Ramen’s soft purring.
The two of you sat on opposite ends of the couch. Ramen, of course, had claimed the middle cushion. Stretched out like a king, his tail flicked lazily as if the whole apartment belonged to him. Every so often he would shift, and with every small adjustment, you and Sukuna edged closer together without noticing.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you murmured, scratching behind Ramen’s ear.
You adjusted, leaning slightly so you wouldn’t feel so cramped, and Sukuna mirrored without thinking.
First it was your knees brushing when Ramen rolled onto his side. Then it was your arms, when he curled up tighter. Inch by inch, space shrank until you were pressed shoulder to shoulder.
Sukuna tilted his head toward you, voice low, gruff, like he was giving an order rather than a request. “Just come here.”
You shifted into his space, careful not to disturb Ramen, who was now perfectly content wedged between you. Then suddenly his arm was around you, heavy and grounding, like it had always been meant to fall there. Your hand drifted, slow and unsure, before settling on his forearm, tracing thoughtless little circles against his skin.
“Thanks for letting me come here.”
“Anytime.” He mutters, slowly dozing off. “for ramen.”
few one shots force me to draft something up and heaven knows —
fuck you (I mean this in the most respectful possible 😭)
I had to re read the blurb and im sick to my stomach realizing that everything about the wedding was vague enough to imply it was gojo but not specific enough to 100% be him
I feel absolutely conned but what a great piece of work. Think this might be one of the biggest unexpected plot twists I’ve read in a while on here so thanks for that, but also I think im going to throw up right now
Thank you so much for this !! And the respectful fuck you HAHAHA
I don’t know why but I’m a sucker for tropes like that 😀 it was really fun writing it too.
I’m currently in the middle of writing another fic that’s lowkey connected to Heaven Knows and it’s not all angst anymore. I’m hoping to post it after New Year’s!
Gojo x Reader
Genre: fluff, angst
Summary: A glimpse of you and Satoru's relationship before you finally get married.
wc: 5.3k
a/n: this is set after they defeated Sukuna! so 2018. Nobody died <3
The grand doors swung open, and there you were, framed by the soft glow of sunlight streaming in behind you. In that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, and so did he. You were radiant, ethereal in the way only you could be, adorned in your wedding dress that seemed to shimmer with its own light.
You look exactly like an angel.
It was like heaven had come down in the form of you— a miracle that Satoru Gojo is privileged enough to see.
1999
You had marched up right up to him on the first day of school, unimpressed by the murmurs of your classmates around you.
“Satoru, right?” You asked, giving him a warm smile despite the dismissive look he gave you.
“I am Y/N!” You announced excitedly as you extended a tiny hand toward him.
He didn’t shake your hand, just stared at it with a displeased look.
It was the first time someone called him by his first name who isn’t a part of his clan.
But before he could even respond or point out your audacity to call him by his first name, you proceeded into a rambling monologue about the first time you two had met.
He blinked at you, his blue eyes narrowing in slight suspicion as he debated whether to bully you or ignore you. The memory you described was extremely vague to him—something about your clan visiting his, something that he doesn’t even think worth remembering.
“You don’t remember, do you?” you teased, tilting your head with a grin, completely ignoring his lack of response. “Your clan was so serious when my family visited. And you just sat there! All boring and serious too, like the world was ending.”
His brows furrowed and he crossed his arms, “I wasn’t boring!”
“You were! You were talking about tech a nick or something and responsibilities, you didn’t want to play.”
“I did have responsibilities,” he muttered defensively, his chest puffing out slightly. “And it’s technique, you weirdo.”
“Sure,” you replied with a shrug, your grin never fading. “Wanna prove you’re not boring by watching Digimon with me?”
That seemed to catch his interest. Hesitantly, he lets you take his hand to lead him where you want to go.
From that day on, it felt like his life truly had begun when you granted him with your sunshine. For the first time in his life, Satoru wasn’t pressured to be anything he needed to be. You made him feel normal, something he didn’t even know he wanted until then.
