hnnycrmb

20s

[hnnycrmb]

Masterlist:

Series:

Make a Man Out of You (Gojo/Reader, Nanami/Reader) (WC: 31,607) ongoing

More coming soon…

[hnnycrmb]

Hey sooo....what abt make a man out of you?

Sorry 😭 I've been SO busy lately and feeling really really stuck on what to do next. I honestly have no clue when I'll get back to it :(

I do want to continue it, I just can't quite say when that'll be.

[hnnycrmb]

Cw: mentions/implied infidelity, implied sexual relations, liar Gojo, mdni.

He’s leaning against the door frame. Carefree. Oblivious that you knew. Yapping on and on about something at work, face animated as he talks shit about his coworker.

You watch. Attentively. Carefully. Every expression, every sigh and shift in your body calculated.

“— and then, he had the nerve to say I owed him one,” he raked his hands through his white hair, glossy lips coming to a pout. Like he was actually bothered. Like he almost believed the tale he was spinning.

He was a good story teller — you had to give him that. True or not, you could listen to his sweet lies all night, his smooth baritone leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You can’t help it as your eyes rake over his body. White tee straining over his lithe body, forearm veins prominent even when he’s relaxed, his grey sweats hung low on his waist.

His hair was still a little damp from his shower, hanging slightly over his eyes, blue pinning you in your place on the bed.

Fuck.

Even now, you still wanted him.

Her perfume still clung to his skin, fighting through his pine and pepper body wash he tried so desperately to scrub it away with.

“And anyways, that’s why I had to stay late tonight. Sorry, baby.” He didn’t even need to pretend to be sorry, to pretend to be genuine. He let his charm do all the heavy lifting, to apologize for him. Like he knew it’d work on you. After all, it worked on everyone else, right?

And you were supposed to be just like everyone else.

The corners of your lips tug up, eyes heavy as you clamp your thighs together.

“Don’t worry about it Satoru.” He wasn’t. “C’mere, I missed you so much.” Your voice wasn’t your own anymore, the words leaving your mouth before you could remember that he was lying.

That he was with her.

The floor creaked as he stalked over to you. Eyes narrowing over you as you spread your legs for him, like he’d gotten way with it — again.

She had to have known about you too. There was no way she couldn’t. Not with the way that sweet scent of vanilla clung to his skin. Like she doused herself in fragrance for you to smell.

Marking her territory.

“I missed you too angel.” He closed in, body enveloping yours as you let him swallow you whole.

You let yourself believe his words, smiling up at him sweetly has he pulled his lips away from yours, eyes batting at him before he bit his way down your jaw and neck, sure to leave a mark of his own on you.

Your eyes roll back as his teeth scrape lower, back arching off the bed, biting your lip to stop from grinning.

After all, you sprayed on some extra perfume too…

I haven’t wrote anything in a while, but I’m drunk and was listening to Britney Spears and this happened, so whatever. Also, my dad died so you can’t be mean to me.

[hnnycrmb]

I might write something soon.

[hnnycrmb]

Turns out I meant right now.

[hnnycrmb]

Cw: mentions/implied infidelity, implied sexual relations, liar Gojo, mdni.

He’s leaning against the door frame. Carefree. Oblivious that you knew. Yapping on and on about something at work, face animated as he talks shit about his coworker.

You watch. Attentively. Carefully. Every expression, every sigh and shift in your body calculated.

“— and then, he had the nerve to say I owed him one,” he raked his hands through his white hair, glossy lips coming to a pout. Like he was actually bothered. Like he almost believed the tale he was spinning.

He was a good story teller — you had to give him that. True or not, you could listen to his sweet lies all night, his smooth baritone leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You can’t help it as your eyes rake over his body. White tee straining over his lithe body, forearm veins prominent even when he’s relaxed, his grey sweats hung low on his waist.

His hair was still a little damp from his shower, hanging slightly over his eyes, blue pinning you in your place on the bed.

Fuck.

Even now, you still wanted him.

Her perfume still clung to his skin, fighting through his pine and pepper body wash he tried so desperately to scrub it away with.

“And anyways, that’s why I had to stay late tonight. Sorry, baby.” He didn’t even need to pretend to be sorry, to pretend to be genuine. He let his charm do all the heavy lifting, to apologize for him. Like he knew it’d work on you. After all, it worked on everyone else, right?

And you were supposed to be just like everyone else.

The corners of your lips tug up, eyes heavy as you clamp your thighs together.

“Don’t worry about it Satoru.” He wasn’t. “C’mere, I missed you so much.” Your voice wasn’t your own anymore, the words leaving your mouth before you could remember that he was lying.

That he was with her.

The floor creaked as he stalked over to you. Eyes narrowing over you as you spread your legs for him, like he’d gotten way with it — again.

She had to have known about you too. There was no way she couldn’t. Not with the way that sweet scent of vanilla clung to his skin. Like she doused herself in fragrance for you to smell.

Marking her territory.

“I missed you too angel.” He closed in, body enveloping yours as you let him swallow you whole.

You let yourself believe his words, smiling up at him sweetly has he pulled his lips away from yours, eyes batting at him before he bit his way down your jaw and neck, sure to leave a mark of his own on you.

Your eyes roll back as his teeth scrape lower, back arching off the bed, biting your lip to stop from grinning.

After all, you sprayed on some extra perfume too…

I haven’t wrote anything in a while, but I’m drunk and was listening to Britney Spears and this happened, so whatever. Also, my dad died so you can’t be mean to me.

[hnnycrmb]

I might write something soon.

[sukunahs]

please let me watch?! | r. sukuna & g. satoru

pairing: gojo satoru x reader x ryomen sukuna

summary: after dating satoru for years, you're eager to know what its like to fuck someone else - specifically satoru's roommate sukuna, ideally while your boyfriend watches. lucky for you, sukuna is open to anything

word count: 3.2k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, piv, blow jobs, cucking, threesome, humiliation, spitting, cunnilingus, dominant sukuna, submissive reader and satoru, satoru exploring his bicuriosity

a/n: I'm back on my sukugo roomates bullshit AGAIN but this time its sukuna cucking satoru I hope you all enjoy

It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did - seeing you, his pretty girlfriend, on your knees, lips wrapped around another man’s cock.

He should’ve felt jealous, enraged that you were treating Sukuna with the same reverence that you’d usually treat him. 

But he wasn’t. 

Instead he was desperately hard, palming his cock through his jeans while he watched you give his roommate a blowjob. 

This whole thing had been your idea. 

You’d never been good at hiding your clear attraction to Sukuna, eyes always wandering when he’d show up in the kitchen, shirtless with nothing but a towel to cover his lower body, abs glistening with moisture following a shower. 

And Satoru knew that Sukuna was equally culpable, because he’d never walk around in that state when you weren’t in the apartment. 

No, that was a show that he was putting on entirely for your benefit. 

Originally, it had made him feel insecure - the way that you’d blush when he’d grin at you, stumbling over your words when you’d try to speak to him.

He knew that Sukuna was attractive, that his roommate had no problem pulling whatever girl he wanted, and there was a big part of Satoru that figured Sukuna would probably pull you right out from underneath him too. 

That fear had only grown when you’d confided in Satoru that you wanted to try fucking someone else. He had been the only man you’d ever been with, your first everything, and you couldn’t help but be curious about how things would feel with another person. 

You’d made it clear that you had no interest in a relationship with someone else, that you loved Satoru and wanted to be with him forever, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to try something casual, no strings attached, purely sex. 

It wasn’t like you’d pressured him - you’d made it clear that if he wasn’t comfortable he could just say no, the two of you could go on like before. 

But he was never very good at saying no to you, especially not when you were pouting up at him all cutely. 

So he agreed.

He didn’t like how quickly you proposed Sukuna as an option for your potential partner, practically stumbling over his name the moment that Satoru had given the green light on your little fantasy. 

You could’ve at least made some effort to be sly.

But he supposed he’d rather have you in the hands of someone he knew and begrudgingly trusted over a stranger. 

There was no way in hell he was leaving you alone with him though. 

The thought of sitting in his room while he tried to ignore you whining out another man’s name through the thin walls was a whole new breed of pathetic. He’d hate to sit there and wonder what Sukuna was doing to you, what positions he was putting you in, what lewd things he was whispering in your ear.

He didn’t want to agonise over your reactions - to allow insecurity to bury itself in his mind at the thought that you might like being fucked by Sukuna more than you enjoyed sex with him. And for that reason he needed to be in the room, needed to watch the whole thing with his own eyes. The last thing he wanted was Sukuna winning you over without him there to do a single thing about it. 

But who could’ve known that he’d figure out something new about himself that day? 

He liked watching his girlfriend get fucked. 

Sukuna’s fingers were wound tightly in your hair, pushing your head firmly down his cock, dictating the pace with the thrust of his own hips. Tears were streaking your cheeks, saliva dripping down your chin as you struggled to accommodate his size. 

“That’s it, good girl. She’s real good at this, huh?” 

Sukuna’s maroon eyes were fixed on him, challenging. A lazy smirk sat on his face, and Satoru couldn’t quite pinpoint why it made his heart flutter. 

He should hate Sukuna for this, it should piss him off that you were doing such a good job, trying so hard for another man - especially when he was treating you so much more roughly than Satoru ever would. 

But instead he was harder than he’d ever been. 

Growing even more attracted to the situation as he watched Sukuna cum in your mouth, holding you in place as he sternly ordered you to swallow, only releasing your hair once he was content that you’d taken everything he was giving you. 

You never swallowed for Satoru, you’d said it was gross. 

But here you were being all obedient when guided by a firmer hand. 

“Show me.” Sukuna ordered as he pulled out of your mouth, firmly tilting your face up with his hand. Your glossy lips parted willingly, sticking out your tongue for him, barely flinching as he leant forward and spat in your open mouth. 

Satoru would’ve never even thought to do such a thing. 

He always acted like you were something delicate, a princess to be treated with nothing short of worship. He wouldn’t make you do gross things, wouldn’t approach anything that could potentially cause you harm or embarrassment. He made love to you in the sweetest way possible, that was who he was. 

It was who he thought you were. 

An illusion that shattered as he watched you swallow Sukuna’s saliva, gazing up at the man like he’d gifted you the world, certainly not like he’d just spat into your mouth. 

“Such a good girl.” He hummed. “I think it's time we gave Satoru a real show though, don’t you?” 

Your eyelashes fluttered as you turned to glance at your boyfriend. There was a hint of guilt present in your expression, but it was buried beneath layers of lust. Your peaked nipples and the wet patch on your panties made it abundantly clear to him how much you were enjoying this. 

And even though part of him hated you for that, he couldn’t help but feel glad that you were enjoying it. 

He’d do anything to make you happy. 

From what he knew of Sukuna and the type of things he was into, Satoru had assumed that he was going to put you on all fours and fuck you from behind until you were sobbing. 

Sukuna always had sex in a way that wasn’t intimate, chasing his own pleasure before anything else, not keen on paying attention to the faces of any women that he passed time with. 

That was ideal by Satoru’s standards. He didn’t want Sukuna to fuck you lovingly, gazing into your eyes and making you cum - he was terrified that something like that would make you actually fall for the man, and that would be the worst case scenario.

But interestingly, Sukuna didn’t really choose either of those options. 

Instead he perched himself on the edge of the bed, sitting so that he was staring straight at Satoru. He then pulled you into his lap, positioning you so that your back was pressed against his chest, your gaze automatically falling upon your boyfriend. 

You looked almost apologetic as your eyes met, but that sentiment was quickly forgotten once Sukuna started to touch you. A moan from falling from your lips as one of his hands wrapped around your breast, giving it a firm squeeze, while his other hand lined his cock up against your pussy, the tip sliding against the slickness of your folds. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge Satoru’s presence the moment that Sukuna started to push into you. The shameful pleasure was stark on your face, and Satoru was straining desperately against his jeans at the sight of you struggling to adjust to Sukuna’s size, squirming on the man’s lap. 

“So fuckin’ tight. Did Satoru not stretch you out properly, pretty girl?” 

His lips were pressed up against your ear, your body trembling at his words. But Satoru knew that the statement wasn’t really meant for you, not with the way that Sukuna was smugly staring him down, taunting him through the one thing he truly cared about. 

“You’re s-so big.” You whined, wriggling in his grasp. 

“Yeah?” Sukuna’s gaze never left Satoru. “Bigger than your boyfriend?” 

“Mmmm.” You nodded. 

Even if that was technically fact, it still wounded Satoru’s pride. 

He was miles above average, it wasn’t his fault that he happened to be friends with one of the few men out there who were bigger than him. If he’d known that one day you’d ask to fuck his roommate, he would’ve done everything in his power to keep Sukuna out of his life. 

…Probably. 

The wet patch on his jeans suggested something different. 

Sukuna’s hands were on your hips now, moving you on his cock like you weighed nothing, driving himself up into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your eyes were still squeezed shut, your hands clasped up against your chest like you weren’t sure what to hold on to. 

That was understandable considering that Sukuna was completely in control of the situation, holding you so tight that his nails were no doubt leaving imprints on your skin. He was just taking you along for a ride. 

And it was obvious that you loved it. 

You were whimpering and whining, desperate moans of his name pouring from your lips after each deep, brutal thrust. Satoru had hoped that you might slip up and say his name, affirm his hopes that you were imagining that it was him fucking you rather than Sukuna. 

But you gave him no such peace, his roommate’s name sounding from your mouth ceaselessly. 

It didn’t make him any less transfixed on the scene, blue eyes honed in on the point where Sukuna’s cock was disappearing into you. It felt like watching porn that had been perfectly curated to his desires, but instead of searching for a star that looked like his girlfriend, it was actually you. 

He’d promised himself before all this that he was just here to watch, that he was only in the room to ensure no foul play from Sukuna’s side. But with a hazy lust settling in his mind, he couldn’t help but unzip his jeans, pulling out his hardened cock. 

“Oh? Well, would you look at that?” Sukuna hummed, eyes scanning over Satoru with interest. 

Perhaps he should’ve felt disgusted by the way that his friend was staring at him, embarrassed at the very least. But the two of them had crossed too many boundaries tonight for shyness. Sukuna currently had his cock buried inside you - they were way past humiliation. 

“Open those eyes, sweetheart.” Sukuna purred, patting the side of your face. “Look at him while I fuck you, yeah?” 

Satoru let out a groan as your nervous gaze met his, his hand wrapping tightly around his own cock, jerking his hand at the same pace that Sukuna was fucking you, imagining that it was him inside you right now, pulling all those pretty sounds from your lips. 

Your eyes were wide, filled with pleasure and desperation. It was clear that some sense of embarrassment was still flickering within you, squeezing your eyes shut every now and then only for Sukuna to slap your cheek or breast hard, reminding you to open them once more, forcing you to look into your lover's eyes while he ruined you. 

“He looks pathetic, doesn’t he, baby?” Sukuna rasped against your ear. 

With both of you staring at him he couldn’t help but feel an odd sort of shame, like he should stop and turn tail. Unfortunately, the shame just seemed to turn him on even more, because under the watchful gaze of the two of you, the sounds of gasping and slapping skin filling the air, he came all over himself. 

He hadn’t been expecting it, his body had just instinctively responded to the way that Sukuna was talking him down, to the sight of you getting so thoroughly fucked by another man. 

It was humiliating. 

Sukuna chuckled, red gaze trailing up the length of Satoru’s body. Because he’d cum so unexpectedly, he’d ejaculated onto his own shirt, the sticky substance covering both the fabric and his own hands. He knew that he should get up and clean himself off, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the scene before him for even a moment. 

It was clear that you were near your peak, the pitch of your moans changing a little as Sukuna adjusted his pace. His thrusts were deeper, more languid now. There was a cruel smirk on his face, an interested look that generally tended to be a sign of nefarious intent. 

“Hey Satoru. Come over here.” 

Satoru stared at him nervously, unsure of what Sukuna had in mind and not all that enthusiastic to find out. But at the same time, he wanted to be closer to you. Perhaps Sukuna would take mercy on him and let him fuck you. 

Unlikely. 

Sukuna wasn’t one for mercy. 

But Satoru rose to his feet all the same, approaching the two of you, his gaze fixed more so on you, ignoring Sukuna in his periphery as best as he could. Your cheeks were flushed, body shaking. Sukuna had likely torn an orgasm away from you with his change of pace. 

Edging was something that you’d claimed to dislike, getting frustrated at Satoru for leaving you on the brink before. But here you were, once again, being nice and pliant for his roommate. 

It made him wonder if that stupid rhetoric about women doing whatever mean chads wanted was true. 

Sukuna was treating you way worse than Satoru ever would and yet you were eating it up. If he were mentally weaker that idea would probably send him spiralling straight into the depths of inceldom. 

It was lucky that he was fucked up enough to find this attractive instead. 

Sukuna paused his movements for a moment, laughing at the way that you let out a disappointed sigh as he stilled within you. He took each of your wrists in his hands, moving your arms so that you were gripping your own thighs, guiding you to spread yourself open a little more. 

Satoru sucked in a breath at the sight, treated to a clearer view of Sukuna’s cock buried in your pussy, twitching in a way that suggested his roommate was far more affected by the situation than he was letting on. 

“Kneel.” He ordered Satoru, gesturing down at the space between his spread legs, beneath the two of you. 

He hesitated for only a moment, saliva thick in his throat as he sank to his knees, the warmth of his breath fanning against your pussy. He tried to focus on that more than Sukuna’s cock, not eager to think about how big and thick his friend actually was up close.

“Go on.” Sukuna urged. “Make her feel good.” 

You were peering down at him, all cute and fascinated, an expression that had his unease melting away. He leant forward and licked a stripe up your pussy, starting just above Sukuna’s cock and finishing at your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves affectionately with the tip of his tongue. 

Jolting a little, you let out a sweet moan, emboldening Satoru to continue. He wrapped his lips tightly around your clit, sucking hard on it as he looked up at you, thriving on your sweet, shuddering reactions, revelling in the idea that he was the one who was going to make you cum rather than Sukuna. 

That was before the illusion that Sukuna was allowing him to live came crashing down, of course. 

“Aww, gonna leave me out?” 

Satoru paused, looking past you into Sukuna’s ringed eyes. He wasn’t sure if Sukuna was making fun of him, testing to see how far he’d go, or if it was something more genuine than that. 

Sukuna shifted his hips, drawing himself back from your snug warmth a little more, his cock shining with your slick. You whined at the lack of attention that you were being given from either of the men, your voice quickly silenced as Sukuna shoved a couple of his fingers past your parted lips. 

“Come on, you know you wanna lick the taste of her off me.” He said with a sharp grin. 

And while Satoru wanted to argue, so desperately wanted to point out that he was both straight and monogamous, he couldn’t resist the pull, the curiosity to follow Sukuna’s orders. You seemed so happy doing what he wanted, after all. 

Satoru brought his tongue back to your pussy, lapping a trail down from your clit all the way to where Sukuna’s cock disappeared into you. And instead of pulling away like last time, he allowed his tongue to trace over that sensitive skin, running along a prominent vein coated in your sweet slick. 

Things only escalated from there. 

Sukuna picked up on fucking you once more, rewarding you with deep, hard thrusts while you sobbed softly, putting all your energy into holding your legs open to allow better access for Satoru. Sukuna’s fingers were bruising your hips with the strength of his grip, while Satoru lost himself in your pussy, splitting time between lapping at your sopping folds and running his tongue along the length of Sukuna’s cock. 

He was vaguely aware of the way that Sukuna was praising both of you, cooing at you for taking him so well, all while condescendingly calling Satoru a good boy. Words that were clearly meant to put him down when all they actually did was build up searing desire in his gut. 

It was humiliating, the way that he came undone again before either of you did, ejaculating completely untouched, the discovery of his apparent new kink pushing him over the edge with little effort. 

He was sure that Sukuna would tease him about this later, that Satoru would never have the edge over his roommate ever again. 

But he wasn’t sure he cared anymore. 

You were next to come undone, whimpering softly as the combination of attention from the two men sent you hurtling over the edge, legs trembling violently. You called out Sukuna’s name, which wounded Satoru’s pride a little, but he supposed that it only made sense considering that Sukuna was the one all up in your guts. 

He wasn’t sure why, but once you’d cum, slumping back against Sukuna’s chest and whining pathetically softly under the weight of his continuing thrusts, Satoru instinctively switched his attention to his roommate. He stopped lapping at your twitching pussy, his tongue fixated only on Sukuna’s length as it moved in and out of you, oddly infatuated with the way that your sweet taste mixed with the more salty flavor of Sukuna’s cock. 

He liked it. 

He liked this. 

And as Sukuna came with a grunt, letting out a low groan as Satoru diligently cleaned the cum from his softening cock, he couldn’t help but think that maybe you weren’t the only one interested in Sukuna. 