You were his first best friend. You were the first person who saw him for who he truly was, not what he represented or what he’s destined to be.
The world had never quite felt right anymore unless you were in it.
2007
Satoru has changed over the years. The roles between you had reversed; you were the calm and steady one now. Gone was the stiff, overly serious boy you met when you were kids. Now, he was obnoxious and loud, and painfully obsessed with you.
But despite all this, he was still your Satoru.
Satoru always knew that he felt strongly about you, he just wasn’t sure what it was exactly. All he knew was that he likes it when you look at him, the way your voice softens when you speak to him, and how your touch—even the slighted brush of your fingers, is something that he desperately craves.
He never passes up an opportunity to pull out lame excuses just to touch you, which earns several eye rolls from your circle of friends.
“Your hair’s messy,” he’d say, brushing an imaginary strand from your forehead and then putting an arm around your shoulders to ‘keep your hair in place.’ Or dramatically say (with an arm around your waist) ‘come hold my hand, what if an ugly scary curse comes over to kill me?’ just so he could imagine (and plot) so many more moments where he can hold you.
Everyone knew about it too. It was impossible not to notice. Satoru wasn’t exactly subtle about the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room. It was an open secret that you’d eventually get married anyway. You were practically glued to his side—at lunch, in class, during missions. Even Suguru would tease him mercilessly about it.
“Insufferable. You two are insufferable.” Suguru said one afternoon, groaning at the sight of you and Satoru feeding each other mochi during lunch break.
Satoru just fluttered his eyes mockingly at him before he pulled you closer to him, practically hugging you. You didn’t pull away, like always. It never occurred to him that you might just like him back because of how much you don’t mind it when he’s hogging your personal space.
Eventually, all those constant ‘we’re just friends’ seem to wear on Satoru.
He felt ridiculous. Satoru Gojo, bearer of the six eyes, rendered weak by your touch.
Friends didn’t make his chest tighten every time they smiled, didn’t make his stomach flip with a single laugh. Friends didn’t leave him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way your head rested on his shoulder or how your hand lingered just a second too long on his arm. Friends certainly didn’t steal the air from his lungs the way you did every time you walked into a room. No, it was only you.
And then there was the kiss.
It happened during one of your movie nights.
It started as a joke—when you asked him about his worst kiss so far.
Poor Satoru was blushing profusely when you asked him that question. At the back of his mind, he wanted his first kiss to be you.
But he couldn’t say that, of course. So instead, he shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t kiss and tell,”
You raised an eyebrow, your grin widening as you saw right through him. “Oh my god,” you gasped, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never kissed anyone, have you?”
“What?” Satoru scoffed, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’ve kissed someone.”
Your eyes narrowed, sparkling with amusement. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying!” he protested, his blush deepening.
“Uh-huh,” you said, unconvinced. “If you’re not lying, then why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing!”
“You’re totally blushing.”
He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Of course I’ve kissed someone!”
“Prove it, then.”
The challenge hung in the air between you, crackling like electricity.
“Prove it?” he echoed, his voice faltering for the first time. “Maybe I should show you to shut you up.”
You rolled your eyes but there’s something about the way you looked at him that caught him off guard, “You’re so full of yourself, Satoru.”
There was a pause, the teasing atmosphere suddenly shifting into something heavier, quieter.
“...We could try it,” You said, your voice a bit nervous. He gulped when he noticed the seriousness in your voice.
After a moment, your eyes met his.
“For practice,” you added quickly, as if saying it out loud would make it true.
And he just nodded at your dumb excuse. “For practice,” he repeated, nodding as if he’s convincing himself.
Neither of you moved at first. The air between you seemed to thicken, the rooftop suddenly too quiet except for the distant hum of the city below.
“Okay,” you murmured, leaning in slightly.
“Okay,” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your faces were close now, close enough that you could see the nervous flicker in his usually confident blue eyes. You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of mint and whatever candy he’d been eating earlier.
Then, your lips met.
It was soft—tentative at first, like you were both afraid to mess it up. His hand hovered awkwardly near your jaw, unsure whether to touch you or not. You leaned into him just a little, testing the waters, and he followed your lead.
Your lips are soft, too soft. In fact, he wants to keep practicing with you just so he could feel your lips on his again.
It lasted only a few seconds before you both pulled away, blinking at each other like you’d just crossed some invisible line neither of you could unsee. He tried to play it cool by shoving his feelings down after, giving you a shit-eating grin you love to roll your eyes at.
It was extremely hard for him to get his shit together when all that he could think about was that moment. He looked like a fool when he kept stealing glances at you every chance he got.
but what is this feeling exactly?
He just wanted to be by your side all the time, to go where you want to go as long as he can have you near.
And it wasn’t until Shoko mentioned that you were going on a date that Satoru finally admitted to himself that it was not platonic— the feelings he had been bubbling up inside him since he was nine.
“She’s what?” he asked, nearly choking on his drink.
“Going on a date,” Shoko repeated, her tone maddeningly nonchalant as she exhaled a stream of smoke. “Some non-sorcerer asked her out.”
Satoru froze, the glass in his hand halfway to his lips. A sharp, unfamiliar knot twisted in his chest.
“No way.” he said, though the doubt and the pitch in his voice betrayed him. “No fucking way. You’re joking, right?”
“She already said yes,” Shoko added, the corner of her lips quirking into a smirk. “Maybe you should stop being an idiot and do something about it.”
The words hit him like a sucker punch, and he hated how his brain instantly imagined you with someone else—laughing, smiling, being exactly the way you were with him, but for someone else.
Satoru didn’t even think—his body moved before his mind caught up, and before he knew it, he teleported directly to your room for the first time, barely managing to stick the landing.
The soft hum of music filled the air, and you were perched in front of your mirror, carefully applying your makeup. You didn’t notice him at first because you were too focused on lining your lips (and staring directly into the abyss).
He leaned against your doorframe, his heart pounding harder than any fight he’d been in.
“Cancel your date,” he blurted out.
You jolted, spinning around so fast you almost knocked over a perfume bottle. “What the hell, Satoru?! What are you doing here? And how did you even get in?”
He ignored your questions, stepping closer to you. “I mean it—don’t go. Please?”
You blinked at him, your expression shifting from surprise to confusion. “What are you talking about? Why do you care?”
“Because it’s a waste of time,”
Your arms crossed defensively, your gaze hardening as you tilted your head, demanding answers. “And why’s that?
“Because... because…” he began, his voice trailing off as frustration bubbled to the surface. His icy blue eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.
“Because I like you, alright?” he finally confessed. His voice was raw, unguarded, and louder than he intended, but he couldn’t stop now. “There. I said it.”
The confession hung in the air between you, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched your reaction, searching for any sign of how you felt.
Your gaze softened, and to his surprise, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips.
“You’re such an idiot,” you said, shaking your head.
“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, shoulders slumping as he braced himself for rejection.
But then you stepped closer, the teasing edge in your voice replaced by something gentler. “No, Satoru. I mean, it took you long enough.”
His eyes snapped up to meet yours, wide with disbelief. “Wait... what?”
The way you smiled at him then—soft, genuine, and a little exasperated—sent a rush of warmth through him. “I thought it was obvious,” you teased, laughing softly.
For a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to process what you’d just said. A grin broke across his face, wide and boyish. “So... you like me too?” he asked excitedly.
Your laughter deepened, the sound soft and melodic. “How could you not notice?”
Before you could say anything more, he reached for you, his fingers curling gently around your wrist as he pulled you into him. You yelped, startled by the sudden closeness, but the protest never left your lips. His arms encircled you, holding you tightly, finally after waiting years to do this. Your hands hesitated for a moment before finding their place around his waist, your touch tentative but grounding.