“Aren’t you both cute.” Sukuna mocked, eyes heavy lidded as he glanced between the two of you, a lazy smirk on his face just like always. “Now that we’ve all stopped lying to ourselves I think things will be much more fun.” 

This whole time Satoru had been terrified that Sukuna was going to steal you out from underneath him, but maybe he’d had the wrong idea. 

Maybe it had been Sukuna’s goal all along to have you both. 

a/n: I think my sukuna favouritism is showing again hehe

if you liked this and want more sukugo roomates content I have another fic about them here :)

sukuna perma taglist (send me an ask to be added): @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @poopooindamouf @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @summerthesim @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich @chaos-4baby @t4ters @sukubusss @pandabiene5115 @solarlovesxyz @fysalia @goofiebags5678 @yarimarjane @aayeonas @christinezz33 @dreeaambiigstuuff-blog @crude-saint @raspberryvv @i0lovepink00 @sunqi053 @makeaflowerbloom @iaminsanelmfao @sophiethelesbian @irlbrainfart

© sukunahs

[acideathr]

⚔︎ blood and silk

+. 𖥻 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟵: 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗙𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗟 ˚♧

work count: 2.4k | chapter logs (masterlist) taglist: @dannysankletattoo, @aykiraa, @dreamerofthewest, @idkuluka, @yourlocalcatscammer, @h1ghw4y, @noirtuary, @ignited-residue, @i-am-the-raiden-shogun, @alebrasil0101, @raytracerovo, @sweetagaves, @thelazylemur, @whatitdodobby, @froyoyayo, @nina-from-317

the sun hung low, pale and distant, casting a weak gold over the zen'in compound as preparations for the seasonal festival began. everywhere you walked, there were murmurs, footsteps, distant laughter, life stirring in a place that often felt carved from stone.

and woven into all of it… was duty.

servants moved with hurried purpose, arranging ceremonial altars, adjusting flower displays, preparing traditional offerings. the courtyard had been swept spotless. snow, lightly melting from earlier sun, reflected the lantern glow like crushed pearls underfoot.

you stood in your chambers as two women finished tying the final layer of your formal attire. a heavy winter kimono, deep violet, embroidered with silver chrysanthemums hung perfectly from your frame. the collar sat elegantly against your throat, framing the metal band naoya had placed on you months ago.

it gleamed. it always did.

the women did not comment, though their eyes flicked to it with a strange mixture of pity and fear.

“zen'in-sama,” one whispered, stepping back. “your husband requested you be ready before the first drums.”

requested was a generous word. you bowed, thanked them softly, and stepped into the hallway, sleeves brushing the floor like drifting clouds.

the estate was vibrant today, different from its usual cold rigidity. color, sound, and breath filled its halls. you walked alone through the garden path leading toward the main courtyard where the clan gathered.

and when you reached the archway, naoya was already there.

he stood with a few male retainers, posture crisp, arms crossed loosely behind his back. his festival attire, a dark haori embroidered with sharp geometric gold lines fit him like it was crafted to intimidate.

he was speaking to someone, or pretending to listen, expression bored and disdainful in the way only naoya zen'in could manage. his hair was styled more neatly than usual, tied half back in ceremonial fashion.

then he turned.

and saw you.

the change in him was instantaneous, so quick you would’ve missed it if you blinked. his eyes flicked down your figure, as if assessing a weapon kept too close to the other men around him. his lips tightened. his jaw unclenched, then clenched again, the muscle twitching sharply.

he hated something. you felt it.

he didn’t approach you. not yet. but his gaze stayed fixed.

he watched the way the kimono framed your waist, the way the winter light caught on your collar, the way passing men glanced at you, some too long, some too boldly.

you saw it happen: his eyelids lowered, expression flattening into a warning.

one man bowed to you, too deeply. naoya’s head turned in a snap.

another murmured a polite compliment about your hair. naoya’s fingers twitched once behind his back.

a young clan heir, someone distant, from another family, had the audacity to let his eyes linger on your neckline.

naoya didn’t speak.

but the glare he leveled could’ve frozen boiling water.

you approached slowly, remaining a respectful distance behind him, exactly where you were expected to stand.

when you bowed, naoya didn’t acknowledge you.

he didn’t look away from the courtyard either.

he was watching the other men. watching their eyes. watching their reactions to you.

and hating every second.

his voice, when it finally came, was low enough that only you could hear. “tch… ridiculous.”

you kept your eyes on the ground. “…naoya-sama?”

“the kimono.” his jaw flexed again. “they gave you something that flashy on purpose.”

you blinked. “it is clan tradition-”

“it attracts unwanted attention.”

there was venom underneath the words.

another man passed by and offered you a polite nod.

naoya’s eye twitched.

he said nothing else, but silence from naoya was far worse than any scolding. you could feel him simmering beside you, feel the weight of his stare every time someone so much as glanced in your direction.

possessiveness radiated off him like heat.

he didn’t touch you. he didn’t address you again.

but every step he took in the courtyard, every shift of his stance, every flicker of his gaze was calculated around keeping you within his atmosphere. his orbit. his possession.

you belonged to him. the collar around your neck made that truth impossible to ignore.

and for the first time in a long while, the men in the compound were reminded of exactly what kind of heir naoya zen'in was.

he didn’t need to say a single word.

his fury spoke for him.

♧♧♧

the drums had begun, a slow, rhythmic pulse echoing between the wooden walls of the courtyard. people mingled beneath lanterns and banners, exchanging formalities, discussing alliances, bowing with the stiff politeness that defined clan life.

you stood where you always were: three steps behind naoya, hands folded neatly, eyes lowered.

he was speaking with elders now, posture sharp and princely, mouth curved in its usual half-bored sneer. his annoyance had simmered all afternoon, but for now it rested just beneath the surface.

you kept still.

but being still made you noticeable.

a man, a little older than naoya, dressed in the subdued colors of a branch family, approached you from the side. he walked with polite deliberation, stopping a respectful distance away.

he bowed to you.

“zen'in-sama,” he greeted warmly. “i had not yet offered my congratulations for your marriage. please forgive the delay.”

you bowed back, lower. “there is nothing to forgive. thank you for your kindness.”

he smiled, gentle, but his eyes lingered a moment too long on your face. then the collar.

“i must admit,” he said lightly, “you look quite radiant today. the winter colors suit you very well.”

you felt the danger before you even saw it.

a shift in the air, a hush under the drums, a tightening across the courtyard.

and then naoya was on you in seconds.

a hand clamped around your wrist, hard and possessive. cold fingers digging into your skin as if to remind you exactly whom you stood beside.

the man startled. “naoya-sama-”

naoya didn’t let him finish.

he stepped between you and the branch-family man, posture rigid, chin lifted in a silent, deadly snarl. his eyes, normally half-lidded and bored were sharp, gleaming, almost feral.

his voice came out low and venomous.

“what,” he said, “do you think you’re doing?”

the man blinked, trying to recover his composure. “i was simply extending-”

“no.” naoya’s grip tightened, pulling you closer behind him, half-hidden by the angle of his haori. “you were looking where you shouldn’t.”

a tense silence spread like frost.

the man straightened stiffly. “my apologies. it wasn’t my intent to offend.”

naoya’s smile was thin. cruel. 

“of course it wasn’t. branch families never intend anything, do they?” he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a razor whisper. “but you forget your place far too easily.”

the man inhaled, insult stinging him, but he bowed again. “forgive me.”

naoya didn’t move.

didn’t blink.

didn’t release your wrist.

“you’re forgiven,” he said, tone making it clear that forgiveness was the last thing he meant. “now go.”

the man left quickly, head bowed so low his hair brushed his knees.

only when he was gone did naoya release a long, slow exhale through his nose, one that sounded like he was forcing the rage back inside his ribs.

he didn’t let go of your wrist.

not immediately.

you stayed still, eyes down. “…naoya-sama?” 

his fingers finally loosened.

but he didn’t step away.

instead, he turned his head just enough to look at you, sideways, from the corner of his eye. a silent, blistering look that pinned you exactly where he wanted you.

“don’t talk to men who aren’t spoken to first,” he muttered, each word clipped and icy.

“i didn’t-”

“i wasn’t asking,” he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut.

you lowered your gaze again. “…yes, naoya-sama.”

he clicked his tongue, angry, frustrated, something else tangled beneath.

and then, without looking at you again, “tch. stay by my side.”

his hand brushed your wrist once before he stepped forward, intentional or not, you couldn’t tell.

the drums faded behind you as naoya led you away from the courtyard, his pace too swift for propriety, too sharp for you to speak without risking provoking him further. the sleeve of his haori brushed your hand with every stride, but you didn’t dare adjust your steps.

he didn’t look at you.

he didn’t speak.

he only walked, straight through the lantern-lit walkways, past servants who bowed and quickly retreated, sensing the storm radiating off him.

when he turned a corner abruptly and entered a quieter corridor between two outer halls, you knew. you knew before he stopped that he wasn’t going to let this go.

his hand shot out, fingers clamped around your upper arm.

then he turned. and the grip tightened until it did hurt.

you bit down a small gasp.

he pushed you backward, with enough force to push you against the nearest wooden pillar. your back struck it, breath catching in your throat.

lantern light framed him from behind, throwing half his face in shadow, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones and the furious tension in his jaw.

naoya stepped in close.

too close.

your heartbeat thudded in your ears.

“you don’t listen,” he hissed, low, venom pooling under every syllable. “i told you to stay behind me. i told you to watch yourself.”

you kept your eyes lowered. “i did, naoya-sama. the man simply-”

his hand slammed against the pillar beside your head.

not touching you, yet. but close enough that the wood vibrated by your ear.

“don’t.” his voice was a dangerous murmur. “don’t you dare make excuses.”

you swallowed, throat tight.

his other hand still gripped your arm, thumb digging just beneath the fabric where he knew it would bruise.

“you’re my wife.” the words dropped like iron. “you stand where i tell you. you speak when i permit it. you look at who i allow.”

the cold in his voice was worse than shouting.

“you will not shame me by entertaining stray men,” he continued, stepping half an inch closer. “i don’t care how polite they seem.”

“i did not entertain him,” you whispered obediently.

“you bowed. you spoke. that’s enough. don’t think i forgot what happened a month ago,”

his breath brushed your cheek.

he wasn’t touching you beyond the punishing grip on your arm, but the heat in his stance, the way he caged you against the pillar, felt more intimate and more frightening than any embrace.

“naoya-sama… i only followed etiquette.”

he laughed.

a sharp, humourless sound. “etiquette,” he repeated coldly. “is that what you call it?”

his hand on the pillar slid a fraction lower, fingers curling against the wood like he wanted it to be someone’s throat.

“you’re mine,” he said plainly. “that collar isn’t decoration. it’s to remind everyone who you belong to.”

you lowered your head more. “yes, naoya-sama.”

his grip tightened once before loosening just enough for circulation to return.

“you’re obedient now,” he muttered. “good.”

but the anger didn’t fade.

he stepped closer still, the air between you collapsing entirely. his voice dropped to a whispe, intimate in a way that made the hairs at your nape rise.

“if another man looks at you like that again…” his tongue clicked softly. “…i won’t be polite.”

your pulse fluttered.

he noticed.

of course he did.

his eyes flicked to your throat, then to the collar, then back up to your lowered gaze.

“tch.” he pushed himself away from the pillar abruptly, as if the proximity irritated him further. “fix your sleeves,” he snapped. “you look flustered.”

you raised trembling hands to smooth the silk.

he watched with a mixture of disdain and something darker, more possessive.

when you re-folded the sleeves properly, he turned on his heel.

“follow me,” he ordered. “exactly three steps behind.”

and he walked back toward the lantern-lit courtyard, never looking back to see if you obeyed. he didn’t need to.

♧♧♧

the festival ends in a whirl of lanternlight and murmured farewells, but naoya does not speak another word to you as he leads you back through the compound.

he doesn’t look back once. but you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

when you reach your shared room, he slides the door open with unnecessary force. the thud echoes in the quiet hall. you step inside first, kneel to remove your geta, and place them neatly to the side. he follows, closing the door behind him.

he doesn’t order you to sit, he doesn’t demand tea, he doesn’t critique your posture.

he just watches.

you move to the mirror and begin removing your hair ornaments, delicate pieces chosen by the clan, heavy with lacquer and gold leaf. you reach up slowly, fingers working the pins free one by one. each small metallic clink seems too loud in the room’s stillness.

naoya stands near the doorway at first, arms folded. his eyes track every movement. the rise of your arms. the fall of each ornament into your palm. the slow loosening of your hairstyle as strands begin to slip free.

his gaze lingers.

longer than it should.

you don’t meet his eyes, but you feel it, like the warmth of a lamp against your skin. a heat that isn’t cruel or cold, but something more dangerous: conflicted. almost… fascinated.

you place the ornaments in their velvet-lined box. your reflection shows naoya’s form behind you: rigid, jaw tight, the lines of his face pulled taut with something he refuses to name.

you reach up to untie the ribbon at the base of your hair. a few more pins come undone. your hair spills down your back in a soft cascade.

naoya inhales, barely a sound, but noticeable. a faint, involuntary intake of breath.

his eyes flick to the mirror. then to the floor. then back to you.

you continue working, unaware of how the movement of your fingers or the tilt of your neck affects him. you are simply following routine. but to him, it looks like something else, something intimate, something he feels he should not be watching.

something he resents himself for watching.

his shoulders tense.

you finish the last pin. place it neatly inside the box. close the lid with a soft click.

only then do you bow slightly toward him, voice gentle, “naoya-sama. shall i prepare tea?”

a perfectly polite question. completely harmless. but it breaks the spell.

naoya stiffens. he turns away so quickly that his hair brushes the air like a whip. “do as you want.”

but the tone is uneven, brittle around the edges.

he slides the door open with a sharp motion and steps into the hallway. he does not wait for your reply, he does not look at you again.

he leaves as abruptly as if your presence had burned him.

and the room falls silent once more.

[cloudykumo]

DRILL ME, DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO

dentist! gojo x yandere! reader

summary: listen, you're not saying you're obsessed with your dentist. you're just saying you know his schedule, favorite coffee, shoe size, birth chart, and the exact pattern his eyebrows make when he tells you to "open wide" for him. so what if you booked three appointments this month? it's not your fault they let a man like that put his fingers in your mouth and activate your fuck-or-flight response. 『wc: 11k 』 content/warning: mdni/18+ only, obsession, power imbalance, stalking, you knock your own tooth out to get an appointment, explicit language, eventual smut, fem body reader, fingering, oral m receiving, gojo's dick is too big, choking, spit/saliva play, use of dental instruments, unprotected piv, restraint, mild pain kink, biting, overstimulation, manipulation, plot twist a/n: psa remember to get your regular check up and cleaning done! i got a lil too carried away heh. hope you enjoy ♡

You want to fuck your dentist. There’s no poetic way to phrase that.

But for now, you sit in the waiting room like everyone else. You’re patient. You have to be. He’s worth every second of waiting. You can practically feel the desperation sweating off them.

They’re craning their necks. They’re checking the hallway. They’re fixing their hair in the reflection of the aquarium glass.

Pathetic. They’re all waiting for a glimpse of him.

Dr. Satoru Gojo. Your sweet, oblivious, perfect Dr. Satoru Gojo.

You want to tell them to stop breathing so loudly — it feels disrespectful. Their existence is unnecessary noise. Their bodies clog the space that should be reserved for him and you alone.

None of them know him like you do.

You know the rhythm of his foot tapping against the tile when he’s impatient. You know the little crease between his brows when he concentrates. You know the exact cadence of his voice when he says, “open wider for me.”

So what if this is the third cleaning you booked within the same month?

You told the receptionist your gums were “a little tender”. Your gums are perfectly fine. It’s your sanity that isn’t.

You keep his business card in your pocket, warm with your body heat. The ink is wearing off where your thumb rubs over his name again and again.

He gave it to everyone, sure. But no one keeps it like you do. They don’t whisper to it, don’t fall asleep holding it, don’t kiss it goodnight.

The receptionist calls your name. “Dr. Gojo will see you now.”

Finally.

God, his face — it’s the kind of beautiful that leaves you shaking. There’s no flaw, no wrong angle. Every part of him is exactly where it should be. You hate the idea that anyone else gets to see this. Gets to see him.

He smiles, says your name in that buttery register. He adjusts your chair and guides you back with soft and tender hands. He leans over you and being beneath him like this feels like destiny.

He has no idea what he does to you. No idea how devastating it is to have him this close. It takes everything in you to not reach up and touch his jaw and pull him closer and press your forehead to his and tell him that he belongs to you and no one else and—

“You’ve been taking good care of yourself,” he says.

The snap of latex against his gloved hands is foreplay, and his praise is seduction. Your thighs tense. It’s embarrassing how fast your thoughts collapse.

You love it when he asks you to open up, when he touches you, angles your head exactly how he wants and explore every inch of your obedience. You’ve memorized the exact spot his thumb rests, the amount of pressure on his fingers.

You’re so close to him that you can hear his breathing. You want to ask him what he’s thinking about. You want the answer to be you.

He finishes too soon. You’re not ready. You’re never ready.

He pulls away and gives you a satisfied nod he gives to good patients.

“See you next time,” he says. Next time. Next time. Next time.

And you will. Soon. You’ll make sure of it.

Three months ago

You weren’t supposed to meet him that day.

It was a throwaway appointment — a last-minute cancellation the receptionist squeezed you into because you happened to be nearby. You barely had time to sit before the assistant pushed open the door and called your name.

You didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary from all your previous routine checkups. But when he turned toward you, it was nothing short of extraordinary.

His bright hair caught the light like it was intentionally showing off.

His eyes were so vivid it felt illegal to look into them for more than a second.

Your organ systems forgot they had a job — your lungs, your brain, your heart.

You’d never been disarmed by a person before. You didn’t even think people had the power to do that.

“Let’s get you seated,” he said.

That voice. God.

He adjusted the chair and lowered you gently, explaining the procedure with an intimacy that caught you off guard. The way he leaned close to show you where to rest your head, how his hand ghosted near your jaw without touching yet.

Frankly, it felt inappropriate.

Your body reacted like he’d whispered something filthy. And when you felt him place two fingers under your chin, tipping it up to the perfect angle, your pulse shot upward so fast your vision went blurry.

And while he was rambling on about brushing technique or gum health or something, you couldn't process any of it. Your brain was stuck on one thing, and one thing only: he touched you.

You didn’t leave that room the same person who entered it.

You stood up, nodded politely and thanked him like a functioning adult. You walked out trying to act normal while on the inside, a dangerous thought began to form, one that would only continue to spiral:

He was perfect.

Not just “attractive”, not just “easy on the eyes”.

Perfect.

Perfect in a way that felt targeted. Perfect in a way that felt designed. Perfect in a way that made your body mourn the seconds you weren’t with him.

You replayed his voice all the way home. You replayed his touch. You replayed the way he smiled.

You needed more. You needed him.

Sleep didn’t reach you that night.

The memory of his fingertips brushing your lips resurfaced with humiliating clarity everytime your eyes fluttered shut.

You employed every method possible to forget — you’d roll over, shove your face into your pillow, and try to force yourself to forget the feeling, but your skin remembered.

You had to see him again. Soon. Now. Immediately.

But you couldn’t just show up. You weren’t unhinged — not outwardly. You needed a plan, a reason; a way back into that chair.

You sat down on your desk with renewed purpose, opened your laptop, and before you could question what you were doing, the clinic’s name was already being typed into your browser.

Your motive wasn’t to make an appointment. You were looking for their scheduling structure, their staff rotation, their hours. Any scrap of information you could twist into something useful. But their website was useless. Too clean and too vague.

So you did what any sane, functioning person would do. You called the clinic.

“Hi! Just checking if Dr. Gojo is in today?”

You wrote down the answer. You hung up. Waited a respectable amount of time—you weren’t an animal—then called again. You used a different tone. Different phrasing. Different fake reason.

Another time slot. Written down. Compared. Cross-referenced. It wasn’t enough. You needed data. A pattern. A system.

The spreadsheet grew fast into a color-coded grid;

Green: confirmed work days Orange: probable presence Violet: ambiguous Red: unacceptable absence

Blocks of time were highlighted, circled and analyzed:

He arrived earlier on Mondays. Left later on Thursdays. Took a longer break on Fridays.

Why rely on chance when you could rely on predictions?

Today, your alarm goes off an hour earlier than usual. The spreadsheet predicted an early arrival.

Thursday — Projected Arrival: 7:42 AM.

Last week it was 7:50. The week before, 7:46.

And if your deduction about his caffeine habits (large mocha, double shot espresso, two pumps of sugar, extra foam, less ice) is correct, then today should fall neatly in the middle.

You stand across the street from the clinic with a coffee cup you don’t even plan to drink, pretending to scroll your phone.

The time is 7:45 AM. Any second now.

7:46 People pass. Irrelevant. Noise. Filler. Not him.

7:47:50 You lift the coffee cup to your lips to fake a sip. Your eyes are locked onto the reflection in the glass window across the street — your perfect surveillance method.

7:48:12 There. He’s punctual. Of course he is. He cares about you so much. He’d never leave you hanging.

Dr. Satoru Gojo strolls up to the clinic with his hands in his coat pockets. His hair is obnoxiously bright in the morning light. It taunts every other shade of white in existence.

He’s wearing his spare blue scrub set, the one with the bleach stain on the hem from three weeks and two days ago when he knocked over a bottle on accident. He really should be more careful. Your clumsy boy.

He unlocks the door and disappears down the hall.

7:48:36 — Confirmed.

You mark down the time your notes app. A near-perfect match with your prediction. You understand him better every day.

You should go home and relax now, but then you see her walking straight into his clinic — female, short bob, beige coat, smug little bag.

That’s not right.

He doesn’t have any scheduled appointments now. You know there’s nothing booked in this slot. You checked.

Who is she? What does she want? Why is she here?

This doesn’t make sense. Unscheduled walk-ins are rare. Unscheduled female walk-ins are suspicious.

Does she know him? Is she new? Is she early? Did she call yesterday? Did she call after you checked? Did she lie? Did she flirt?

The receptionist nods and leads the woman toward the hallway. Toward him.

This is fine. It’s totally fine. He’s a dentist, after all. He sees patients. He helps people. It’s his job.

You stare at the clinic door long enough to memorize the exact angle it swings shut after she disappears inside.

You don’t leave.

You tell yourself you’re just passing by, just stretching your legs. You walk as if you’re checking window displays — never mind that the only window worth checking is the one that gives you a perfect side-angle view of his room.

And then you see them.

The woman with the bob is on the chair, chatting with Satoru. You expect her to be annoying, maybe loud—Satoru hated the loud ones—but she’s pleasant.

She’s laughing softly, one hand tucked behind her ear. She looks foolish. Like she’s audtioning for a toothpaste commercial. You think she must’ve had veneers done. No one was born with teeth like that. No one, save for Satoru.

A friend? No — too cheerful. A former coworker? No — not in those shoes. A vendor? No — she didn’t bring any products. A stalk— No. That’s your role.

You watch the bob girl shift her posture, trying to look cuter. Your teeth grind. Then the woman leans in, says something to him, something you can’t make out.

And he laughs.

Your Satoru — your perfectly punctual, perfectly bright, perfectly oblivious reason for existing, is laughing.

It’s not a polite chuckle. Not the forced, professional smile. It was a real, shoulders loosening, eyes crinkling smile. The kind that should only ever be directed at you.

Your mind goes very, very still.

You can’t hear what she said, but you know it wasn’t funny. She shouldn’t be making him laugh. Shouldn’t be making him anything. That expression is yours and yours alone. Your reward. Your discovery.

You’re not jealous. You’re vigilant. You’re careful. She’s one disruption. An anomaly. You’ll handle it.

This is your time slot. This is your schedule.

Your doctor.

Fine. Good. You needed this. People like her will always flutter around him. Let her — temporary little distraction. She won’t matter long. Not when you’re the one coming back soon. Very soon.

You can’t get the image out of your head. Her laugh. His laugh. No. Absolutely not. Everything about that scene was wrong.

You pace down the sidewalk, the morning sun too blinding, the traffic too loud, the world too irritating.

All the while, your brain keeps looping one thought: you need to get inside that clinic. Right now. Before she steals more seconds that aren’t hers.

But you can’t just walk in, or say you forgot something. What would you even pretend to forget? Your dignity? It’s long gone anyway.

And even if you did fabricate some imaginary object, the receptionist would retrieve it in seconds and that bob-headed parasite would go right back to stealing his minutes.

You need something better. A believable reason. A legitimate one. Something that’d make the receptionist pale and scramble, and say the magic words: “We’ll get Dr. Gojo right away.”

Emergency. That’s it. You need an emergency. This is logical. It’s reasonable. This is exactly what any rational person would do if they saw a strange woman hovering around their dentist.

Okay. Think. How does one create a dental emergency?

You could claim a crown fell out; You don’t have one, but they don’t know that.

You could say you felt a crack; Nobody can disprove a sensation over the phone.

You could say you woke up with swelling; “I swear it’s huge,” is such a flexible phrase.

You could even lose a tooth.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

You’ll lose a tooth.

It's perfectly convincing. Perfectly harmless — at least, if you plan it right. You read once that if you put it immediately in a glass of milk, the chances of replanting the tooth skyrockets. And whose hands would you trust more than Satoru’s?

Safe hands. Careful hands. Big, warm, gorgeous hands that would cradle your face and say, “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Your voice will tremble; you can do that on command. Your eyes will water; you’re already halfway there.

They won’t make you wait, they won’t question it. He would never turn away a patient in pain.

And that bob-haired waste of space? She’ll watch him run to you first.

You’ll be exactly where you’re supposed to be. Back in his chair. Back under his hands. Back inside his attention.

You buzz with anticipation and sprint to the nearest grocery store. You check out a bottle of milk and head straight to the restroom, adrenaline singing in your veins, determination settling into your bones. You lock yourself in and grip the edge of the sink.

You ball a wad of paper towels and bite down on them. You’ll need something to stifle the scream. You’re not dumb — you’re not about to sabotage your own plan by having someone rush in and interrupt you.

Okay. Okay, okay. You breathe once, twice, three times.

This is it. This is devotion. This is fate. You whisper, “For Satoru.”

Then you slam into the sink.

Crack.

A sunburst of pain sucks all the oxygen out of you. Your knees knock the side of the stall. You choke on your own muffled cry — a broken, animalistic whimper. Your vision blurs so hard you think you’ve passed out, but you’re still there. The taste of rust crosses your tongue. Then you spit into your palm.

It worked. It fucking worked.

Jagged, red at the root, shining with triumph — your tooth.

You stagger back, dabbing at your mouth. The tissues are still clenched between your teeth now.

It hurts. Oh, it hurts so bad. But it’s sacred.

People only deserve his attention if they’re willing to bleed for it.

You give yourself one minute to practice your act — sixty seconds of dizzy euphoria, staring into the mirror with a mouthful of tissues and blood smeared across your chin.

You look pathetic. It was perfect.

You stumble into the clinic, towards the counter, hands cupping your jaw to really sell it. Your eyes are glossy with unshed pain, voice shaking so sweetly when you plead:

“I—I think something broke. Please… I need to see a dentist right now.”

And just like you dream, she scrambles to pick up the phone, and says the magic words:

“I’ll get Dr. Gojo right away.”

You’re being ushered down the hallway, trembling, clutching your jaw like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. You don’t have to fake the adrenaline; your body is already shaking so hard your teeth (your remaining ones) chatter.

You see the bob-haired bitch scurry out of his room. Good riddance.

The door clicks open. And he’s there.

Your reason, your ruin, your everything: Dr. Satoru Gojo.

His eyes widen with concern the second he sees you curled in on yourself, breath hitching.

“Hey… hey, easy,” he says, unbearably soft, stepping closer, gentler than you’ve ever seen him. “You must be scared. Let me take a look, okay?”

You lift your gaze slowly, letting your lashes tremble, letting your breath wobble. You look small on purpose; crafted yourself into the perfect picture of vulnerability.

You whisper, “It… it hurts.”

His brows knit together instantly. “Aw, sweetheart—”

(Your heart combusts.)

“—I’ve got you. We’ll fix it. I’ll numb the area first, get rid of that pain.”

He dons his surgical gloves with slow, careful movements, retrieving the syringe like he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal.

It does unspeakable things to you.

And when he steps closer and reaches for your chin, you flinch back — deliberately, strategically.

He goes soft all over. “Hey. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

You let your voice shake even more. It isn’t hard. You’re already breathless.

“B-but this is my first time doing something like this,” you say, tiny, terrified. “Please… promise me you’ll be gentle?”

His eyes snap to yours — startled, confused, embarrassed?

He swallows, the tiniest bob of his throat, before he speaks.

“I promise.”

Oh, Satoru. Your darling Satoru. Your beautiful, clueless, perfect idiot.

He leans closer, fingertips tilting your chin, ever so tender and loving.

“Just open wide and relax for me,” he says.

You nearly dissolve into a puddle on the chair. This is your best idea yet. You’ve never seen him care so much about you before, and you want to push the boundaries even more.

He begins to angle the numbing syringe, but you tense up again — intentionally, the picture of sweet, irresistible innocence.

“Hey… look at me.” His voice drops, low and coaxing, “I’ll take good care of you. Trust me.”

You know what he means. You know exactly what he means.

The clinical intention. The rational intention.

But your brain, faithful and deranged, hears something else entirely.

The needle slips into your gum, and the anesthetic floods in, numbing all sensation until the only thing you can truly feel is him, towering above you, looking only at you.

Let her make him laugh. That’s all she’ll ever be — a clown. Let her think that’s enough.

He only speaks like this to you. He said he’ll take care of you. He promised he’d be gentle with you. He’ll make you all better. Only you.

You go home with blood-soaked gauze between your teeth and victory under your skin.

Your tooth hurts, your gums throb, your jaw is stiff; none of that matters.

The compassion he showed and the way he looked at you isn’t something you can un-feel.

You lock the door behind you and head straight to your bedroom. You don’t even bother turning on the lights — the glowing screen of your laptop is all you need.

You sit on the floor, cross-legged, pulse fast as you open your browser.

Dr. Satoru Gojo, you type.

The first results are boring.

Clinic listings, dental certifications, a generic staff bio.

No flavor. No soul.

You already know all this surface-level nonsense. These pages aren’t for people like you — they’re for strangers.

You’re not a stranger.

His personal social media accounts are locked. All of them. Of course they are.

He's private. Someone that beautiful had to be. But privacy doesn’t erase information.

You have to find a way in.

So you discover the cracks:

coworkers with public profiles

relatives who overshare

a cousin who tags him in old photos

family friends who post albums from reunions

a retired teacher who still uploads grainy class pictures from ten years ago

You sit back for a moment, staring at his aunt’s page. Her feed is full of blurry lunches and knitted scarves.

Perfect. You’d be a distant aunt.

You open a new tab. A new account. A new identity. You give yourself a delicate old-lady name, a grandmotherly profile picture, a blurry banner, captions filled with emojis and misspellings, posts about your silly grandkids.

You follow his entire family tree. Then, finally, you follow him.

Your eye twitches with anticipation.

If he declines, you’ll simply try again from a different angle. If he blocks you, you’ll build a new family member.

But if he accepts… if he accepts…

The notification comes instantly.

Satoru Gojo accepted your follow request.

You’re in his world now.

Now that your fake-old-lady-profile has infiltrated his circle, doorways start opening: tagged photos from when he was a teen, comments under his university posts, friends teasing him, coworkers tagging him at events, relatives posting birthday pictures, people mentioning his preferences, old likes he forgot about.

You absorb it all.

You pause at a photo he liked. A woman’s face — the actress, Waka Inoue.

So that’s what he likes. That’s what draws his eye. That’s the shape of his fantasy.

You turn your gaze toward your own reflection in the dark screen. Your clothing is wrong. Your hair is wrong. Your makeup is wrong.

Wrong things can be changed.

You create a single folder — a dossier.

He’ll recognize you the next time you meet him. You’ll become his dream. One perfect piece at a time.

It’s 9:42 on a Sunday morning.

You’re sitting by the window, waiting.

You chose this seat intentionally.

It had the perfect lighting, perfect angle, perfect radius of visibility from the doorway.

A book is open in front of you, pages untouched. You don’t need to read; you only need to look like someone he would want to read beside.

Your reflection in the glass pane matches the blueprint you carved from ten years of digital breadcrumbs: soft waves grazing your shoulders, a delicate blouse draping just right, a muted skirt stopping shyly above your ankles and small earrings that dangled gracefully.

You look like someone meant to be photographed holding his arm.

Two drinks sit on your table — the props in your carefully constructed tableau. An iced mocha (your decoy) and a sparkling water (your actual drink).

And after weeks of monitoring his off-day patterns, you know that on Sundays, around mid-morning, he gets coffee. Always the same shop, always the same route. He doesn’t think twice about routine, so you place yourself in it like a missing puzzle piece.

He walks in wearing casual clothes, glasses slipping down his nose. He looks so disarmingly human like this. Less “doctor” and more “man you’d want to wake up beside.” He’s too adorable, all too unaware of how attractive he is.

He sees you instantly. You knew he would. There’s nothing accidental about this.

“Oh—hey!” he called out. “This is unexpected.”

You lift your head with the sweetest, softest, perfectly engineered surprise.

“Oh! Dr. Gojo! I… didn’t think I’d see you here!”

He walks over, adjusting his glasses, a little flustered.

“Just Satoru is fine,” he says. “You can drop the formalities. We’re not in the clinic.”

A shy blush escapes you, just as you practiced in the mirror. “Okay… Satoru.”

The name sits beautifully on your tongue. He hears it. His shoulders slacken.

“So, uh… what brings you here?” he asks, gesturing around awkwardly. “It’s just that, I’m a regular, but I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“I just came by for a little weekend treat. This here—” you lift your drink and laugh gently, “—is my guilty pleasure. An iced mocha, double shot espresso, two pumps of sugar, extra foam, less ice.”

His jaw drops. He’s bewildered. Absolutely stunned.

“No way. That’s my exact order.”

Hook.

It’s almost too easy. You nearly grin. Nearly. Instead, you pause, blink, tilt your head.

“Really? A dentist with a sweet tooth?”

“Guilty as charged.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s so funny, we’re already matching coffee orders.”

Matching.

You can already hear church bells ringing.

You lower your eyes, feigning hesitation. A pause that suggests you’re a litty shy and a little nervous.

“Actually… I’ve been meaning to thank you. For helping me last time. I’m really grateful, so, if you’re free… would you maybe like to join me?”

Line.

He shouldn’t say yes. You know that, he knows that.

But his eyes do a once-over at you: your pure persona, your demure posture, all sculpted just for him. He sits across from you without another thought.

“Sure. I’ve got time.”

Sink.

Satoru settles into the chair across from you, fingers curling around his iced mocha.

He looks relaxed, surprisingly. As if sitting with you is the most natural thing in the world, even though this is the only time he’s spoken to you off a dental chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning forward a little, “how’s your tooth? Any pain since then?”

You shake your head, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, offering him a shy smile.

“It’s fine, thanks to you.”

A barely-there pink rises on his cheeks. You note the way he tries to hide it by taking a too-quick sip of his drink, only to wince when the cold hits his teeth.

Cute.

“So, uh… what are you reading?” he asks, hoping to recover, nodding toward the book you haven’t touched once.

You allow your eyes to widen like you didn’t expect him to ask.

“Oh, just some light reading.” You run your finger along the spine. “The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu — Heian period court intricacies, relationships… It’s dense. I won’t bore you.” (it didn't matter that you couldn’t name a single character if he asked.)

He perks up, intrigued. “No, no — that’s really cool. I’ll admit, I’m a simple man.” He laughs. “I read whatever I can squeeze between work. Only seem to have time for manga these days though.”

“That makes sense,” you say. “I imagine it gets overwhelming. Everyone in the city seems desperate to get in with you.”

He groans dramatically. “Don’t remind me. Yesterday someone even tried flirting with the receptionist to steal a canceled slot.”

What a weak attempt.

“Did it work?”

He snorts. “Not a chance. The waiting list is already a month long.”

You laugh politely at your own downplay, hiding a smile behind your cup. You lower your gaze the way all his favorite actresses do in candids. “Well, you’re really good at what you do — I would know.”

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, you’re a good patient.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “You’re easy to talk to, I guess. Most people are either afraid of me or asking me out.”

Don’t let the rage get to you. Just keep smiling.

“Oh? Do they really ask you out?”

He admits with a grimace. “More often than I’d like.”

“I can see why,” you tease.

How daring of you.

He looks down at his drink, embarrassed. He looks stunned, shy even, but he shouldn’t be — not with a face like that.

“I mean,” you add softly, swirling your straw, “you’re kind, smart, good at what you do.” You offer a tiny, modest shrug. “It’s not hard to imagine people falling for that.”

“That’s—wow, uh—thanks.” He laughs nervously and darts his eyes away for a second. “You’re… not too bad yourself,” he adds. “Though I’m sure you’re used to compliments by now.”

Oh... Pull yourself together. Your fingers toy with the edge of your sleeve.

“You think so?”

He nods without hesitation. “Yeah. I’m glad I ran into you today.”

You can practically feel the universe tightening the noose around his destiny. Poor Satoru is a puppet who hasn’t realized he’s on strings. He’s open, comfortable—and dare you say—starting to like you.

Which means it’s time.

You need to leave. Now. Before he gets too comfortable. Before he stops thinking about you.

Because the secret isn’t making a man like you. It’s making him want more.

You wait— Time it, feel it. Sense the exact moment he leans in, a question perched on his tongue—

Then you stand.

The scrape of your chair might as well be a gunshot the way he flinches.

He stammers, blinking up at you, “Ah—do you, uh, need to go already?”

Your heart flutters at the crack in his voice. That small, wounded surprise. You are that good.

“I should, I don’t want to take up your whole morning.”

He sights up straighter, like the chair suddenly isn’t comfortable without you in front of him. His next words come out in pieces, scrambled, “Oh—no, it’s not—I mean, you’re not, um, I honestly don’t have anything to do, so if you wanted to stay, I wouldn’t—”

He’s unraveling. You did that.

It takes everything in you not to let out a victory cry. Instead, you force out a small and meek, “It was really nice talking to you, Satoru.”

You said his name again.

You can see what it does to him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It was.”

You gather your things slowly, giving enough time for him to watch you and to process the loss of your presence. You shoulder your bag, one last polite nod before turning to leave.

One step. Two. Three—

“Wait.”

You could kiss yourself.

You turn, looking over your shoulder, eyes wide with perfect surprise. He’s standing now, hand in his pocket, awkward, nervous.

“Um…” His fingers fumble with a folded bit of reciept paper, edges crushed from how tightly he’s been holding it. He steps closer and clears his throat. “This is probably a bad idea.”

You give him your most virtuous look. “What is that?”

He glances aside in embarrassment, “I’m not supposed to do this with my patients.” He hands you the slip of his paper. “My personal number,” he says.

Oh. my. fucking. god.

You wanted to scream, laugh, grab his shirt, kiss him, shake him, sink your nails into the flesh of his heart and carve your initials in it.

“I-I… don’t want to get you in trouble,” you whisper.

He shakes his head immediately. “No, it’s fine. I trust you. Text me if anything happens. Or even if anything doesn’t.”

You close your fingers around the paper, cradling it. You have him wrapped around your finger. “Okay,” you say. “I will.”

Everything worked.

Every detail and carefully chosen word.

Executed to perfection, a masterpiece in manipulation.

Everything is falling into place exactly as you planned.

You can’t text him immediately — that’s what clingy, overeager, sloppy little creatures do.

You aren’t an amateur.

So you set the paper on your nightstand, smooth it flat, and let it sit.

You wake up. You make tea. You replay his laugh while brushing your teeth.

It was nothing short of torture, but you had to be patient. For you are his favorite patient.

Three days is the magic number — an acceptable timeframe.

Three days is when he starts to think of you unprompted.

Three days is enough time for him to be haunted by thoughts of “why hasn’t she texted?”

So you start drafting.

Thank you again for keeping me company.

Too plain. Too empty. Delete.

I really enjoyed seeing you. Hope you got home safe!

You gag. Actually gag. Delete.

Thanks again for helping me last time. You really made me feel better.

Ugh. Terrible. You sound like a Yelp review. Delete.

Hope I wasn’t too much of a bother again.

What the fuck? You want pity? Absolutely not. Delete.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, the light from your phone glowing against your palm like a holy artifact. His number waits in your contacts, untouched: Toru <3

Come on.

You didn’t reengineer your entire personality and reconstruct your wardrobe just to send some lukewarm, baseline-human nonsense.

You want to sound warm yet bold. Funny and a little flirty. You want him to blink at his screen, smile without meaning to, then reread it ten times over.

Is it normal to want to see your dentist again this soon?

Yes. Yes, yes. This is the one.

Harmless on the surface. Playful underneath. Disarming in its simplicity. Suggestive if he wants it to be. Teasing if he reads it twice. A confession if he looks closely.

You cross-reference your spreadsheet and confirm his schedule today: No appointments. Lunch break window. Phone likely in pocket. Brain likely idle.

It's the ideal time for emotional interference — you position yourself like a sniper, and hit send. The message floats away, a little digital bullet aimed straight for his heart.