“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and trembling slightly with emotion. His breath was warm against your hair as he buried his face in it, letting his eyes close. “Does that mean you’re dumping the loser who asked you out and you’re gonna spend the afternoon kissing me?”
“Satoru.”
As Satoru stands near the altar, his usual confidence falters as his heart skips a beat—then stops entirely.
He swears that he had never been more in love with you, if that’s even possible.
This feeling, an ache that stretched from his chest to his fingertips, leaves him trembling with an emotion he couldn’t put into words. He had never imagined it was possible to love someone this deeply, to feel his heart swell and his stomach churn with nervous exhilaration just from the mere sight of you.
And everything that he has ever done right, everything he had lost, was all worth it because it led to this moment.
It led him back to you.
2008
It happened after a mission. The two of you had just finished taking down a particularly troublesome curse, your energy spent and your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.
Satoru, for once, was exhausted. But you, for once, were weirdly energetic— skipping ahead of him on the rain-soaked streets, your laughter carrying through the quiet night.
Despite this, he insisted on walking you back to campus, even if his legs felt like lead. He just wanted to be around you a little longer.
The night was heavy with the smell of rain-soaked pavement, the kind of scent that lingered and wrapped around you, making everything feel muted.
You stopped suddenly in the empty area, just before you reached the school gates.
“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.
You didn’t say anything more, just pulled out your newest ipod out of your pocket, fumbling with the earbuds tangled in the cords. Satoru leaned against a lamppost nearby, watching you with an amused tilt to his head.
“What’re you doing?” He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a smile.
You brought a finger up to his lips and looked at him mischievously. “Shh.”
“Music helps me relax,” you said, plugging one earbud into your ear and offering him the other. “Here. Try it.”
Satoru hesitated, then shrugged, taking the tiny speaker and popping it into his ear. Almost immediately, the familiar opening notes of Every Breath You Take by The Police filtered through, slow and haunting.
“This?” He scrunched up his nose. “Really? The Police? That’s so lame.”
You looked at him, a tired but content smile tugging at your lips. “This song’s a classic,” you said softly, “It’s my favorite song!”
He opened his mouth to retort, but you surprised him by stepping closer, your eyes sparkling with a mix of playfulness and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. Without warning, you stepped closer, extending a hand toward him.
“Dance with me,” you said, your voice barely louder than the melody playing between you.
“What? Here?” Satoru raised a brow, glancing around at the deserted street.
“Yes, here.” You laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward you. “Come on, Satoru. Don’t tell me you’ve never danced before.”
Of course he didn’t.
He spent most of his life training to be the strongest and loving you and only you.
He let you guide him, his free hand hovering awkwardly until you placed it firmly on your waist. You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other intertwined with his.
The song continued to play, the melody wrapping around you both as you swayed.
Satoru stood stiffly for a moment, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process what was happening.
“Relax,” you teased, giving his shoulder a gentle shove.
It was awkward at first but eventually, you fell into a rhythm.
“You do realize this song’s about obsession and borderline stalking, right?” he said, a smirk adorning his lips.
“It’s a love song.” You corrected him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you. “I think it’s kinda depressing, in a way. To be able to love someone from afar but not being able to actually love them. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but it’s devotion nonetheless.
“You’re insane,” he replied, but there was a fondness in his tone that made your grin widen.
Like in the movies, it suddenly started to rain. The rain was coming down soft at first, then it became heavier as the droplets started to soak through your uniforms and plastered your hair to your faces.
But neither of you really cared. Not when you were so close, your warmth cutting through the chill of the night.
The rain soaked through his hair and trickled down his neck, and Satoru couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when you were looking at him like that, your eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer. Something about the way you looked at him, your face soft and serene under the rain’s glow, made him feel... grounded.
“You’re terrible at this,” you teased, your voice light despite the exhaustion in your body.