Then you wait, the way a lion sinks into tall grass. And sure enough—

Your phone buzzes, not a minute later. Not even forty seconds. Thirty-one. He read it immediately.

A laughable little thrill curls through you as you stare at the notification lighting up your lock screen:

Only if your dentist has good bedside manners 😉

Your entire bloodstream vaporizes and reconstitutes itself in the span of a heartbeat. Your stomach swoops so violently you nearly drop the phone. You read it thirty-one times and then another four, just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating or misinterpreting the innuendo.

The wink. The fucking wink.

He could have just said “lol” or “haha”. But he didn’t.

Satoru Gojo winked at you.

Digitally, yes. But it counts.

And not a friendly wink either. Not a “grandma made a pie” wink.

A bedside. Manners. Wink.

You’re dizzy with implications. There are so many. What does “good” mean to him? Gentle? Dominant? Hands-on? Does he think you’re picturing him hovering over a bed with gloves off and voice low? Because you are, now. You are so vividly doing that.

You could still dial this down — send a safe, soft-pedaled emoji or a polite “haha, you’re so silly”. All it takes is your next reply to tip the scales toward cordial or carnal.

But your brain isn’t interested in balance aymore.

No, your brain has already slithered off the rails and is now joyriding straight into his lap. It’s licking the thought of his voice bending low, whispering for you to “open wide” with something other than dental instruments in hand. It’s already imagining his so-called bedside manners without latex gloves — no latex at all, for that matter.

You have all the power now. The invitation is sitting wide open, legs parted, saying: come inside.

Is that so, doctor? Next time, I’ll be better prepared to assess your technique

And when he responds, he bites back, hard:

Bring a notepad. I’ll give you plenty to write about

You nearly let out a sound.

You clamp your thighs together without thinking just to contain the full-body voltage that line delivers straight to your pelvis.

You lie back against the pillows, grinning like a lunatic, fingers hovering over the keyboard, thumbs twitching with indecision.

He wants this. He started this.

But still — you want to measure the next stroke just right.

Fair warning: I have strict standards

You can picture him mentally debating, wondering how inappropriate this is while simultaneously wanting to dive in anyway.

Delivered. Read. Typing…

Fair warning: I never disappoint

God. You sit up. Sit forward. He’s still typing. Another text pings in right after:

You free Friday night?

You swear you stop breathing. You let your head fall back, body sizzling, mouth dry. Then you answer, calm and confident like you’ve practiced before.

It’s a date.

You lock your phone and stare at the ceiling with a slow, consuming smile. The room feels too small to hold the satisfaction inside of you.

He has no idea what he’s just set in motion, but you know exactly what comes next.

Satoru Gojo pulls up in his car and steps out like a wet dream.

White dress shirt, perfectly fitted, rolled just once at the sleeves like he doesn’t even know how pornographic his forearms are. A slim black tie, undone (you’d undo it further).

He leans against his car, wearing a devil-may-care elegance, holding the sexiest bouquet you’ve ever seen.

Red roses were far too generic. He held an assortment of deep wine-colored calla lilies, indigo hyacinth, black dahlia, a single spray of bleeding heart, tied in dark silk. You want to crawl into his lap and purr for it.

You’ve been getting ready since 11:00 for a 7:30 dinner.

It started with a three-step exfoliation.

Then a cooling mask. Then a hydrating mask. Then another to seal the glow.

You tweezed precisely — eyebrows, bikini line, the back of your neck. You moisturzied every inch of your body. Twice. Then oiled it.

You sprayed perfume in strategic places: back of the knees, between the breasts, behind each ear and under your hairline so it would bloom when you played with your hair.

You matched the color of your lipstick to the color of his favorite whiskey. You lined your underwear drawer in the off chance he opened it. You painted your nails a color he once liked on a girl’s post from six months ago.

You wore the dress that made your waist look strangled. You wore the shoes that gave you the posture of a prayer.

And by the time you were done curling your hair, steam emerged from the bathroom like smoke after arson.

But it’s all worth it. He’s worth it.

You had rehearsed the steps you’d take down the stairs earlier so that you’d look like a starlet.

You know how you look. You’ve seen it in the mirror a hundred times already, practiced every expression — wide eyes, coy smile, neck bared just a little more than necessary.

You walk toward him slowly, pretending not to notice how his eyes track every inch of you, from the straps over your shoulders, to the dip of your waist, to the swell of your legs straining beautifully against heels he’ll definitely make you regret later.

“Hey,” he says, offering you the bouquet.

The words taste too good in his mouth. And the way his fingers curve around the stems? You almost moan on instinct.

You take them with trembling control. “They’re stunning.”

“So are you,” he says, eyes dragging down your body and back up. “Do I get to keep looking at you all night?”

It should be illegal the way he says it. So lethal you want to die.

“You better,” you say, curling your grasp tighter around the bouquet. “I got all dolled up just for you.”

You don’t tell him about the playlist you listened to while shaving. Or the way you rewaxed your legs even though they were fine.

You don’t tell him you read six articles on body language to keep your posture effortlessly receptive and just barely challenging.

You don’t tell him you spent twenty minutes making sure your purse contents were both practical and inviting.

You don’t tell him about the notes you made on his favorite wines, his casual turns of phrase, the photo from his stories where you could just barely see the title of the book on his nightstand.

He smiles and opens the door for you. “Shall we?”

His fingers brush your lower back as he guides you into your seat. You’re already soaking, and the night’s only just begun.

The interior of the car smells like him, and the radio hums with ambient jazz, the kind of music people undress to in good movies.

His one hand grips the steering wheel, forearm flexing with each turn. You can’t stop picturing it above your head, fingers gripping the headboard, pinning you down as he sinks inside. You imagine leaving crescent-moon marks in that same arm, clutching him through every thrust.

He glances over. “How was your week?”

“Better now.”

He laughs under his breath, the sound curling around your neck. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The drive feels like the prelude just before climax — surreal, floaty, skin too sensitive, body tuned too high.

Every passing streetlight reflects against his cheekbones, his lashes, carving his features in gold and shadow. And when his thumb grazes the gearshift, all you can think about is whether he fucks like he talks.

When he parks, you barely register it.

The restaurant is tucked between two blank storefronts: wooden façade, softly glowing paper lanterns flanking the entrance, barely visible signage in elegant brushstroke kanji.

He kills the engine and turns to you.

“Ready for the best meal of your life?”

You let your smile drag out slowly, lip catching on your teeth. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

The maître d’ greets him by name and leads the way to the sushi bar. You glide onto the dark leather stool by his side, close and together, no barriers. You sit, crossed legged, spine perfectly postured, dress kissing your thighs with every shift.

The chef bows low and welcomes you in soft Japanese. He works in silence before you, each slice of fish a performance. The entire meal is a private show, course by course, a slow unveiling.

“This one’s from Niigita,” Satoru says, pouring sake into your cup. “It’s supposed to open up as it breathes.”

“We have that in common.”

He smiles, and that little twist in his lips has your toes curling in your heels.

The first dish arrives. The tuna gleams beet red, accompanied by fresh wasabi and smoked soy.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you lift the first piece to your lips, fatty tuna so soft it collapses like butter. You moan (not by accident).

“Holy shit,” you say, hand over your mouth. “I think I just saw god.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, pleased. “And here I was hoping you’d say that after dinner.”

You chew slowly. Swallow. “You know what they say — save the best for last.”

He watches your lips, then lifts his cup. “Amen to that.”

And so it goes. Bite after bite, poured drinks and conversation. You match him beat for beat — his tastes, humor, quirks.

When he references his favorite manga, you recall the exact line that comes after that. When he talks about enjoying late-night walks, you describe the exact route that just happens to mirror the one in his tagged photos.

He rests one elbow on the bar. “If I asked you what you really thought about me after our first appointment…”

“Which version do you want to hear? The censored or unfiltered version?”

He grins. “Both.”

“Mmm. I think I’d rather show you than tell you.” You pause, lowering your lashes. “But I will say this — I hated the girl who came in after me.”

It's a bold move, but you want him to know. And every time you speak, he looks at you longer.

Another dish arrives. Amberjack, kissed with yuzu zest. He lets you steal his when you eye it too long.

Between courses, you joke about food crimes, admit your secret obsession with absurdly niche documentaries and “coincidentally” drop the title he tweeted about last year as if you didn’t spend nights combing through his feed.

Then his hand brushes your knee, barely a graze, but to you, it’s a spark in a dry field. Your entire body stills under the table, tightly coiled. You want him all over.

“You’re kind of perfect, you know that?”

You feel heat. The final thread of restraint snaps. You place your chopsticks down carefully. You turn toward him, half-shifted on your stool, your leg brushing his.

“I don’t want dessert,” you say.

He raises a brow, smirks. “No?”

“No.”

He blinks once, registering, then leans in. “My place?”

It's so tempting — to feel the silk of his bed, his scent on the sheets and the way his furniture looks when he’s distracted and naked.

But not there, not yet.

You want him in the room where it started, where you first imagined what his hands would feel like if it weren’t covered with latex. You want to feel it raw.

You shake your head. “The clinic.”

Then a laugh, sharp and hot. “Seriously?”

Your eyes are unblinking, unapologetic.

And that’s it. No hesitation. He’s already reaching for his wallet, throwing down enough cash to cover every dish twice over. The chef bows and the staff whispers in polite reverence.

He doesn’t question it again, just takes your hand, leads you to the car, and starts the engine. Your mind is already in the chair, already naked under fluorescent lights.

You glance at him as he pulls out of the lot, hand on the wheel, other hand casually resting between you like it isn’t dying to move. You want to grab it. Put it where it belongs. On you. In you.

His shirt is tight enough across the shoulders that you imagine splitting it open. You want to ruin it, ruin him. You want to press your tongue to his wrist and claim his pulse.

You want his tie around your neck. His name in your mouth. The taste of his skin. You want to be so deep in his thoughts that even his dreams wake up blushing. You want to unzip his spine and live inside him.

You imagine what he’ll look like when he loses control. What his voice will sound like when it breaks. You’ll memorize it, bottle it up, stitch it into your brain, ingrain it in you forever.

He turns the corner, the sign for the clinic glows blue and white in the distance.

Tonight, you go back to where it all began.

Satoru unlocks the front door without a word.

You follow him in after him, traced in his shadow — a devout thing.

He flicks on the examination light and the dental lamp explodes in surgical clarity. It blooms overhead in a cold, perfect cone. A goddamn interrogation spotlight on you, the suspect.

You expect him to smile like before, warm, casual, amused. But he doesn’t.

He shuts the door with his foot. A sharp thunk. The lock clicks behind you like a cell door.

His eyes roam the room, then you. His jaw is set. The muscle in it ticks once.

He’s… different.

You noticed it in the car too — the way his fingers drummed the steering wheel like he was holding back. Now, you’re not sure he is.

He tosses his tie onto the counter, sending metal instruments clattering as the silk brushes them. The tray rattles, a staccato little foreshadowing.

“You want the chair,” he says.

Not a question. Not an offer.

You nod.

He gestures. “Go on.”

The vinyl is cool against the back of your thighs as you sink into the seat. Your dress hikes up slightly — a detail he absolutely notices. He reaches for the control panel, but doesn’t immediately press anything. His hand hovers, then he turns to you.

“You’re not who you say you are, are you?”

Your mouth goes dry. Your heart lurches.

How…

He presses a button.

Beep.

The chair reclines a few inches.

“You called the receptionist asking for my schedule, didn’t you?”

… does he know?

Beep.

Lower.

“You pretended to be someone else everytime.”

You should speak. You should deny it.

Laugh. Cry. Run.

Beep.

Back further, your hair spilling over the headrest, your body opening under the cone of clinical light. The angle is suggestive without even trying. Vulnerable in a way that makes heat curl deep inside you.

He pulls on a pair of gloves—one, then the other—snap, snap in punctuation marks.

“When you showed up at the coffee shop on my day off, I knew I didn’t just run into you.” He tugs the gloves down snug. “You don’t even drink coffee.”

He looks directly at you.

“You even knocked your own tooth out.”

The accusations echo all around you.

He knows — all of it.

The obsessive anlaysis of his calendar. The half-dozen “wrong number” calls. The morning stakeouts and the lies you spun, stacking one on top of the other until the only truth left was you wanted him.

In any way, at any cost.

Your hand finds the metal tray beside you by accident. Instruments tremble with a jarring, metallic trrrring. Satoru watches you react, watches every tremor.

He brushes along your jaw, trailing it. “Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

You nod. There’s nothing left to say.

“You should be arrested for the shit you pulled.”

His gaze drops to your hands, trembling on the edge of the armrests. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches to the tray beside you and plucks up a pair of sterile elastic tourniquets, the kind used to stabilize an arm for blood draws.

“I used to imagine you on your knees,” he says, “in my waiting room after hours, tongue out.”

He loops the first thick band around your right wrist and the armrest, cinching it tight with a practiced flick. You can’t breathe. You don’t try.

“Wondered if you thought about me, if you touched yourself after appointments.”

Your left wrist is next — another pull, another sharp snag, binding you helpless. The bands stretch enough to give the illusion of freedom, but no more; every movement meets resistance.

“Sorry darling, can’t have you flailing.”

Your chest heaves, your pulse thunders. He watches the panic spread beautifully across your features.

He adjusts the headrest—click—cradling your skull in his palms. His thumbs rest behind your ears. His face is close now, framed by the halo of the dental lamp, eyes bright and impossibly blue.

His glove grazes your lower lip; not a kiss but not even remotely professional. It was enough to set your entire body on fire, every nerve alight under the cold, white brilliance of the exam lamp.

“Tell me,” he says, “is this how you pictured it?”

“Not even close,” you manage.

He leans in, and your back arches under the light. You’re open. Caught. Laid bare on sterile vinyl beneath the weight of guilt. His mouth is so close now you feel his breath.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, brushing his gloved thumb over your trembling bottom lip. “But so am I.”

You don’t dare to close your eyes. You want to see everything. Because he saw everything. Because he wanted it too.

“Open wide,” he commands.

You do. But not your mouth. Because he’s not your doctor tonight.

Your legs part and his gloves squeak as he drags a hand over your inner thigh. “You didn’t think I would find out? That you wouldn’t be caught?”

He doesn’t give you room to respond, reaching behind you—another click—the chair groans and tilts further back, until your legs slide open wider under gravity, posture collapsed and defenseless beneath him.

“Look at you,” he breathes, taking in the sight. “My lovely stalker in the flesh.”

The metal tray at your side clinks again as he pulls it closer. He reaches for the suction wand.

“Are you sure you can handle me?”

You’d crack your jaw for him. You’d dislocate your ribs to make more room for him. He’s your addiction and this chair is your confession booth.

You whimper—yes, yes, yes—but he’s already dragging the tube down your throat, past your lips. He doesn’t push far, just enough to press down your tongue. Satoru watches you as you gag around the suction, your throat fluttering under the pressure, eyes glossy.

“So eager,” he teases, and the sound of it, the sound of him, is too much. He slides it back out, obscenely slow, and it glistens with spit. “Messy little thing.”

He grabs the tray again, rips gauze from the sterile stack, and stuffs one square into your mouth, watching your lips stretch around it. He pushes two more in, then another wad, just to see how far you’ll let him go.

“Let’s keep the noise down, yeah?”

Your muffled whimper vibrates through the gauze, helpless and needy.

He traces with his gloved knuckle, trailing higher and higher up your thigh with maddening slowness, hovering near where you need him most.

His other hand wraps around your jaw, tilting your head up until your eyes lock with his, blue and burning.

“Don’t you dare look away.”

You couldn’t if you tried.

The dental lamp floods straight into your pupils, washing everything else to shadow. You blink against the brightness, tears gathering from the intensity, from the humiliation of being exposed in the most unholy posture. And he loves it.

He spreads you open with two fingers, exposing your wet, swollen folds to the light. The lamp overhead catches every glisten, every twitch. You try to lift yourself up into his hand, but the elastics bite into your wrists, forcing you to take every torturous second at his pace.

The first touch is barely a touch — the rubber pad of his index finger nudges directly over your clit. A soft push, a slow circle.

The gauze stuffed into your mouth squelches with spit as you sob around it, teeth sinking into the cotton until your jaw aches. He drags his other gloved thumb over the corner of your lip, smearing the saliva that leaks out.

“Mmm, such pretty sounds,” he hums, slipping deeper. “You’re dripping all over my chair. I could ruin you. Right here, right now.”

He waits there, buried to the knuckle, doing absolutely nothing. Your body clenches helplessly around the intrusion, trying to pull him deeper. You whimper into the gag, wrists twisting uselessly against the rubber restraints.

He laughs and lowers his face again until his lips brush your ear.

“You want more?”

A pause.

“Beg.”

You choke on your own breath, air, tears, spit, need, trying to form any sound that resembles a plea. His finger crooks suddenly, finding the spot instantly. Your ragged, gagged cry spills out of you in a confession.

“There’s your little problem area,” he murmurs, delighted.

He strokes it again. Harder, controlled, devastating. Your vision whites out at the edges and your hips thurst upward in broken, jerky movements, driven entirely by instinct.

Then his thumb joins in.

The rubber presses directly on your clit, pushing the wet folds apart around his hand. You damn near convulse — your legs spread wide for him and he thursts in deeper, spreading his fingers apart.

He fucks his fingers in harder, faster, pushing you right to the edge, and then — he withdraws; abruptly, completely, leaving you gasping and choking against the gag, body trembling, thighs slick and open in the cold air.

He steps back and pulls off his gloves with two sharp snaps, tossing them to the tray.

“You look pathetic,” he says.

You wanted to show him just how much.

Your wrists strain against the armrests; you want to touch him, claw him, hold him, anything. Your teeth clamp down around the gag, a muffled snarl erupts low in your throat. Your legs kick out, shaky and half-controlled, but enough to make him grab the armrest and pin you down. His expression flashes from amusement to delight.

“Well, well, look who’s come out to play,” he sings, climbing onto the chair, caging you beneath him.

You buck beneath him again in defiance, and the vinyl screeches under the violent movement. He grabs your throat, holding it with steady pressure, asserting that he can collapse your air at any second.

“You want to challenge me?” He rests his forehead against yours, so close to you that your tears spot his cheek. He pins your wrist with one hand while the other slams your hips down against the chair. “Then fucking challenge me.”

You can’t talk. So instead — you spit the gauze at his face. It hits his cheek, wet and dripping.

“Well now,” he murmurs, brushing your spit down the curve of his own jaw with two fingers. “If you’re going to act like a little monster… I suppose I’ll have to handle you like one.”

He fists his hand in your hair and drags your head back, baring your throat, forcing your mouth open. The restraints creak as your body curls up instinctively toward him, needy and feral.

He kneels on the chair, looming above your pinned body, and drags his cock out — flushed in deep red, heavy and thick enough that your lips part instinctively in disbelief.

“Oh,” he laughs, breath hitching. “You want a taste?”

He taps the head against your lower lip, smearing pre-cum all over, and presses forward to stretch your mouth around a shape substantially bigger than you were ready for.

You try to take him. You really, really try.

But your jaw strains. Your throat tightens. Your lips can’t stretch enough to get past the head before your throat spasms in a futile attempt to open wider.

“What’s wrong?” he taunts, grip tightening in your hair until your scalp burns. “You were so bold a moment ago.”

He nudges forward another inch, forcing your mouth wider, guiding it to the very edge of what it can handle until drool leaks down your chin.

Tears spill from the effort, your neck is strained against the headrest. He watches you struggle, eyes darkening as he watches your jaw quiver around the stretch. Your tongue presses helplessly against the underside of his cock, trying to coax him deeper.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, “if you can’t even take me in your mouth—”

His free hand curls around the base of his length, pressing harder against your lips, pushing a broken whimper from your chest.

“—how the hell,” he pants, “are you going to take me in that tight little cunt?”

You suck harder, jaw screaming, threatening to tear itself apart. You want to swallow him whole, bury him deep, prove that you’re built to take him everywhere.

Satoru smirks down at you, lust-drunk and wicked. “Want to try again?”

You nod frantically, mouth open in a trembling “O”. You think, clear and loud enough for your own mind to hear it:

Yes. Yes, please. Break me on your cock. I want everything you’re about to do.

His eyes gleam like he hears it.

Then he yanks your hair back and shoves himself against your tongue again, harder this time, enough to make your throat seize. You try again, desperate, shaking, gagging on air as you fight to fit around him. He watches you choke on the attempt and loses his goddamn mind.

“Fuck — you’re killing me.”

He leans back, cups your cheeks with both hands, and spits straight into your mouth. A vulgar, wet rope of saliva landing on your tongue and coating your throat.

“There,” he growls, grabbing his cock and smearing his spit across your lips, down your tongue. “Open wider.”

Your throat tries to open. But when he pushes in that inch too far, your gag reflex punches back and you choke hard enough to jolt your entire body, a broken, wet sound that shakes your chest.

“Agh—enough. Enough.”

His voice is ragged, crackling with need. He drags himself out of your mouth and grabs your waist, lifting your restrained body off the backrest with a snap of strength that steals your breath.

He shifts position so fast the chair squeals under him. One moment his cock is pressing at your tongue, the next it’s slapping wetly against your dress, dragged down the centerline of your body, leaving a slick trail of spit on the fabric.

“It’s going in somehow,” he hisses, “if not your mouth, then—”

But he doesn’t finish. Your body reacts before he does. You want to take over, to redeem yourself.

Your hips snap foward, dragging yourself along his cock as he slides it down. Your nails claw for leverage even with your wrists bound.

You tilt yourself, angling your soaked cunt toward him with intent so clear, your entire body trembles as the head nudges your swollen entrance. You strain for contact, cunt pulsing around nothing as you try to drag him into you without permission.

The sight of you trying to mount him while bound, gagged, ruined with tears and spit and slick — he falters, and he jerks forward like he can’t help it. He drops his weight onto you, cock pressed flush to your dripping entrance.

Your chest heaves against him, wrists twisting violently until the elastic bites deep into raw, flaming flesh. It hurts. It thrills. The pain is proof.

“You want it that bad?”

You nod, frantic and wild.

His hand flies to the tray, sending metal rattling. He picks up a scalpel and holds the blade between two fingers, angled toward the rubber binding you.

It slides under the tight band, then—snap—your raw wrist springs free, shaking violently with relief. Thin red marks carve around the skin, swollen and tender, baring evidence of how hard you fought for him.

Good.

Let them stay. Let them bruise and scar.

You earned them.

He drops the scalpel with a clatter, pressing his cock hard against your slit again, smearing slickness over both of you.

Your freed hands fly upward to grab him, nails sinking into his shoulder, dragging him down with a desperation so sharp it borders on violent. Your fingers make their way to thread into his hair and yank him down to your lips.

“Take it properly this time,” he rasps, voice shredded.

“Doctor’s orders,” you oblige, wrapping your legs around his waist to push him in, the head of his cock catching and sinking a fraction of an inch inside your dripping heat.

He slams forward and your body shatters open around him — a shock of pain, a flood of head, a gasp that turns into a moan that turns animalistic. You dig further into his back, dragging warpaths of red down his skin as he sinks further into you.

Finally. This is what you fought for. What you bled your wrists for.

Satoru groans, both of you shivering under the sheer violence. You meet his thrust with a force that makes the chair recline a full inch backward.

His eyes widen. “You’re—” Another thrust. “—trying to take control.”

You bare your teeth in a delicious grin. Then you flip him.

It’s messy, graceless—a snarl, a shove, a twist of your hips and wrists and weight—and suddenly he’s on his back in the chair, stunned, breath gone, cock still buried inside you as you straddle him, thighs clamped around his hips.

You slam yourself down. Hard. He chokes on his own moan.

“Oh—fuck—” His fingers stab into your waist, leaving craters.

You grind down, lifting and dropping your hips in brutal, punishing strokes, using his body like you’re built for it, like he was made to beneath you, inside you, ruined by you.

Your hands push his shoulders down, pinning him with a strength you didn’t know you had. You're taking your revenge.

The chair rattles violently. The light overhead swings in its arm. You collapse your weight onto him, breasts sliding against his chest as you slam down again, again, again, chasing the pleasure.

Satoru’s face contorts, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open, hands clutching you so hard you know you’ll bruise. “You’re going to—fuck—you’re going to break us both—”

You whisper against his ear, voice ruined: “Shut up.”

Then you bite him.

His body jerks so violently his cock slams deeper, hitting a place that makes your vision split into stars. He grabs your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat.

“Insane,” he moans. “You’re fucking insane—”

His hand between your shoulder blades pulls you tighter. Your nails rake his chest. Your hips pound down and his breath comes out in shuddering, broken gasps.

You slam down. He cries out. You do it again.

He arches up into you, bucking like he’s trying to escape and bury himself deeper at the same time. You grab his throat and angle him to look at you as you take everything he has.

Your mind is a cathedral of obsession. He’s yours now. You’ll ride him into the grave. You’ll drag both of you into ruin. You slam down so hard the tiles begin cracking under the chair.

“That’s it,” he chokes. “That’s—god—fuck—”

Then he snaps.

He sits up in a single violent moment, arms crushing you to him, mouth on your shoulder, your throat, biting, sucking, marking you with his brand.

You moan, throat raw, as he thrusts up into you from below. Your cries start to shake. Your legs go numb. Your mind falls apart. You claw at his hair, panting into his ear, “Don’t stop.”

He shakes, gripping you like a man drowning. He slams up into you at the same moment you slam down onto him, and the collision rips into a full-body convulsion that arches your spine off his chest and sends your nails carving across his back.

Your throat goes silent for a moment, too much pleasure to even make a sound, before the cry finally tears free, a raw, keening note of release. Your cunt clamps around him so hard he nearly folds with you.

He drags you down on his cock, burying himself so deep the air punches out of him. He stutters, then grinds in ragged and broken thrusts as he groans a low, wrecked sound into your throat, biting into it as he pours into you. You feel blood rising under his teeth — and you almost come again from that alone.

Your legs give out. Your arms tremble intensely. Your body collapses against him, twitching, spasming, clenching with aftershocks so intense it would break the Richter scale.

“Fuck… fuck… stay right there… don’t move… don’t—”

You don’t listen — you shift instead. And you feel it: the soft, hypersensitive throb of him still inside you, your slick leaking down over him. You feel him groan into your neck.

“No—no, sweetheart, don’t—”

Again. You want it again. You want to make sure he can’t walk anymore. To make him delirious.

So you roll your hips again and you kiss him. His lips part on instinct, and you swallow his breath, tongue pushing into his mouth, messy and wet, teeth clashing.

You grind down again and his moan breaks in half. “Fuck—don’t—god, I’m still—”

“I don’t care.”

You kiss him slow, sealing him. His hand slides up your back with a gentleness so at odds with the brutality of what came before that it steals your soul. His mouth lingers under yours, open, wanting more, wanting you.

Every risk you took to get you here worked.

Your obsession made him yours.

His chest rises against yours in one long, shuddering breath. And when you pull back, his voice cracks open against your lips in a low, hoarse murmur:

“… come here, I’m not done yet.”

[yenayaps]

controller | sukuna x f!reader

twenty: passing the torch

Summary: Working as Wasuke Itadori's personal assistant wasn't all that bad. You got paid well, the hours were reasonable, he wasn't a complete asshole like most CEO's were. But there was a catch, and it came in the form of his charismatic son that trouble always seemed to follow. Or maybe he was the problem? Just don’t say you weren’t warned about him.

genre: modern au, 18+, forbidden romance (?), jin and sukuna are twins, smut, angst, fluff & all that good stuff. pls visit master list to view the rest of the tags

a/n: HI THE DRAMA'S BACK!! 6.6k w/c for this chapter, please excuse any typos, I barely proofread it and will prob get to it tomorrow <33 also, if you haven't been tagged, it's bc i'm working on it rn

masterlist

It’s been a bit of a transition period for you and Sukuna. Well— mainly Sukuna, but he’s your husband, so whatever goes on in his life inevitably trickles down to yours. 

So when he decides to start taking on his own clients, before resigning from the position he has in his fathers company, it affects you. More than you’d like to admit, honestly. 

He’s always busy.

When he’s not working, you two are out partying somewhere with his friends. You haven’t had one on one time with him in weeks. You tried to brush off how you felt about it at first, gaslighting yourself into thinking you were just being too clingy and that you needed to relax. You two were married, he wasn’t going anywhere. 

But it eventually comes out, making you and Sukuna have your first actual fight together. It’ll probably be the dumbest one too. 

He thought you were joking at first, but quickly found out you weren’t when he realized he was the only one that was laughing after you asked, “why does everything have to be about you?!”

He just stares at you for a moment, with a concerned look on his face, and all of the different paint samples in hand. He really doesn't know how to even respond to that, and instead repeats your question. 

“…Me?” he asks, struggling to figure out what in the actual fuck is happening right now.

“Yes, you,” you begin to glare at him, growing more annoyed at how dumbfounded he looks right now. “Who else would I be talking to, the wall?”

Maybe. You two were getting it repainted after all, but he holds his tongue. 

Your eyes begin to well up with tears the longer you two stand there and look at each other. 

“I wanted something similar to forest wood and you just keep choosing different shades of grey,” your bottom lip begins to quiver as you start to list all the things he’s been doing wrong, “you get to choose everything— from where we go out, who we hang out with, how much time you spend with me. Why can’t you just let me have a kitchen with a little bit of color?!”

“Baby… it doesn’t have to be gray,” he responds to you in a hushed tone, out of pure, unadulterated fear, “you just asked which colors I liked.” 

“Well, I fucking hate them,” you sniffle, wiping away some of your tears. “Every color you’ve chosen is depressing.” 

It wasn’t about the paint, he pretty much got that by now. He leans against the wall and sighs.

“What’s got you so mad at me for?” He continues to use that hushed tone, in hopes that it’ll keep your mood at bay. 

“I’m not mad.” He’d beg to differ, but you're pouting, so he keeps his mouth shut. “I just miss you.” 

His lips twitch a little, and he’s violently fighting off a smile, along with the urge to tease you for getting mad that you haven’t been getting much attention lately. He knows he’s been busier these last few weeks, he’s exhausted most of the time because of it. 

He also thought you didn’t mind it too much, but here you are, shitting on his choice of colors because of it. 

“You’re not even taking me seriously,” you say, taking in a sharp breath

“No, I am. Come here,” he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest. “I didn’t think it’d bug you that much.”

“I didn’t think so either,” you admit, now here you are, missing the person you already share a bed with. It almost made you feel pathetic. 

“M’sorry,” he stifles a laugh, “I’m planning on telling my dad that I’m leaving when we see him on Sunday.” 

You suddenly stop sniffling, and look up at him, unsure if you’re still irritated or just baffled at this point. “Why do you have to pick the first time I see him, after months, to do that?” you begin to complain. 

“Because it’ll be the next time I see him,” he says it like it’s a no brainer— he has been working from home for a while, after all. It’s not like he can step out of his office and walk down to his fathers. “He’ll probably go a little easier on me too if you’re there.” 

Just because they made up doesn’t mean they’re as close as they used to be. They’ll text every now and then– Wasuke will send him some article, or Sukuna will send him some random meme that his father will never understand. But aside from that, it’s been weeks since they’ve been face to face, so naturally, you really don’t believe Wasuke will go easier on him just because you’re there. 

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if it were the complete opposite. Sukuna keeps saying you’re fine, and that his fathers not mad at you, but there’s a part of you that’s still wary. 

“Let’s hope,” you murmur against his chest, messing with the deck of color swatches in his hand, “...so yes to forest green?” 

He presses a kiss on top of your head, suppressing a laugh. “Whatever you want.” 

—

It’s not your first time visiting Wasuke’s house, if you’d even call it that. But, with the way your heart started racing in your chest the moment the gates to his estate started to open, it might as well be your first time. You were calm all morning, and even found yourself looking forward to seeing him during the car ride. And now? It felt you were going to crawl out of your skin. 

You’re too busy panicking to even notice that he had a little bit of landscaping done since your last visit. Everything Sukuna says to you as his car inched closer to the house goes in one ear and out the other.

“Are you listening?”

“Hm? Yeah.” It’s obvious you’re not, making the man click his tongue as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Fine, I wasn’t. What did you say?” 

He leans over the center console, only to say, “this is why you should listen, now you’ll never know what the fuck I just said.”

“Can you just tell me?” you roll your eyes at the sudden theatrics. 

“Nope,” he stubbornly responds, unbuckling your seatbelt for you. “Let’s go.” 

True to his word, he never told you what he said in the car. Not that he was mad. He actually enjoys the fact that you’ll forever live with the suspense, throwing his arm over your shoulders as you two walk up to the doors, making fun of you the entire time. 

Wasuke’s already waiting in the foyer, instantly annoyed from the way Sukuna chose to make his presence known by yelling, rather than using the intercom. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wasuke says in place of a normal greeting, twisting the finger that's in his ear. 

Sukuna grimaces at the old man. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you’d be waiting here?” 

“Just– forget it,” his father sighs, not wanting to get into an argument on such a fine day. 

Even if it was just harmless banter, he already knows it’ll end with him needing to take something extra strong for a migraine, given his son’s natural talent when it came to arguing. 

There’s a small pause after, and Wasuke ends up staring at you for a bit. It’s been months since he’s seen you, under the impression that you’d found your dream job, not to run off and marry his son. With the look he has on his face right now, you really can’t tell what he’s thinking, which is terrifying.

“Tch. What the hell are you cowering behind him like that for?” he grumbles, holding his arms out. “Get over here.” 

You really were cowering behind Sukuna. But, despite Wasuke being his usual grouchy self, there was still some warmth in his tone, making you feel comfortable enough to step forward and accept his hug. The old man still smells the same, like expensive cigars and bourbon. No longer in a suit and tie, he’s in a track suit. From Prada, might you add. 

He looks more like the head of the fucking mafia right now. 

He gives a couple pats on the back before slightly pulling away, hands still placed on your arms. “I told you to call security on him if he bothered you too much,” he scolds you the same way he does with his two sons. “Not to go off and get hitched at the fucking courthouse.” 

“I’m sorry,” you respond with a guilty tone. 

“Me too. Now you’re legally glued to this asshole.” 

“I know,” you say defeatedly. Sukuna scoffs somewhere in the background, annoyed that you two are already talking shit about him. “He’s nice to me though.” 

“Yeah, he better be. I’ll kick his ass if he isn’t.” 

Sukuna cuts in, still offended. “What do I look like to you?” There’s a pause from you and Wasuke as you both just look at the brute while he stands there with a subtle pout on his face. “Actually, don’t answer that.” 

“Are Jin and Yuji here already?” you ask, looking over Wasuke's shoulder.

“Not yet. The little brat apparently didn’t want to put pants on, so they’ll be a little late.” Wasuke laughs, and starts to lead you to the backyard, leaving a still offended Sukuna behind. 

Your father in law was clearly excited to have you over with the layout of different foods he had set up on the patio. From different omelettes to sweet options, such as french toast, to different mimosas. He went all out for today's brunch.

Definitely too much for just the five of you, but knowing he shares with his staff made you feel better about it. 

Jin and Yuji arrived shortly, with the little boy still in a bad mood when they walked in. To say he was in a bad mood is probably understatement, he was bawling— snot running down his nose and all as he snitched on his father to all of you for making him wear pants that day. 

And poor Sukuna, bless his heart, could not catch a break today. Instead of Yuji going straight to him this time, he went to you. He cried for another 10 minutes, hysterical in your arms as he continued to point at his father, wishing you’d yell at him or something. 

As much as you support the kid in pantless endeavours, being someone that hardly wears clothes at home yourself, that didn’t happen. Jin was already stressed enough as is and went straight to the mimosa table, skipping out on the juice and adding a shot of vodka to his champagne flute.

Sukuna, being the enabler he is, followed suit. He needed it, anyway, having to break the news to father and all. 

“Well, that’s just great,” Wasuke bitterly says, throwing a napkin on to his plate. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

“I don’t know.” Sukuna’s already tipsy and begins to bicker with the old man. “Hire me for contract work if you want my services that bad.”

“You’re going to quit, just so I could hire you, again?” his father asks him as if he were stupid. “You’re just gonna make me pay you double the rate I pay you now!”

“Like you can't afford it,” Sukuna says sarcastically. “What? You want a family discount or something?”

“No,” he practically barks at his son, who clearly struck his ego with that comment. “Is this why you’ve been taking more sick days?!”

Sukuna gives you the side eye before answering that. “It’s her fault,” he points at you, hoping that’s where his father would redirect some of his anger. “You wouldn’t believe the tantrum she threw just because I wasn’t giving her enough attention.”

“Because you fucking weren’t!” you immediately yell back at him, making your poor father-in-law flinch. He really wasn’t expecting you to start yelling at Sukuna like that. Thank god Yuji was off blowing bubbles with one of the maids on the other side of the yard, arguments never really phased him, but everyone still preferred he didn’t hear them.

“I fixed it, didn’t I?!” he argues back. 

“Barely.” His brows pinch together in irritation, but you ignore him and keep going, all while his father’s eyes warily bounce back and forth between you two. “And now you’re trying to blame your sick days on me, when it was you who should’ve waited to start taking on your own clients after quitting. You’re literally just now telling him!”

“Can you blame me? Look at him,” he gestures at Wasuke, who’s just awkwardly sitting there, “he looks like he’s about to have a fuckin’ stroke!”

Wasuke hears his other son chortle and nearly snaps his neck when he turns to shoot him a glare. The fucker’s already drunk and tends to take his brothers side more when he’s like this. 

It takes Jin a moment to get himself together, before asking, “how are the new meds, by the way? They prescribed you propofol, right?”

“Propanolol,” Wasuke says through gritted teeth, and for the second time that day, finds himself telling Sukuna and Jin to forget it. “And don’t think this conversation is over,” he points at him, “come to my office tomorrow so we can get everything sorted out.” 

There’s no complaints on Sukuna’s end. He honestly starts to wonder if he should just start an argument with you whenever his dad’s around, your temper seems to scare him enough to think before he speaks.

Jin notices too, but isn’t very surprised by it. He’s watched your interactions with Wasuke more than Sukuna has. He wouldn’t say you’ve snapped at his father before, but you’ve definitely shot him a look a couple times during your time as his assistant, signaling he was starting to add too much to your plate. Those were the very few times he’s seen his father backtrack with an employee. Not directly, of course. He had too much pride for that, but he’d make sure to add a little “when you get the chance” in the end or just flat saying you could take a day off that following monday. 

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jin says, more so curious than trying to change the subject, “did you guys ever decide on what you wanted to do about the whole Yorozu thing? She’s been really quiet lately.”

Actually, no, just nosey. He’s had more than enough to drink and has no shame in admitting that he’s been checking her socials.

Sukuna immediately groans at that, but you end up answering the question. “We sent her a cease and desist.” 

“We could’ve had that fuckin’ family by the balls,” Sukuna mutters, obviously unhappy with your decision to be the bigger person and not sue them. 

“We could’ve, but that would’ve just been another article,” you remind him. 

It’d probably be a different story if you weren’t so bothered by all the different gossip sites talking about you, but it doesn’t look like it’ll be settling down any time soon, so you’d rather not give bloggers extra fuel. Hell, they even found your family, who you have not spoken to since your big fight over the holidays. 

You haven’t even unblocked their numbers. 

Even if you had made up with them, you doubt it wouldn’t have kept them from doing an interview with some random youtuber. Yorozu wasn’t the only one Sukuna wanted to sue, but you ultimately decided to just ignore the interview they did, no matter how much they painted themselves as the victims. 

“I wouldn’t mind releasing a statement, you know,” Wasuke turns to you with a guilt ridden face, “it was my fault, after all.” 

Nice to see he wasn’t so prideful after all. Though, aside from him punching Sukuna in the face, you did feel bad for him at the end of the day. He had to live with enough guilt from the childhood both of his sons endured. 

“No, it’s fine. It’s not like you meant for any of this to happen. We had our faults in it too,” you reassured him. There are even times where you felt like it all happened for the best. Seeing how Sukuna did everything he could to shield you from all the family drama and exhausted all other options before marrying you made you love him more in the end. 

“What about your parents?” Jin cuts in, again. 

The question pulls a laugh out of you. You thought Sukuna was just over-exaggerating, but no, he really is no better than his brother and Wasuke when it comes to gossip.

“I have no idea,” you say in all honesty, then gestured towards Sukuna, “this one wants me to meet up with them, even though he originally wanted to try to sue them.”

Wasuke scoffs at his son, “you can’t just sue your in-laws.”

“They said I was isolating her from everyone,” he throws his arms out in defense. Given his reputation, half the viewers probably believed them too.

“And when that happens, you pick up the phone and fucking call them!”

“Yeah? Well she has them blocked, so what now?” Not that it stopped them, they’ve been having extended family reach out to you, begging to talk to them. He clicks his tongue and takes a sip of his drink that’s more vodka than it is champagne. “Besides, I changed my mind, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you say, pretending to be proud of him, even though you honestly think he just wants to meet them so he can tell them off in person. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’m honestly just scared that they’ll start begging for money or something.”

Wasuke, being the traditional man he is at the end of the day, looks a little disappointed from your reasoning. “What’s the problem with that?” There’s a hint of sadness in his tone, thinking of his own parents that he financially supported until they passed away. 