“Hey, I’m great at this,” he shot back, spinning you suddenly and making you laugh. The sound echoed through the empty street, warm and full of life, and Satoru realized he’d do anything to hear it again and again.
When the chorus hit, you rested your head against his chest, your movements slowing. He felt your breathing even out, your exhaustion catching up to you, but you didn’t pull away. His arms tightened around you instinctively, holding you as if you might slip away if he didn’t.
“I want to be yours.” He murmured through your hair, hiding his face from you out of nervousness. “Can I be yours, Y/N?”
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.
“I love you, Satoru.”
He blinked, his heart stumbling in his chest. “Really?” A slow grin spread across his face. “You beat me to it.”
You giggled, the sound melting whatever nervousness was left in him.
“I love you, Y/N. Can I be yours then?” He asked, his voice dropping slightly. “Can I be your boyfriend?”
“I think my answer is pretty clear, you idiot.”
And with that, you pulled him down into a kiss, the rain pouring around you like something out of a movie. Satoru just held you tighter, thinking that he didn’t need anything else.
He just needed to be yours.
As you walk down the aisle, closer and closer to him, his breath hitched when finally— fucking finally, your eyes met his.
You smiled at him with lachrymose eyes. Satoru smiles back, wide and unrestrained, so much so that his cheeks are starting to hurt. His heart is pounding loudly in his chest that he’s afraid that everyone else in the church would hear how much his heart beats just for you.
You were ethereal.
A dream, really.
A dream he doesn’t ever want to wake up from.
Satoru had prepared himself for this moment—or at least he thought he had.
He told himself he needed to be strong for you.
It had been years, after all.
But no amount of preparation could steady the storm raging within him as the moment finally came. His jaw tightened, his smile strained, and he forced himself to breathe, even as each breath felt heavier than the last.
His chest constricted, and for that single, fragile moment, it felt as though everything he had ever wanted was still within reach.
When you finally tore your gaze from him and walked past, your white dress trailed like a whisper and a mockery of the life he would never have with you. Satoru just watched, rooted to his place.
His heart clenched painfully, screaming at him to reach out, to stop you, but he stayed still. He had no right. This was your moment, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin it—not for you.
Your happiness means everything to him. It always has. Even if it means watching you walk toward another man, toward a future that doesn’t include him.
Satoru’s eyes followed you as you made your way to your soon-to-be husband, Nanami Kento.
2013
The rain was relentless, pouring in heavy sheets that blurred the world around him, but Satoru barely noticed it. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold, as he walked toward you. His breath fogged in the air, but it wasn’t the cold that made his chest tighten—it was the thought of what he was about to do.
Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw you sitting at a small table by the window. You were hunched over, your uniform still clinging to your frame. You were drenched because you waited for him at the park before he texted you to meet up with him in this café instead.
Satoru nearly stopped right there, frozen by the sight of you. That look on your face—the same tired, fragile expression you’d worn for the past six months—made something inside him shatter.
Satoru almost cracked.
But he couldn’t.
He had to do this. For you.
He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, forcing himself to take another step, and then another, until he was close enough to see the rain streaking down your cheeks. Or were those tears? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to.
His breath was uneven, his heart pounding as if it were trying to break free from his chest.
He hated this. Hated himself. But it didn’t matter.
This was for the best.
“Satoru?” you asked, your voice soft but cautious. Disappointment is written all over your face but your determination to make your relationship work outweighs it.
He froze for a second. God, you looked so beautiful, even like this—wet, shivering, and confused. A part of him wanted to just pull you into his arms and to apologize for what he was about to do, hold you so close that the world would have no choice but to give you to him without exceptions.
But instead, he dropped his gaze and forced the words out. “We need to talk.”
You blinked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
He slid into the seat across from you, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He couldn’t meet your eyes, so he stared at the surface instead, tracing a crack in the wood grain with his finger. “I’ve been thinking… about us.”
“What about us?” you asked, your voice quieter now.
Satoru exhaled sharply. “I don’t think this is working anymore.”
You stiffened, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup.
“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Satoru, what are you saying?”
“I’m not in love with you anymore,” he said, his voice hollow, as if that would make it hurt less—for both of you. “For a while now.”
The words tasted like poison on his tongue, each one more painful than the last.
Your eyes widened, disbelief etched across your face. “You– you don’t mean that.”
When he finally looked at you, he thought about telling you the truth—that he was terrified of putting you in danger, that loving him came with risks you didn’t deserve. But he swallowed it down.
“I do.” His voice cracked. “I’ve been feeling this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
You shook your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “Satoru, if something’s wrong, we can fix it. Just talk to me. I know you love me—”
“There’s nothing to fix!” he interrupted, louder than he intended. He winced at the hurt that flashed across your face. Softer now, he added, “It happens. People fall out of love. Don’t make this situation harder for the both of us, please. I can’t give you what you want.”
“You’re lying. Why are you doing this?” you whispered in disbelief. You quickly held his hand. “You’re trying to push me away. Just tell me what’s really going on.”
He couldn’t answer that. Not the truth, at least. That being with him would mean a lifetime of danger, of being a target simply because of who he was. That he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of him. That he loved you too much to keep you by his side.
“I’m not lying,” he said quietly, the finality in his tone slicing through the air between you. “This is just how I feel.”
Your shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he thought you might collapse under the weight of his words.
You took a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself as though you were trying to hold yourself together. “I see.”
“Sorry, Y/N.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away, the rain drowning out the sound of his footsteps and the sobs he was certain he would hear if he stayed a second longer.
He didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. Because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to leave.
The first few years after your breakup were a strange limbo. You stayed friends—on the surface, at least. But there was always tension, unspoken words that hung heavy between you. He could see it in the way your eyes lingered on him during missions, the hope that flickered and faded every time he said something or did something that he used to do with you.
You waited for him to come back to you. Satoru knew that.
And for a time, he almost let himself believe that he can. He just needed enough time to muster up the courage to come back to you.
and when he finally received that wedding invitation on a random friday morning, he stared at it for hours before opening it. He felt like he died twice as much when he also learned that your fiancé gave up his job as a sorcerer just to have a peaceful life with you.
The life Satoru dreamed of giving you.
That night, for the first time in years, he let himself cry. Not the quiet, controlled tears he shed in the rain that day, but the kind that left him gasping for breath.
And Satoru Gojo, the strongest, could do nothing but watch.
Looking back at everything he had done to keep you safe, Satoru doesn’t know which one’s better—losing you for good or losing you to someone else.
Always an arm’s length yet never close enough.
His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He bit down on his lower lip hard, a desperate attempt to stifle the sound threatening to escape—a choked sob, a plea, a broken fragment of a heartache he couldn’t afford to show.
Out of the corner of his eye, he felt a nudge at his elbow. Gojo turned to see Shoko, quiet as ever, holding out his sunglasses.
Shoko looked at him with such softness and sympathy, one that Gojo wasn’t sure he could bear right now.
Shoko didn’t say anything, didn’t need to.
Gojo took the sunglasses, slipping it over his eyes. He gave her a half-hearted grin before painfully turning his gaze back on you.
His resolve cracks little by little, then all at once, when he finally sees the way you look at Nanami Kento.
Gojo will never have the privilege to wake up to you in the morning, to be the first person who would witness your sleepy eyes as the sunlight slowly makes its way into the room. Never again will he have the privilege of making you breakfast, of watching your expression shift from fondness to playful exasperation as you scold him for drenching his pancakes in too much honey, his sweetness nearly as overindulgent as the way he looked at you. He will never be able to be the recipient of your lovesick eyes, that softness in your smile that was only ever reserved for him.
He’ll never be able to feel your touch again, at least not in the way he yearns for used to.