“Well, for one, I wasn’t allowed to come back home during summers after moving out for college.” His eyes widened in shock. Yeah, he’s gotten mad at Sukuna from randomly breaking in to raid his liquor cabinet and use his pool, but he’d never turn him away if he ever wanted to move back in. Same for Jin. “I wasn’t allowed to move back in after I graduated either, so I guess I’m a little bitter about this since they never pushed my brother to leave.”

“I– what?”

“Mhm,” you nod your head, “then last Christmas, they saw what kind of purse I had and asked how much money I was making. I thought it was because they were proud of me or something, but instead they decided it’d be me who would be taking care of them. And yeah, it turned into this whole fight.” 

Sukuna’s surprisingly calm while he hears the Christmas story for a second time. The first time was right before you two got married, and he was livid– talking about how they’d never get the chance to talk to you the way they did if he were around, and how you better not let them guilt you into giving them money. 

His father sighs, thinking about all the sacrifices his own parents made so he could be where he’s at in his life right now. Even if he had done it all on his own, his parents were honest people and would’ve never demanded he take care of them. “I’m sorry, honey.” 

“It’s fine. It is what it is.” It wasn’t, you fucking hated it, but getting angry about it right now wasn’t going to do anything. “I’m considering it, but I definitely won’t be seeing them during the holidays. I actually want to enjoy Christmas this year.” 

“Oh, you will,” Sukuna says more darkly than intended, making the promise sound more like a threat, but you ignore it knowing he was just mad about last year. 

“Wait, you two are spending Christmas here… right?” Wasuke asks, slightly worried. He almost wasn’t going to get Yuji this year, until he paid his mother himself. Greedy bitch. He’s considering getting Jin a new lawyer so he can just get full custody already. 

Sukuna scratches the back of his head, knowing his father probably wasn’t going to like his answer. “We’re not sure yet.” He says, huge emphasis on we’re to keep his father from going into a full blown crisis. In his defense, you two came up with the idea when they were still fighting. “We might be in Switzerland.”

The plane tickets have already been bought. 

“How much do I have to pay you to not do that?” his father says in all seriousness, pulling out his phone, ready to transfer you two money. 

“Oh, you don’t–” you’re momentarily cut off from the glare Sukuna gives you, clearly looking to get paid. He probably already had a number in his head, but you still end up finishing your sentence. “You really don’t have to.” 

His father looks at you and holds his breath, “...Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you assure him, ignoring the way Sukuna's staring a hole into the side of your head, as morally corrupt as ever. “We can just change the dates, right?” you ask Sukuna. 

He takes too long to answer, so you kick his shin under the table. 

“Yeah,” he’s forced to say. 

“Oh, good.” Wasuke holds his chest and smiles in relief. 

The two of you stay for another hour or so, listening to Jin drunkenly ramble on about his on-going divorce and how much of a shitty mother his estranged wife was. It wasn’t anything new, but you could tell he needed to get it out, so you all let him have the room. Sukuna didn’t even make fun of him for the tears he started to shed at one point. It was expected, he was emotional enough when he was sober. 

He even offered to take Yuji for the weekend a couple weeks from now. He would’ve offered next weekend, but it was Satoru’s birthday and there was no way in hell he was missing that party. 

“Really?” 

“Really. You need to go out on a date or something while you’re at it,” Sukuna says rather judgementally, getting up from his seat. His brother doesn’t catch it, he’s too stuck on the ‘date’ portion of it. 

“But I– I don’t know anyone.”

“Yeah, I know,” he snorts as he offers you his hand, helping you get up from your seat. “I’ll find someone.” 

“What if I don’t like them?” Jin asks another question, but it doesn’t stop his brother from actively getting ready to leave. 

“Then you fuck them and move on,” Sukuna responds as if it were obvious. 

Wasukes pinching his nose bridge from how crude he is, not getting a chance to say anything because you’re already giving him a hug. 

“Thanks for having us over, Mr. Itadori,” you warmly say. 

“Anytime, honey. You’re always welcome here,” he then clicks his tongue, “and don’t call me that anymore, just call me dad.” 

“Sounds good, dad.” You can hear Sukuna chuckling fondly in the background. “I’ll see you next time.”

“See you,” he hums as you let go and move on to Jin, who looks like he’s in need of a nap at this point. It was early enough for him to sober up and not be hungover in the morning tomorrow, so you suggested it. He had Wasuke and the rest of the staff to watch Yuji anyways. 

He was a lightweight compared to his brother, but the vodka-champagne concoction clearly got to Sukuna too, who was struggling to act like it didn’t hit him as hard as it did. But, his eyes never lied, and his were half-lidded and glazed over enough for you to stick your hand out. 

Being the smart boy he is, he handed you his keys without protest and sat in the passenger seat, while you drove home. 

Unlike Jin, he was more of an aggressive drunk. Sometimes angry. Usually. With you, he took more after his brother. It’s funny how he guarded himself while in the presence of others, but then completely melted the moment you two were all alone. 

And you wouldn’t say he was emotional during the car ride home, just more vulnerable. And sweet... for the most part.

Reaching out to brush your cheek with the backs of his fingers as you focused on the road. Lightly massaging your shoulder, while saying the dumbest things. 

“So fuckin’ hot when you drive my cars.” 

“They love you so much– heh, told you they would.” 

“I can’t even lie, I love how everyone thinks you’re some an angel, only for you to start drooling over my dick like some depraved slut when we get home.” He started backtracking when he heard you scoff. “That's my favorite thing about you.” You don’t respond to that, only because you wanted him to keep going. “I swear to god that’s not an insult. I’d rather die than be with anybody else.”

You don't get a chance to respond to that.

“You really should’ve said yes when he offered money, though,” he ended up softly scolded you, “I was gonna use that money for that fuckin’ dowry he’s making me pay him back for.” 

It doesn't end there.

“That old man’s never gonna get the chance to kick my ass over you, how could I be mean to this sweet little face? God, I fuckin’ love you,” but then he laughed, “besides, you’d probably beat my ass with a frying pan if I started talkin’ crazy to you.” You ended up laughing too, and he continued to tease you. “Oh you’d like that, huh?”

“No,” you’re still smiling, pulling into the parking garage. “I’m laughing ‘cause it’s you who’d probably like that.”

“You know I love me some foreplay,” he murmurs with a dopey grin. 

“That’s abuse, not foreplay,” you giggle, putting the car in park. 

“You call it abuse, I call it discipline,” he unbuckles his seat belt, stumbling out of the BMW, “that’s what the D in BDSM stand for, y’know.” 

You didn’t know that, but of course he did. 

And of course he spent the rest of the walk back to the penthouse with his arm around you, trying to convince you to be on the receiving end of it. Sprinkling in a couple kisses and compliments as well, because he’s quite the lover boy when he's drunk.

—

One of your biggest complaints in your marriage was that you and Sukuna simply went out too much. Spending quality time with each other has been rare, and only changed when you ended up breaking down in tears. 

Now, would you have felt that way tonight if it wasn’t Satoru’s birthday? Honestly, yes. But, today was a special day for your friend, and he was throwing probably the biggest party of the year because of it. Neither you or Sukuna weren’t going to miss it, even though you didn’t like the idea of paparazzi being there, since it was being held at one of Suguru’s clubs. 

But security was tight tonight, no one was getting past them without an invite. That’s if anyone even tried, Satoru was known to hire security based on how violent they were. 

It was hardly a party at this point, it was a playboy-themed rager, filled with all the alcohol and all the legal and illegal substances anyone’s heart could desire. Except the only thing that screamed ‘playboy’ were the servers and dancers on stage dressed as playboy bunnies. 

He didn’t really give a shit about Hugh Hefner, so he skipped the pervy red robe and showed up in a black, pinstriped, freshly pressed and tailored Tom Ford suit. Hair slicked back, covered in gold chains, gold rings, gold cuff links, and a brand new gold rolex— he looked more like his grandfather, who’s actually a mafia head. 

It was something you had just recently learned about, but it made a lot of things make sense, like the violent “security”. You weren’t even phased by it at that point, having gone through enough with just Sukuna alone. 

Gold’s usually his thing, but he skipped it tonight after Satoru sent him a rather aggressive, yet also desperate text a couple days ago. You were wondering why he was staring at his phone with such a dumbfounded look on his face, but then you had a look for yourself.

| (Satoru G): im gonna be dripped out in gold on friday and I better not see you wearing gold too. im serious. if I see you wearing even a SPECK of it, im taking that shit off of you myself. and don’t even try to fight me about it either, i will fucking kill myself just so you feel bad. you’re married for fucks sake, leave some of the women for me.

Not a lot of things leave him speechless, but he respected it. So did Suguru and Choso, who also received similar texts. He wasn’t even planning on getting that dressed up tonight. It’s not like it was some uppity black-tie event. He wasn’t going there to network, he was going there to get plastered out of his mind. 

He stepped out of the house in a pair of black slacks and white button-up that was rolled up to his elbows. He wore jewelry, of course, just not gold, because Satoru will apparently kill himself if he does. 

You two actually ended up matching a little bit. You both wore diamond studs, along with the matching set of steel and diamond rolex’s he got shortly after you two tied the knot. You had your wedding rings of course, but those were different. Then there was his nose ring, which was also a diamond stud tonight. 

Your outfit was slightly more risqué than usual, but not resembling a playboy bunny at all. 

Satoru texted all of the women he considered his friends to “don’t even,” because he’d lose his shit if any of you were mistaken for help or entertainment. You appreciated it, even though you really weren’t planning on throwing on a one piece and bunny ears, knowing Sukuna would lose his shit even more if someone ended up mistaking you for one of the workers tonight. 

So, here you are in a black mini-dress, that laced up in the back like a corset, and a pair of kitten heels because you'd take any comfort you could on a night out. 

Tonight’s just like any other night you two go out with your friends. 

It starts with Sukuna being glued to your hip for a little, making it known you were his, even though the ring on your left hand should’ve said enough. Then after a while of keeping his hand on the small of your back, while glaring daggers at all the men and women he didn’t know, he lets up. Just a little. He hangs out with his friends, while you hang out with yours, but the VIP section’s bigger than you think, so he lingers. Coming up to you often to check up on you, see if you need a refill on your drink or something. 

You don’t run off and make drinks on your own anymore— something you both agreed too after that one night. 

You remember once when this girl, who you had just met, asked if it bothered you how much he bugged you throughout the night. Which was funny, because she didn’t ask Yuki that, even though Choso checked up on her just as much. But instead of bringing that up, you just said no, because it genuinely doesn’t. He also had a temper, so you keep an eye on him just as much, whether anyone realized it or not. 

Maybe that’s why you let your guard down a little bit tonight. 

It was your friend's birthday after all, held at another friend’s club. Not to mention you were hanging out in VIP, where you always are. The thought of Sukuna leaving isn’t something that ever comes to mind. Neither of you drove here. You're fairly tipsy, to the point where time passes by faster than usual and you don’t wonder why your husband hasn’t checked up on you like he usually did. Still, you feel safe.

You are completely clueless, until the shouting below grows loud enough to where it interrupted the conversation you were having with Yuki. 

You look at each other for a moment, clearly confused, maybe even a little annoyed. But then you both look to find the usual space Sukuna and his friends took up was completely empty, and that’s when both sober up and run to the edge of the area, looking over the balcony to see Choso arguing with some random guy. 

You were too far away to be able to hear what they were arguing about, but you can tell the guy thought he could bully Choso around just because he was more chill and didn’t like fighting. Yuki thinks to go down there, but ultimately stays, knowing this was probably the safest place to be right now. 

For a second, you wonder why security wasn’t doing anything about it, then you spot your man with a fucking grin on his face, pretending to be just another spectator in the crowd. Same for his two other friends. 

Everyone thinks they’re enjoying the argument, but really, they were all figuring out which guys they were going to fight when it finally started. 

Which didn’t take long.

The guy shoves Choso, calling him a bitch. Choso throws the first punch, breaking the guy's nose at the exact same time Sukuna jumps the guys friend. Seconds later, they’re all pummeling each other.

It’s a full blown brawl.

The space around them begins to clear, only because most people didn’t want to get caught in it— with the way they were fighting, it’s almost guaranteed you will. It also grows, thanks to a handful of drunk idiots jumping in, not caring about who was right and wrong. It was purely for fun, wanting to experience the rush and excitement of it all. 

Then there was the crowd, filled with people that were no better— shouting, cheering, recording. Capturing Sukuna, coked out, knocking someone out cold and then spitting blood on their face, then moving on to the next person, in 4k. 

And you’re scared, for multiple reasons. 

He just made up with his dad, and now there will be footage of Sukuna beating the shit out of multiple people all over the internet. It’ll probably be up before the fight ends, too. Not to mention it could be used in court as evidence if anyone decided to press charges. To top it all off, someone called the fucking cops and Sukuna ended up punching one of them square in the face. 

So now you have to watch him get arrested because he’s also an idiot. 

Yuki holds you back from running after him as they walk him out of the club. You only understand why she did it when you start to hear cameras frantically clicking outside, capturing the million dollar smile on Sukuna’s face. The first one, out of several, to walk out bloody and in handcuffs. 

And he didn’t give a fuck, not when he smiled for the cameras, and not when he was getting put in the back of a cop car, all while his new wife was nowhere to be found.

The tabloids are going to have a field day with this one. They were never going to leave you two alone after this. 

You’re scared.

—

A ringing phone rips Wasuke out of his sleep at 12:47 a.m, and he’s too confused to even be angry when he picks up the phone. It happens more often than you think, but the calls are usually work related, not his daughter in law hysterically crying over the phone. 

“I need you to breathe.” He didn’t know what the hell you were saying, and it was going to freak him out. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?!”

“N-no,” you take a deep breath, before blurting out, “Sukuna got in a fight trying to protect Choso and then the cops got called and then he punched a cop in the face thinking it was someone taking a cheap shot at him and now he’s in jail. And– And there’s videos and pictures of everything.” 

Wasuke let out a long, exhausted sigh as you continued to hyperventilate. You didn’t mention him being drunk or being on any substances, but he just knows in his heart that his son most likely snorted a disappointing amount of coke tonight. 

“Ok, ok,” he tries to get you to focus. “Do you have enough money on you right now for bail?”

“N-no, we have cash at home though. But I– what if they don’t let him out on bail?!” 

“Oh, they will. Just slide them a couple grand in cash,” he assures you, coaching you on what to do, since he’s your problem now. 

“God– we didn’t even drive here! It’s gonna take forever to get an Uber,” you begin to whine and complain to yourself.

“Would you like me to send a dri–”

“Wait, what?” you end up cutting him off to answer a question Yuki asked. “Really?! Ugh, please… Dad? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he responds in a defeated tone, silently questioning how drunk you are right now. 

“Sorry– Choso’s girlfriend just offered me a ride home and to the police station. She has to bail him out too.”

He rolls his eyes, not surprised he’s in there with his son too. “I’m glad you were able to solve that problem.”

“Thanks, me too,” you miss the sarcasm in his response. At least you were a lot more calm than when you first called him. “...You’re not going to punish Sukuna, right?”

“No,” he curtly says, he’s made it clear time after time that punishing him doesn’t fucking work, and quite frankly, he doesn’t even care anymore. Again, he is your problem now. “Just… get there as fast as you can… he gets impatient and starts taunting the cops thinking they’ll let him out sooner if he annoys them enough.” 

“Oh,” you breathe out. All he does is hum in response, remembering the times it’s actually worked. “Okay, well, I’ll keep you updated.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says in his kindest voice, tucking himself back into bed. “I will just see you two on Sunday.”

“Okay, see you then. Sorry if I woke you up by the way.”

“It’s okay.” He’s just glad he didn’t have to get out of bed. “Oh, also…” there’s a short pause before you receive a text on your phone, “that’s the family publicist, make sure to give her a call as soon as possible, just to let her know what’s going on, alright?”

“Alright, I’ll call her right now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he hums, ending the phone call in an oddly good mood. Usually he’d be fuming, but instead, he feels at peace. Almost. He’s not exactly sure why. Was this the bliss people spoke of after they “let go and let god”? Or was he just happy that he finally got to pass the torch to someone else?

He’s too tired to know, too tired to care— telling himself that you two are grown, and will figure it out on your own. Yeah, the pictures will probably be in the tabloids for a while, but this wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. 

Besides, he’s a good looking kid, people will probably just end up talking about his looks rather than the crime itself. 

It’ll all be fine. 

All Sukuna has to worry about is convincing you that this is all normal.

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[classyrbf]

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION MASTERLIST — RYOMEN SUKUNA

SYNOPSIS...as an amateur pornstar, you were set up to do your first ever shoot with the infamous ryomen sukuna. After what you considered the best sex of your life, Sukuna finds himself taking interest in you, but he’s not the only one. Now known as the popular newbie in the industry from your first successful shoot, others in the industry want to see what all the hype is about

INFO...pornstar!sukuna x pornstar!reader, lots of smut, mature themes, size kink, sukuna has a foot fetish, jealously, alcohol, reader is bisexual, drugs mentioned, some gojo/toji/shoko/yuki x reader, some angst

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

chapter 1

chapter 2

+ more to come

[sukunahs]

sweet tooth masterlist | ryomen sukuna

wish I could see that it feels much better when I'm with you

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.

content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, harassment, introverted reader, both reader and sukuna are kinda insecure in their own way, reader's life is falling apart but sukuna is there to make things better

I'm expecting to write around 20 chapters for this fic!

episode 1: going through it

episode 2: under your spell

episode 3: anyone out there?

episode 4: expectations are too high

episode 5: crush

episode 6: I just don't know right now

episode 7: late nights

episode 8: so come a little closer

episode 9: beating like a hammer

episode 10 (coming soon!)

Taglist open! Let me know on this post if you want to be added <3

[feyrinnn]

𝔀hite 𝔀inter 𝓱ymnal; 𝓼atoru 𝓰ojo

❅ pairing gojo x f!reader

❅ summary refusing to cancel your romantic ski trip after your boyfriend broke up with you just days before the holidays, you decide to go to the remote lodge by yourself. luckily, or unluckily for you, you seem to have caught the attention of another infuriatingly handsome tourist

❅ content mdni!, real world au, hurt and comfort, fluff and angst, break up talk, terrible exes, fear of flying, enemies to friends to lovers, pining, slow burn kinda, yearning, eventual smut, cozy holiday vibes, lowkey bitter reader lol, reader is going through a break up

series masterlist ❅ next chapter >>

𝓪ct 1

wc: 6.8k

December 20th

The plane landed with a brief but stiff impact, and your hands shot up to the seat in front of you, attempting to steady yourself against the force of being thrown on the ground inside this giant metal tube. You hated flying, everything about it made your stomach twist, and especially now considering the past few days, it was like you were constantly on edge anyway.

Your focus shifted around to the happy and relieved faces that made up the other passengers. Families, couples cuddling together, parents holding their babies tight – an array of different people, no doubt excited about the prospect of spending the holidays somewhere new. Or perhaps, this plane journey was a return home for them. But most, if not all, had that wide smile plastered on their face.

A smile you couldn’t quite match.

See, you were not meant to be here alone. You and your then boyfriend had booked this trip as a way to celebrate your four year anniversary, away from the business of the city. A ski resort up on the mountains, in the middle of the busy holiday period, what could be more romantic, right?

It would have been everything you ever dreamt of, had the bastard not broken up with you two days before you were meant to take off. Spewing some bullshit about being on different paths and just not being right for eachother, but you were pretty sure he was just banging his coworker and wanted to do so without the added guilt.

You sold the new playstation you had bought him for Christmas and used the money to extend your stay at the ski resort, hoping something about the mountain air and snow would mend your broken heart. Well, that, and also the thought of spending the holidays with your family and having to tell them you just got dumped being a fate worse than death.

The pilot said something you couldn’t make out on the intercom and you moved from your seat to grab your luggage up top – before being unceremoniously cut off by a rude white haired stranger towering above you. The man moved quick, stepping in front of you so fast it made you stumble back to your seat. “Hey!” you groaned, catching yourself.

He just turned slightly to you though, face ineligible, wearing sunglasses indoors so you couldn’t even try to decipher what his eyes were saying. Who even wears sunglasses on a plane?

The man just looked at you for half a second before turning again and moving towards the exit, no apologies or even an acknowledgement. “Asshole” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes.

You finally got your luggage, stepping outside the plane into the freezing fucking cold. You were not used to this weather, and your face immediately turned into a scowl at the sight of all the happy families nuzzling up against each other for warmth. All you had were your arms and a coat too thin for this kind of temperature.

Great start, you thought with a pout, willing your body to move while cursing yourself for not booking the trip somewhere warm instead. Turns out the cold really was only good for romance.

But your mood did improve when you finally reached the ski lodge. You were sitting on a little mini bus, listening to music on your headphones when the bright lights of the hotel started coming into vision among the whiteness of the snow.

It was beautiful.