Gojo’s mind wanders off at the stolen moments he buried deep within his heart. How it seems like it was only yesterday when he’s still in your shared bed, with you curled up by his side while he wraps his arms around you, and how you’d point out that he was clingy even if he knew you loved every second of it anyway. How you caress his face and laugh at his antics only to assure him that he is the only one you love and that you won’t ever go away, putting his demons to sleep just with the sound of your voice.
Oh, what a bliss.
And perhaps the most gut wrenching realization of all is that it was almost him. Those nights full of whispered secrets and promises to grow old together all vanished just because he was too scared of not being able to protect you.
Nanami will have all that he dreams of, all that he let go of, and all of you.
What a lucky man he is, to be someone that is seen and loved by you. You look at Kento like how you used to look at him, so full of love and adoration as if he was the one who put all the stars in the sky.
He wanted to hate him, to despise the man who now holds your heart, to curse the universe for giving your love to someone else. But how could he? How could he, when Nanami Kento wears his love for you so plainly, so unabashedly, as if it were his very lifeblood? All he needs to hear is evident in the unspoken devotion that screams in the way Nanami looks at you—a love so evident it makes him force to swallow down the bile in his throat.
If it wasn’t clear before, it was painfully clear now—the ache in his chest was sharper, more unbearable than any blow he had endured as the strongest. His ribs felt as though they might collapse under the weight of his regret.
The realization comes all too late and unrelenting, you were already promising forever in the arms of a man who wasn’t him.
He wanted to shout, to tell you to stop the wedding. to choose him. to beg for your forgiveness.
Would you take him back?
The voices in his head are becoming louder, much louder than ever. He was so stupid. So cowardly. How could he have let you go when being with you is the only thing he had ever truly wanted?
He stayed firm in his place, knuckles turning white as he held himself together.
Not once did you look back at him.
It has always been you, you had once told him.
Yet you have already said I do—
It has always been you.
It will always be you.
a/n: sorry, did i scam you?
my song inspo for this is bizarre love triangle by new order. I feel like it's such a depressing love song aka love triangle between the writer, his lover, and something else. In Gojo's case, it's his duty as the strongest.
Ex to FWB! Gojo x Reader
content: angst, hurt/comfort, smut
I LOVE A YEARNING SATORU SO MUCH
Ex to FWB! Gojo who broke up with you out of the blue after a 3 year relationship with you without ever telling you why. He just told you that he lost the spark and he simply grew out of the relationship. He didn’t bother coming to get his things and just disappeared out of your life completely.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who you saw after a year of no contact in a house party. He’s still as handsome as ever and he went over to you as if you didn’t go through a shitty break up.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who had this elaborate plan to win you back but only let out a shaky sigh when he’s face to face with you. He misses you, he realizes— so much so that he feels as though he would combust if he doesn’t hold you right now and he wonders how he could endure an entire year without being by your side, without meaning something to you other than the jerk who broke your heart.
Ex to FWB! Gojo got desperate when you seem to be uninterested with whatever he has to say so he asked you to be fwb with him instead.
“use me, then.” His words sounded so weirdly nonchalant but you could see the desperation in his eyes as he looked at you with so much intensity.
and how could you resist him when he’s practically right where you imagine him to be? pleading so much that you’re sure that he’ll beg on his knees if you asked him to. So for your own self-satisfaction you said yes, and his face beamed so bright that it reminded you of the complex history you had with him you desperately try to unrecall.
So you laid out the rules, He’s not allowed to kiss you during sex, hold you afterwards, or even make a genuine connection during the time you’re hooking up, then lastly, both of you are allowed to date whoever and the arrangement wouldn’t continue anymore if any.
He scoffed when you told him the rules but you noticed the way he looked so nervous under the flashing lights.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who kisses you like he needs you to breathe, slipping his tongue when your mouth slightly parted, groaning when he finally gets to taste you.