Tucked among the trees, right by a mountain slope, little wooden lodges that made up the hotel you would be spending the next ten days in. Your mouth hung open, watching how the warm lighting coming from each window made the place look almost magical, like a snow covered forest inhabited only by fireflies.

Stunning.

You exhaled, taking it all in. Maybe you could still enjoy this solo. Maybe the beauty in front of you was enough to heal your pained heart. Maybe it would even be better without him. Maybe–

“Baby this is so pretty” mumbled a voice sitting behind you.

“Anything for you my love” said another one.

Your mood soured again.

“You have extended your stay, correct?” asked the blonde lady behind the wooden counter. The decoration inside matched the cozy atmosphere of the outside, the room filled with low lighting and warm blankets and rugs to match the rustic vibe.

“Yeah” you confirmed. “I’m staying until the 30th”

“I see” she hummed, clicking on her computer and nodding with a smile to signal it was all correct. Then she looked up at you, squinting her eyes a little. “And will you be expecting someone else?”

Ah, of course, you hadn’t changed that part of the reservation. “Um, no, I don’t think so” you stuttered, a little shy.

She looked sympathetic for a while, cocking her head to the side. “I have the honeymoon suite booked here?”

You gulped, embarrassed. Part of you booked it as a joke, and another part of you booked it because you were hoping it would push that idiot to finally start considering marriage. “My, um, fiancée had to stay home unfortunately. For work” you lied through your teeth.

But her whole face softened, pouting with a little head nod. “I am sorry to hear” was all she said. Her eyes flicked briefly to your ringless hands, but if she thought anything of it, she was professional enough to not mention it.

The honeymoon suite was exquisite. On the highest floor, overlooking the mountains and the ski slopes. It was so beautiful it almost helped you ignore the way your heart dropped seeing the king sized bed all decorated with rose petals, a complimentary bottle of wine sitting on one of the bedside tables.

At least you could definitely still enjoy that alone later.

Standing by the window, seeing the snowfall outside, you finally started to relax. The sun was already setting, and the sky was tinged with purple and pink, adding to the scenic atmosphere of the snow covered mountain. This was about to be a good trip, you promised yourself. A much needed reset.

But first, dinner.

You made your way downstairs, choosing to try the buffet instead of any of the more fancy restaurants. You eyed your options, all laid there in metal containers, while scrambling a little trying to understand the handwriting indicating which plate was which.

In your stalling, someone else cut in right in front, taking your place and reaching for the container right in front of you.

“Hey” you protested. No way this was happening twice in the same day – were people here just rude like that? But when the tall man looked back at you, your mouth opened in disbelief. “You’re the asshole from the plane” you accused, too fast to stop yourself.

Surprisingly though, he grinned at that. “Am I?” he asked, cocking his head to the side, same pair of sunglasses slipping just a little from his nose to showcase stunningly bright blue eyes. You hated how much they caught your attention.

“Yeah” you composed yourself instead, hands on your hips. “You cut me off earlier too”

“Hmm” he hummed, looking up like trying to locate the memory. “Maybe you’re just too slow?” he asked like a genuine suggestion, as if he wasn’t making your blood boil.

“I’m not” you argued with a scoff. “I was reading the labels”

“You were taking too long” he shrugged, moving on to the next container and leaving you, mouth open, staring at his back.

You took a step forward then, making a point to reach across from him and right towards the plate he was looking at. His eyes narrowed at you, snapping his hand back as you forcefully grabbed the spoon he was just reaching for. “Sorry, you took too long” you cooed, like it was nothing.

A little pout formed on his lips, but you could tell he was amused. He lifted his tray over your head – purposefully trying to make you feel small, you thought – but just allowed you to pass in front of him.

You felt victorious, the tall man now relegated to his rightful spot behind you on the queue. A little win, finally.

But then you looked down to see what it was you had blindly chosen, and felt your stomach sink as you saw fish on your plate.

You hated fish.

You tried to hide your scowl, but the man was already noticing something was wrong. He cocked his head, watching you with a sly smile forming at his lips. You couldn’t put the fish back – that was definitely against buffet etiquette, right? And you couldn’t ask if he wanted it, admitting to losing the battle you had only just won.

“Hmmm? Everything okay?” the blue eyed man asked, a teasing lull concealed within the curiosity.

You tskd. “Mind your business” you muttered, rushing along the rest of the buffet. You pushed the fish as close to the edge as you could, trying to get the rest of the food to not touch it as you scrambled to move before the man could make another remark about it.

Slamming your tray with much more force than you had planned, you finally sat down on the corner of the cafeteria. There were long wooden tables all around, inviting guests to socialise and make friends, but you chose the one empty one.

Well, it was empty, until a familiar mess of white hair approached, sitting opposite you.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, already sat.

“I do, actually” you complained.

He laughed, spreading his long legs and resting his chin on his hand. “Why are you so mean to me?” he asked, still smiling.

You scoffed. “You’re rude”

He removed his sunglasses then, setting them aside. The bright blue eyes fully exposed now, you could see the way they were decorated with white feathery lashes as pale as the snow outside, giving him an almost ethereal look. Your chest warmed a bit at how beautiful those eyes were... until he opened his mouth again. “You’re rude too” he argued.

You pouted, lowering your gaze to your plate to not give him the benefit of a reaction. “Then why would you sit here” you mumbled, picking at your food.

He seemed to consider the question. “You’re travelling alone too, right?”

Your heart sank a little at the reminder that yes, you were, even if you were not meant to be. “So what if I am?” you said in a snarky tone.

“Woah, relax” he put his hands up, leaning back. “I just wanted to make friends” he said, head to the side, studying you. “I’m Satoru Gojo”

You looked up at him, wondering what this man’s real intentions could be. He was loud, rude, and something about how he watched you made you feel like he could see right through you.

But he was nice to look at.

Infuriatingly so.

So you offered him your name, and he extended a pale hand over the table. “Nice to meet you” Satoru said.

“Is it?” you mumbled out, letting go of his hand as quickly as you had held it.

He laughed at that, a full, head leaning back laugh. “You’re so mean” he noted, amused.

“I’m not” you argued, heat flushing your cheeks. “You’re the one interrupting my dinner” you pointed out, bringing another spoonfull to your lips. You tried to eat in peace, but his conspicuous stare was too distracting.

Those bright eyes danced all over you, like you were a specimen he was fascinated by. “You don’t like fish?” he mused, noticing the obvious side of the plate you hadn’t touched.

“I’m full” you lied.

“But you seemed to want it so bad” he pondered.

You just rolled your eyes. No point arguing with him. Something about this Satoru made you think he was always two steps ahead when it came to his teasing, and you hated how easily he riled you up.

When you didn’t say anything, he opened his mouth again. “How come you’re here alone?” he asked, genuinely curious now. “Boyfriend didn’t want to come?”

You slammed your fork down with so much force it startled him. You looked up at this Satoru Gojo, and his expression changed immediately, brows furrowing when noticing his obvious attempt at flirting had backfired completely. “I’m going back to my room” you snarled instead. “Good night”

December 21st

You stretched your arms over your head, filling your lungs with the fresh mountain air as your mind struggled between sleep and wakefulness. In your half asleep state, you reached for someone who wansn’t there – only to be met by the empty side of the bed you were still not used to.

You weren’t meant to be here alone, you sighed. When would this start to feel normal?

But looking at the window by the bedside, the gorgeous landscape did wonders to soften your mood. The sun was shining above the mountain, casting a stunning warm glow on the slopes where you could see tiny people having fun in the distance.

Maybe you’d try that today. Surely the adrenaline would be just what you needed to distract from your first emotion this morning being disappointment. You just needed to get out of your head a little bit. So what if that idiot wasn’t here with you? You were still going to enjoy your trip, no matter what. This was your chance to be spontaneous, courageous, a little daring. It’s the holidays after all – new year new me, right?

Well...the one thing was, you had never actually gone skiing before.

And it seems you had seriously underestimated how hard it actually was.

As soon as you had made your way up the mountain and had your full gear on, your excitement was replaced by absolute dread. What do you mean you were supposed to throw yourself off a mountain in nothing but huge wooden shoes you could barely move around in?

Whose idea of fun was that?!

You gripped the poles as hard as you could, watching how everyone moved around with ease while you felt like a newborn deer. You could feel the sweat dripping off your skin under all the gear, in spite of the cold wind, only adding to your discomfort. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn around and go back down, surely you could watch from a safe distance and have an even better time, you thought.

And then... your day got worse.

“Ohh?” called a voice you were unfortunately too good at recognising now. “Nice to see you”

You turned around, seeing that idiot Satoru Gojo standing behind you, helmet in hand revealing his wild hair as white as the snow, while standing in his ski gear with the utmost confidence of someone who had done this probably a million times.

“Hi” you muttered, turning away from him.

“It’s great weather for it, isn’t it?” he smiled that infuriatingly bright smile. You nodded with a pout, gripping the stupid poles like your life depended on it because it kind of did. “Wanna go together?” he suggested, and that finally made you turn back to him.

“Together?” you echoed.

“Well, yeah” he laughed. “It’s better with a partner, right?”

You gulped. “...yeah, totally” you agreed.

He kept looking at you with that beaming smile. His eyes were as bright as the sky above, and it struck you how he seemed like he could be a part of the landscape itself. He just looked like he belonged – while you felt like a complete imposture.

“...So?” he asked again.

You considered your choices. Perhaps if he did go with you, you had a better chance of survival than if you attempted this by yourself. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

“Fine” you exhaled.

“Great!” he seemed genuinely happy. “Why don’t we start with that one?” he suggested, pointing at the slope far away that had the sign “experienced skiers only”.

You swallowed hard, but nodded, placing your helmet on tight.

Satoru smiled, effortlessly gliding away without so much as a glance back. Which was all the best for you, given you were attempting to copy his stance and failing miserably while trying your best to just move in the damn things.

But soon enough he noticed you weren’t behind him.

“Hm?” he muttered, turning around to see you scrambling barely inches away from where he had left you. “You good back here?” he asked, gliding towards you again with practiced ease.

“Y-yeah” you replied, an obvious lie.

He kept studying you. “You’ve done this before, right?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Of course” you growled. Another lie.

“Mm, sure” he mused. “Is this a new technique I just haven’t heard about?” he suggested, motioning his hands to your awkward stance, smile already plastered all over his face.

You snarled at him.

He laughed. A full chested, amused, mocking laugh.

“How about we start with the bunny slope instead?” he suggested, referring to the kids slope.

You swallowed hard, your ego bruised, but you couldn’t deny the idea of not dying on a ski trip was much more appealing.

“Come on” he motioned. “I prefer it anyway. Maybe you can teach me some of that technique, yeah?” he said, clearly mocking but you also couldn’t help noticing how kind his tone was.

Satoru could have embarrassed you outright and gone for the pro alone. Instead, he suggested the bunny slope like it was for his benefit and not yours.

Or maybe you were just giving him the benefit of the doubt too much.

But seeing the bunny slope was a relief. Sure, there were little kids awkardly gliding around next to patient parents, but it looked like it was almost fun. You were just beginning to relax a little bit.

Satoru kept watching you, seeming pleased that you were finally beginning to breathe a little deeper.

“You’re holding it wrong” he said then, voice surprisingly kind and patient. You turned your head to him, about to ask what he meant, but Satoru was already moving closer. “Here” he said, placing a hand above yours where you were gripping the pole like you feared they’d run away from you.

The sudden touch made your heart skip a beat, and you stayed frozen, allowing him to readjust you. “There you go” he said, moving behind you now. “Can I?” Satoru asked, hands hovering a little above your waist. You were struck by his sudden warmth, and still a little flustered by the unexpected contact. Your head just bobbed up and down, completely out of words.

Satoru placed two hands around your middle, readjusting your posture. “Bend a little bit” he instructed, and you did, ignoring how your heart beat a little too fast for your liking. “There you go. But keep your back straight” he said, pressing a palm to your lower back while you tried to follow his guidance without physically combusting.

“Keep your weight forward” he explained, finally letting go of you and moving so you could watch as he demonstrated. “See?” he asked, and your eyes moved over his tall frame showcasing exactly what he meant. He moved with such elegant ease, it was almost magnectic.

You were glad for the thick headgear hiding your flustered cheeks.

“Yeah” you said, voice a little too raspy for your liking. “Thank you” you mumbled out, sweat clinging to your gloved hands.

He smiled at your softening. “I’ll be right next to you, yeah?”

You nodded. The first push off the slope was a little awkward, but his instructions did help. Satoru kept his eyes on you the whole time, muttering little corrections whenever you lost balance, standing a little in front whenever you faltered.

He was a surprisingly good instructor.

“There you go” he beamed, skiing up ahead to watch proudly from a distance as you moved like you were born for this.

Well, for about five seconds.

The burst of excitement got the better of you and before you knew it, you were picking up speed and going a little too fast for what you were comfortable with. “Wait–” Satoru startled, moving instinctively to your front.

But it was too late.

You crashed right into him. In the middle of the bunny slope. With all the little kids and their parents watching with puzzled, if not entertained expressions.

Gojo took the brunt of the fall as you tackled him into the ground, both bodies falling all tangled together into the fluffy snow. Your heart beat fast with embarrassment and something else, tears prickling at your eyes for having failed like that.

Despite the shock, Satoru didn’t seem to mind. His hands held on to your waist, stabilising your body over his. “Tackling your instructor isn’t really part of the lesson” he laughed under you. “But I can’t say I mind” he teased, and that’s when you pushed off him with too much force, scrambling to stand up while all your body seemed to do was sink deeper into the all encompassing snow.

“Hey hey” he called, sitting up and extending a hand to help. “I’m just joking”

“It’s not funny” you mumbled out, everyone eyeing the idiot thrashing around, every little bit of anxiety and self consciousness crashing over you.

“Hey” Gojo extended a hand to you, noticing how your voice was cracking at the edges. “It’s fine, everyone falls on their first–”

“It’s not fine” you protested, wanting to do nothing but hide. “I can’t even–”

“Here” he said, literally gripping your waist again to help you stand up. “You have to do it slowly” he explained, finally easing you upright.

“Thanks” you muttered, feeling the tears of shame already forming behind the goggles.

“It’s fine” he waved it off. “Besides, I quite enjoyed that” Satoru teased again, and you felt your chest fill with heat this time.

You grunted, glad he couldn’t see how hard you were rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the lesson” you groaned, taking awkward steps away from him and this skiing nightmare.

December 22nd

You spent the night before avoiding him. Not just because of the absolute embarrassment on the bunny slope, but also because something about him stirred something in you that you weren’t quite comfortable facing just yet. You wanted to punch his stupid face 99% of the time but when he got that close you caught yourself thinking things you shouldn’t have been thinking.

The last thing you needed right now was another man messing with your head. You’d keep your distance, for your own sanity. He was clearly too hot to be trusted anyway.

That’s why it came to a complete surprise when you opened your door in the morning to find the same man you spent the whole of the night before thinking about just casually standing on the other side.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you growled immediately.

But Satoru seemed as surprised as you. “I–oh, hi? Erm, good morning?” he tried, too awkward for his usually so composed self.

“You’re following me?” you squinted, raising your voice at him.

“Huh? No!” he screeched, putting his hands up in surrender. “This is my room” he pointed to the door opposite yours.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re joking” you accused.

“No! I’m as surprised as you!” he argued, and something about his high pitched tone did make you believe him.

“Prove it” you crossed your arms, standing defiantly by your door.

Satoru pulled a keycard from his pocket, held it to the door in front of him, which did click green. He looked over with puppy eyes, as if pleading you to believe him, and you just exhaled in acknowledgement. “Fine” you relented, moving to close your door again.

“Wait!” he called, and you halted. “I’ve actually been meaning to speak to you”

You gripped the frame tighter. “About what?”

“Well, yesterday” he started, a little flustered himself, the sharp turn this morning took clearly taking him by surprise just as much as you. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry” he started nervously, a tone far too uneasy to match his usual charisma.

You swallowed thickly. “It’s fine” was all you said.

“Are you sure?” he asked, taking a tiny step forward. “My best friend always tells me I take things too far. I’d never want to make you–”

Seeing his genuiness did make you soften just a little. “Honestly, it’s okay” you exhaled. “Thank you for the lesson anyway”

His shoulders finally dropped. “Of course” Satoru exhaled, but he stayed frozen outside your door. His weight kept shifting from side to side, the pure image of uneasiness, but if he wanted to tell you something he didn’t seem to know where to begin.

“Is there something else?” you asked, since the alternative seemed to be just standing outside your door staring at him the whole day.

“I, uh” he scrambled over his words. “Was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner? In a totally platonic way!” he explained once one of your eyebrows rose. “As an apology”

You pursed your lips at him, thinking about the invitation. The lodge had a couple fancy restaurants you still hadn’t tried, and not only was he the only person you really knew here, he was also travelling solo. Meals by yourself really weren’t the same. “A totally platonic dinner?” you echoed.

“Yeah” he smiled, seeing the faintest hint of one on your lips. “Maybe 8pm? Have you been to the terrace restaurant yet?”

“I haven’t” you said, smiling a little at how he had already thought this through. “All right. I’ll meet you there” you agreed, closing the door.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been looking forward to it all day.

By the time it was 7.30pm, you were trying on the third dress in front of the mirror, trying to decide which option made you look best but also not desperate. This was a friendly dinner. You had no reason to be this nervous.

And yet, here you were.

A faint buzzing coming from the large bed finally distraced you from the dresscode spiral you found yourself in. Your hands patted the mattress, finding your phone underneath one of the discarded dresses you had tossed earlier.

One look at it and you were practically seeing red.

“What do you want?” you snarled as soon as you pressed the little green button after seeing your ex’s name flashing on the screen.

“Hello to you too” he scoffed, same infuriating tone as always.

“I asked you a question” you spat, gripping the phone so hard you were surprised it didn’t break.

“Where are you?” was all he said on the other side, completely ignoring you as always.

“None of your business” you sneered, feeling the heat all over your body.

“I went by the flat and you weren’t there” he explained, as if you were doing something wrong by not being where he expected you to be. “I need to see you” he said, as if he hadn’t broken your heart just five days ago.

“Why?”

You heard him exhale on the other side.

“Because I miss you”

You tilted your chin up, hoping the tears prickling at your lashes wouldn’t ruin your mascara. “It’s too fucking late for that” you said, but it came out a little too uneasy for your liking.

“Come on” the guy reasoned. “Just tell me where you are. We can talk this through”

“You broke up with me” you complained, the absurdity of his request completely taking you aback. “Before our trip”

“I...it was a mistake” he exhaled.

You didn’t believe him for a second.

Had his work love affair ended already?

At least the girl was smarter than you if that was the case, getting away from this bastard as fast as she could.

“I don’t care” you said, finally finding your voice. “And I’m going on a date tonight, actually” you announced proudly, though it wasn’t quite the truth.

The silence on the other end was loud.

“A date?” he scoffed, and the way he sounded unconvinced was worst than any kind of jealousy or anger.

“Yeah” you said too fast. “Why is that so surprising?” you complained, biting your lipstick painted bottom lip.

He snorted on the other end. “Just stop playing” he said, like he was speaking to a toddler. “Come home and we’ll talk about it, yeah?”

“I’m not” you protested, hating how you sounded like a child yourself.

Only to make matters worse, you heard him laugh. “Come on baby” he started. “Don’t be like that”

You swallowed hard, the nickname only adding insult to injury. “Do you even know what day tomorrow is?” you asked, hating the way your voice was shaking.

Did he even remember your four year anniversary?

The reason you two had booked the trip in the first place?

“Um” he muttered on the other side, confused. “Christmas eve eve?”

That’s when the tears started running down your painted cheeks, ruining the make up you had spent so long working on. You hated everything about this man. Hated how condescending he was to you, how he thought he could break your heart and expect you to come back days later, how he still employed his pet names like a weapon.

“Don’t call me again” you muttered, hanging up and throwing your phone across the bed again.

You looked at your reflection on the mirror, all smudged and sad and not what you wanted at all. The tears kept coming, your whole body shaking with indignation, unable to just make it stop. By the time the clock ticked 8pm, you were still curled on your bedroom floor, wishing the world would just fade away for a second.

You couldn’t leave the room like this.

A sharp knock came to your door at some point an hour later. You pushed yourself up, dragging your hands across your face and already anticipating another confrontation. You opened it, sheepishly, seeing your date you had been so excited about standing outside with his hands in his pockets, brows furrowed and jaw tight.

But seeing you, Satoru’s face softened immediately.

“Hey” he startled, brows raising. “What–what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry” you mumbled out, voice small, still crying and unable to make it stop.

His long arms wrapped around you instead, pulling you into an unexpected hug. “It’s ok” he shushed you, his frame offering a surprising comfort in this awful night. “Did something happen?” he asked, tone so soft it almost made you tear up more.