Ex to FWB! Gojo died and almost went to heaven (cum in his pants) when you breathily whispered his name—”Satoru”, for the first time since he broke up with you. He had to teleport the both of you to his bedroom before he rips your dress off for everyone to see.
Ex to FWB! Gojo holds your hand while he’s fucking you, the other wandering your body until it reaches your clit, drawing fast harsh circles until it has you writhing underneath him. He remembers your body too well, even more than you do. He buries his face in the crook of your neck to prevent himself from kissing you.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, pounding into you harshly that you couldn’t even think anymore. He got you so cockdrunk that the only word you remember is his name. It doesn’t even register to you when the bed frame breaks.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who desperately wants to kiss you but bites your neck instead when he cums deep inside you. He doesn’t stop thrusting even when you’ve both already came because he wanted a few more minutes to cage you in his arms because it’s the only time he only gets to do it.
Ex to FWB! Gojo felt disappointed when you left after the two of you fucked. He feels a hole punctured in his chest after you left him alone in his own apartment, he didn’t get to sleep that night.
Ex to FWB! Gojo getting frustrated when you’re adamant to follow the rules you made after 2 months of fucking. Each time he tries to make his actions genuine, you ask him to go faster and be rougher with you. He thought that little ‘act’ of yours is just a front to make him win you back but he soon realizes that you were being serious and you’re really only using him for your own sexual pleasure— all because he’s good in bed and he knows your body well. Nothing more, nothing less.
Ex to FWB! Gojo fakes his sleep to see what you’re going to do with him—if you’re going to run your hands through his hair, caress his cheek, kiss his forehead or speak to him when you think he’s asleep. Those little things that he took for granted during the course of your relationship that he misses so much. Instead, you get dressed and leave. The hole in his chest expanded tenfold after that.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who ‘coincidentally’ shows up near your apartment or the place where you work, claiming that he just happened to hang near where you’re at. He attempts to talk to you only to be met by subtle rejections and your fake excuses to go somewhere else.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who finally realizes the damage he has done with your relationship and how good he had it with you. He regrets not talking things out with you and leaving you without explaining the truth, that really, he’s just scared that he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he loses you because of the nature of his work or you realize that you deserve someone better than him.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who misses it when you used to look at him with soft, loving eyes. Not the one driven out of primal need and lust you always give him before the two of you fuck. He loves the scratches you give down his back, he thinks it’s a tangible proof that he still somehow has a hold on you and you’re still not completely out of his life, at least not yet. He wishes he could just show you how much he’s in love with you still— if only you’d let him.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who jokes about you staying the night, coaxing you to agree with him to just sleep in his place because your apartment is far away, you’re tired, and you have work tomorrow. Not because he wants more of you. (his whole being is shaking with need)
Ex to FWB! Gojo yearns for you so much that he couldn’t hide his despondent face anymore when you rejected his attempt to ask you out to stay over for the third time.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who heard from your mutual best friend, Shoko, that you’re going on a blind date next week and that you’re planning to break up the arrangement that week too.
Ex to FWB! Gojo who wishes you would give him a chance to explain everything, to win you back and allow him in your life again.
that we cant be friends writing is just *SCREAAMINGGGG* someone needs to ban you and other talented authors from listening to ariana’s new release (I STILL LOVE UR WORK THOUGH ILY)
AAAAAA HAHA I JUST WHEEZED NO BANNING IN THIS HOUSE HOPEFULLY I LOVE ARI'S NEW RELEASE (even if she's a lil bit controversial these days) I also went through your works and your miguel o'hara fanfics have me on A CHOKEHOLD PLS I LOVE YOU
heyy I just read your Sukuna x reader stories and I can't lie, I think I am in love. Your writing is beautiful!! I love the way you are able to portray emotions and how smoothly you manage to introduce time skips :)
Thank you anon! This means the world to me 🥹🤍 i sometimes feel like I'm not that competent enough as a writer and seeing this made my confidence a little bit better :"D THANK U