You nodded against his chest, unable to say much. You were too embarrassed to look up and let him see your puffy wet face, so you just pressed it further into him. Gojo welcomed it though, smoothing your hair back with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“I’m sorry” he whispered. “I almost wish you had just stood me up” he laughed faintly, though it was clear it had upset him too.

“I didn’t, I–” you started to say, but he just shook his head and held a palm to the back of your head. “…did you come here to fight me?” you asked pitifully, and your voice was so small it had him regretting the way he had knocked so fiercely.

“I was worried” he said. “But maybe that too” he admitted, pulling away just slightly to look at you better. Your smudged make up, your evening dress, all still there. “You look beautiful” he muttered.

You shoved his shoulder back, playfully. “Stop teasing” you pouted.

“I mean it” Satoru smiled, using his sleeve to dab the wetness under your eyes. “You want to tell me what happened?”

That invitation was completely unexpected, but it did untie a little bit of the knot in your throat. “My ex... we were meant to be here together” you started explaining.

“I figured” he exhaled. “Did he do something?”

You nodded weakly. “He just called”

“What a loser” Satoru rolled his blue eyes, the disdain in his tone making you smile.

“Yeah...” you agreed. “I didn’t expect it to hit me this hard” you completed, a little ashamed and half expecting him to say you were overreacting.

But he didn’t. “Do you want to talk about it?” Satoru asked instead.

“I...” you considered it, but ultimately shook your head. “I think I just need a shower and sleep”

“That’s fair” he nodded. “You know where I am if you need” Satoru tilted his head to the opposite door, and the recollection of your awkward run in earlier made you smile.

“Yeah” you laughed at that. “I’m sorry about tonight”

“Don’t be” he waved it off, finally taking a step back towards his room.

“Are you...free tomorrow evening, maybe?” you suggested.

“Yeah” Satoru smiled. “Same time?”

December 23rd

The terrace restaurant Satoru had chosen was beautiful and grand. The dim lighting added to the cozy ambiance, shrouding everything in this soft glow of warmth and comfort. Each table complete with a little blanket for the cold weather, while the skylight opened up to the starry night and the easy fall of the snow.

Satoru was already waiting when you got there.

He wore a white button up that clung to his muscles just right, with sharp deep blue suit trousers and elegant shoes. He still had the signature sunglasses he always seemed to wear, but he pushed them up on his white hair as soon as he saw you come in.

You had settled for a classic cut blue dress, which you hoped wouldn’t be too on the nose, but the colour did compliment your date’s eyes. You felt a little shy about it, but the way his smile beamed when you walked in on your high heels made your fears soften.

“Wow” he grinned, pulling your chair for you. “You look stunning”

You felt the tips of your ears turn pink. “You said you’d stop teasing” you pouted, sitting down.

“I’m not” he grinned, sitting opposite you.

You fiddled with the blanket for a second, throwing it over your lap just to have something to do while you pretended not to notice the way Satoru was looking at you.

“No exes to worry about today?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

You did chuckle at that. “You’re such an asshole” you complained, unable to hide your smile though.

“I thought you liked it?” Satoru grinned.

“What makes you think that?” you rose an eyebrow at him.

“Well, because you’re here” he pointed out. A statement you were unable to refute.

“Maybe I’m just getting used to it” you argued back, and his smile widened.

The waiter came around, and Satoru ordered the fanciest bottle of wine they had on the menu. You hoped he would be covering the bill, considering you were barely able to afford this trip in the first place, but would that be too much to expect from a friendly dinner?

Then he moved on to order the food, and you let him take the lead. “No fish, right?” he winked at you, and you scrunched your nose at the memory of another time you had embarrassed yourself in front of him. Satoru chuckled lowly, before turning his attention back to the waiter and finally, back to you.

“So” he started, swirling his wine. “What did that idiot do to get you to break up with him?”

You felt your face heating up a little bit at the question. “He... he broke up with me, actually” you admitted.

“Oh?” Satoru seemed surprise. “He really is an idiot”

Your cheeks went completely red. “S-stop teasing” you complained, gripping the fluffy blanket tight in an attempt to ground your emotions a little.

“I’m sorry” Satoru said, taking a sip of the sweet wine. “He ended things and now he wants you back? Bold move” he asked, probing you to keep talking. It came to you then how he’d be the first person you were ever opening up about this to.

“Yeah, well” you sipped your wine too, a little too fast. “It’s not happening” you scoffed.

“Ohh? How comes?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested and inspired by your boldness.

You hesitated, watching the way the snow fell among the trees behind his head. “I’m pretty sure he was cheating on me” you finally admitted, voice small, telling him like it was a secret you were guilty of instead of the bastard that did it in the first place.

Satoru’s smug grin faltered completely. “Fuck” he exhaled. “I’m really sorry”

“Don’t be” you tried a faint smile, a little overwhelmed at the sudden admission. “I think its for the best” you said, and though you didn’t fully feel it yet, you knew it was the truth.

“Still, that’s...” he struggled to find the words. “That’s rough”

You bit your lip, agreeing. “I think I should have ended things a long time ago” you admitted. “Today was meant to be our four year anniversary, actually” you told him with a bitter laugh.

He whistled at that, leaning back on his chair. “Four years, huh?” Satoru muttered, studying you. “At least it sounds like you’re in better company now”

That earned a laugh out of you. “Am I?” you raised a brow at him.

Satoru smiled, cocking his head slightly. “Why didn’t you end it sooner?” he asked, and you were surprised your life still interested him.

“I guess... because it was safe. Stable” you shamefully admitted. But he didn’t seem to judge you for it. “I’m trying to get out of my comfort zone a bit” you completed.

“Hence coming on the trip alone?” he asked. The way Satoru seemed to pay attention to everything you were saying was completely foreign to you.

But it did feel nice.

“Exactly” you agreed.

Satoru smiled, twirling his wine. “You might have beent taking that a little too far on the slopes though” he teased, and you got flushed with embarrassment all over again recalling your poor performance. “Attempting to ski without any practice was a bit crazy” he laughed, clearly recalling it like a fond memory.

And you laughed too, despite yourself. “You did make for a good teacher, though” you mumbled shyly.

“I can teach you some more” he smiled. “If you’d like that”

“Maybe I would” you half hid your face behind the wine glass.

The food arrived, taking the focus off of you and into the plates, which you much preferred. As expected, it all tasted incredible – you couldn’t even remember the last time you had a meal like that. Your date seemed to enjoy himself too, but not nearly as impressed as you, making you wonder if this kind of sophistication was just normal to him.

Thinking about it, you didn’t really know anything about him.

“What about you?” you found yourself asking then. “Why come here alone?”

Satoru swallowed, looking like he was considering the question a little bit. “I like getting away sometimes” he explained, between slicing the food, gazing at the plate instead like maybe he wasn’t as comfortable talking about himself as you had previously thought.

“From work, you mean?” you asked, curious about this infuriating stranger who was doing such a good job of charming you.

“That too” he said. “There’s a lot of pressure from all sides. Sometimes I just want to be”

You started at him, feeling like you had just uncovered an important part of the puzzle that was this white haired tourist. With his magnectic charisma and good looks, you would have assumed life just came easy for him.

“You don’t want to spend the holidays with family?” you probed a little, too intrigued.

“We’re not close” he said, but waved it off as soon as he saw your worried eyes. “It’s no issue. I’d usually spend it with my best friend, but he’s away too”

“I see” you hummed. “It’s my first time spending Christmas alone” you admitted, twirling your glass. The thought still made you feel a little sick.

But Satoru cocked his head to the side, bright eyes studying you. “Maybe you don’t have to” he suggested.

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Well” he leaned back on his chair. “Why don’t we celebrate together?”

That completely caught you by surprise. “You want to... celebrate with me?” you asked between furrowed brows.

“Why not?” he asked casually, chewing his food. “Got anywhere else to be?”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of your own thoughts and come up with a response.

Focus, you kept thinking. The last thing you need is another man messing with you.

But...where else were you supposed to go, anyway?

“Sure” you smiled shyly.

❅ a/n this story has kind of taken over my life and i'm so excited to hear all your thoughts!! tysm for reading<3

dividers by @cursed-carmine

[hnnycrmb]

Sooo like....are you still alive? Is the "make a man out of you" story still continuing? PLEASE I NEED MOREE I WILL ACTUALLY CRY

(Btw I get if ur busy or stuff like that. No pressure luv. I love ur stories btw keep going🫶)

Hi! Sorry it’s been so long! Yes, I plan to continue it — I’ve been so busy this past month, but I was literally just thinking of picking it back up the other day!! Also, lowkey so excited that someone is interested in it, so this made my day lol

[sukunahs]

to distant lands - masterlist | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (medieval fantasy au)

summary: It’s expected for a princess to have a personal guard, especially when you’re an only child and heir to the kingdom. The knight who has watched over you since childhood is retiring and, much to your dismay, your father decides to put his best soldier on the job as his replacement - Ryomen Sukuna, the Kingdom’s most vicious warrior and far from your biggest fan.

Little did you know that Sukuna would end up tangling himself in your life in ways you never could’ve anticipated. 

word count (so far!): 131k

content: 18+ mdni, smut, princess!reader, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish), forbidden relationship, medieval fantasy setting, fluff, angst, protective sukuna, fingering, spanking, sex dreams, violence, parent death, grief, confusing emotions, reader is chaotic, graphic violence, combat, bullying, anxiety, arranged marriages, references to child loss/misscarriage (not by the reader!), parental neglect, jealousy, depression, suicidal ideation, kidnapping, attempted sexual assault, injury, piv sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, more tags to be added as chapters come out!

chapter one: nightmare

chapter two: dirt

chapter three: denial

chapter four: blossom

chapter five: temptation

chapter six: fear

chapter seven: all yours

chapter eight: discretion

chapter nine: implosion

chapter ten: potential

chapter eleven: loss

chapter twelve: bad luck

chapter thirteen: despair

chapter fourteen (coming soon!)

epilogue

Taglist open: let me know if you want to be notified when new chapters release!

[hnnycrmb]

Make a Man Out of You: Chapter 13

CW - Gojo/Reader, both are consenting adults (minimal age gap), 18+, explicit sexual content, emotional vulnerability, shame spiral, sensory overstimulation, intimacy hangover, aftercare

You could feel your sharp edges dulling as Satoru’s body pressed over you like a weighted blanket. The world outside didn’t seem to exist – only his breath at your collarbone and the faint buzz of the lights in the hall. You could still feel your pulse in places you didn’t know you had one.

 Nestled into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You could feel him softening inside you as he burrowed further. You sigh into him, allowing yourself to get comfy on the desk that – by the grace of god – was supporting the two of you. 

Absent-mindedly, your hands trace over his back, his shoulders, his neck, until they find their home in his hair. They continue to waltz about, threading through his soft strands. His smile presses into the side of your neck while your fingers do their work.

This was a bad idea. Reckless. But right now, you just can’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you allow yourself to melt, shoving the scolding voice in your head to the back.

Eyes closing, the exhaustion from the day settling deep into your bones. You try to resist, to stay awake, but Gojo’s body warm against yours keeps urging you toward sleep. He shifts slightly on top of you, wrapping his arms tighter. 

“Hang on.” His voice is rough, like he too was fading in and out of consciousness.

Before you can question it, your body is weightless, cool air whistles against your back instead of the desk. Cursed energy tunnels around you both as your stomach drops. You hold onto Gojo like your life depends on it, suffocating him against your neck.

Finally, you feel something soft beneath you. Warm. When your eyes open, you’re somewhere you don’t recognize. For a second, you think you’re dreaming, shadows warping, the sound of cursed energy fading from your ears. Then the smell hits you – sweet, sharp and painfully familiar. Taking a deep breath, your body stiffens when you connect the dots. It smells like Gojo.

His body is shoved off of you when you bolt upright. Your eyes dart around the room – Gojo’s bedroom – as you scramble with the blanket to cover yourself up. Curtains partially drawn, the moon lit up the room enough for you to make out some details. 

There wasn’t much in the way of furnishings or decor other than the bare minimum, but it still felt comfy. His sheets were slightly disheveled and pillows a little lopsided, like he’d taken a cat nap and hadn’t bothered to make it. On his singular nightstand, there was a small lamp, some chargers and a half-drunk water bottle. 

Oh god.

Nausea replaces the contentment that had settled in your stomach as you clutch the blankets tighter over love-bitten chest, like it could erase what just happened. 

What were you thinking? How could you do this?

This shouldn’t have happened. One second you were sitting alone in the dark, a hollow shell of yourself in the classroom. And now? You were wrapped up in Gojo’s sheets, body aching and burning, with his cum leaking out of you onto his bed that smelled like him in his apartment.

You pull your legs into you, resting your head on your knees. The blanket bristles your skin, too rough, too warm. Every place he touched itching as you began your mental thrashing.

Careless. 

Stupid.

Reckless. 

You could go on and on. Any semblance of control you deluded yourself into thinking you had – gone. 

And yet, your body still hummed, traitorous, the ache between your thighs pulsing with leftover warmth. The ghost of his touch clung to your skin, sheets wrapped around you holding his scent.

You weren’t like this before. Before, when you were you, life was easy and predictable. Sure, you’d kept your cursed energy at bay, would exorcise a curse here and there, but everything was normal – boring even.

What the hell happened?

It was supposed to be simple. Dress as a man, train hard. It wasn’t supposed to be messy. Other than your grandpa and your (one) friend, you’d never gotten so tangled up in other people before. You’d date around casually, but you’d never been swallowed up like this.

The bed beside you shifts slightly, reminding you that you weren’t alone. Bracing yourself, you peel your forehead off your knees as you peek at the man who’d so easily turned your entire being around. 

You were expecting smug, cocky – hoping for it even. Because then you could brush this aside, pretend it never happened. Instead, his eyes are soft and wide as he watches you, like he can see your inner turmoil. There was no trace of hurt or even regret on his face. It was almost like… he was thankful. 

He blinks slowly, taking it all in, like he felt so fortunate to see you bare – physically, emotionally. You can’t decide which unnerves you more – the gratitude or the gentleness. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look at anyone without the armor of humor. It made you want to crawl into him and run from him in the same breath.

Your lips part, but you can’t quite make words come out. 

What do you even say? Especially when he’s looking at you like that?

So, you sit, mouth open like a fish, watching each other. He lets it settle for just a moment before his arm pulls you down onto him, your positions reversed from just a few minutes ago in the classroom.

His scent fills your nostrils as he cradles your head, coaxing you, trying to smooth the tension from your body. His lips press to the top of your head, his kiss firm and steady. When he pulls away, he hums.

“There you go thinking too much again.”

You can’t help but chuckle. He’d said something similar the day you’d started at Jujutsu Tech. 

“Yeah, well you ought to think more.” You tease, feeling a little bitter. Whatever. It’s not like either of you were really thinking ahead.

“Hey, I think the perfect amount. Thank you very much.” 

He rolls over, pulling you with him until you're both on your side, laying face to face. His hand reaches out, soft against your cheek.

You soften unconsciously into him, feeling a little better than you had a moment ago. How is he able to affect your mood like that?

“You’re so beautiful when you smile like this.” His words are delicate as his eyes trace your face. Your hand twitches, reaching up until it rests overtop his. You hadn’t even realized you were smiling. The air thrums between you, heavy with something fragile – like the moment before a string snaps.

He wiggles in closer, pulling you slightly so you do the same. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as his eyes dart back to yours – just for a moment, before his gaze settles back on your mouth. He leans in closer, mouth hovering just over yours.

He waits there, his breath tickling your face, silently asking permission. You close the gap for him, a soft gasp exiting his lips before his mouth is soft against yours. This kiss is different from the others you’d shared. 

Before, it was hunger and heat, fueled by desperation and unbridled desire. Now, he explored your mouth, almost curiously. Like he wanted to find and taste every crevice on your lips. His tongue embarked on its expedition, searching for and discovering what made you melt.

Hand still glued to your cheek, his other one snakes beneath your side, pulling you flush to his body as he rolls onto his back, your knees framing his waist. He deepens the kiss, like he wants to eat you whole as his hand leaves your face, trailing down your back until it finds your ass.

Shivers rack your body as his hands grip tighter, needier, pulling you down harder against his stiffening cock. Your hips shift forward slightly, desperate for friction as you whimper into his mouth. He makes a pained noise in the back of his throat as he grinds back into you, eyes squeezing shut.

The obscene sound of squelching fills the room as you rock back and forth against him, spreading a concoction of his earlier release and your wetness up and down his cock. Foreheads pressed together, your mouths still as you grind in tandem, his hands guiding you up and down.

You pant, struggling to catch your breath, the pressure of him dizzying. Your hips move faster, messier. So, so close. You needed more. You pull away from his face propping yourself upright, hands pressed to his chest. Your head tips back as you moan, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Feels s’good…” Your words come out breathless as you press down harder, slipping up and down his flushed dick.

“F-fuck, baby…” His voice cracks as he watches your chest heave and bounce while you pleasure yourself against him. “So pretty like this. Could watch you forever.”

His voice, wrecked and broken, causes you to clench. Your belly tightens as you pick up the pace, faster, harder, as your thighs twitch, clamping around his waist.

“Satoru…” His name comes out like a warning on your tongue – warning him and yourself. “I-I think…I’m gonna…” Words fail as you disappear, too high off of him to acknowledge just how much you’re slipping.

“Shit.” He groans as he bucks into you. “Wanna see you cum, beautiful. C’mon,” he encourages you, “Make yourself cum on my cock, baby.”

His words spur you on, hips stuttering as you cry out. Your nails dig into his chest as your body arches, twitching. White-hot pleasure rings in your ears, dizzying you. Hands on your hips, he guides you through it until you’re collapsing forward, body spasming.

“So good, angel.” He lets you lay for a moment, arms wrapped around you as he coos in your ear. “You did so well.” Your mind is still hazy when you feel him twitch against you, the movement causing you to jolt. 

Carefully, he brings you onto your back, kissing down your jaw as he slots between your legs. His hands are tender as they roam. Like he’s memorizing every little curve and dip on your body. One hand stops on the side of your thigh, nudging you open a little wider. The other traces your breasts, kneading softly, pinching and softly rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“F-fuck…” You stutter, eyes half-lidded as you watch him worship your body. You feel him everywhere. He looks so pretty treasuring you like this. So…human. You’d grown used to his cocky smile, his probing gaze. The way he can strip you down with a few jovial words. 

But right now… The way he’s clinging to you, touching you, looking at you. You shouldn’t let him see you like this. Not this real. Not this close. It’s stripping you in a completely different way. In a way that makes your pulse race. 

His hand on your chest halts, stopping where your heart is ready to hammer out of place. Your breath catches when you feel him line up with your aching hole.

“Wanna be inside you.” His words are addled with adoration against your neck. Thighs spreading instinctively, you brace your hands on his shoulders, granting him access.

His face pulls away from your neck, lips latching onto yours as his tip stretches through your walls. You arch into him, whining into his mouth. Even though you’d just taken him not even an hour ago, it was a tight squeeze. You clamp down, trying to pull him in deeper.

When his hips are flush against you, you both freeze, breathing heavy into each other’s mouths. You felt so…stuffed. The sheer size of him filling you up made it hard to catch your breath.

When you open your eyes, you see his own staring back at you, glassy and drunk. Like he’s just taken his sip of beer for the first time in years.

Everything is still around you two. Bodies tangled, scents intermingled, it all felt so intimate.

You could get lost in his eyes – in this moment. And what makes it even worse… You want to.

His hand on your chest migrates back to your face, brushing a strand of hair away before settling back on your jaw. His eyes study your face, trying to soak in every trace of worry, of pleasure. Trying to learn you.

Finally, he drags out, slowly. Making you feel every inch, every ridge, every vein.

“Oh god,” you gasp as he thrusts back in, just as slow, pace brutal. Tears prick the sides of your eyes. Every drag of his dick had you reeling, still sensitive from earlier. You felt like a live, frayed wire. Electric courses through you, sparking with each thrust right there.

“So perfect.” He sounds awestruck, face hovering right over yours as he continues his deliciously tormenting pace. “Could stay here forever.” His voice is hoarse, rough with want. You clench around him at his words. 

God. His voice. 

Your hips meet his as you match his rhythm, finding him halfway. Your nails bite into his shoulders as he slams up hard.

“Satoru!” You see stars for a moment, tightening impossibly around him. The squeeze of you around him causes him to whimper, and repeat. 

“God, please!” You weren’t sure what you were even begging for at this point. More? Less? The feel of him deep inside you was too much, but not enough.

“Right here, baby?” He slams into that spot again, doubling checking. You yelp, tears running down your cheeks as you nod mindlessly. 

“Please–”

Slam.

“P-please–”

Slam.

“Ple–”

His tip grinds up, deep and hard, splitting you in half, his hand tightening on your waist. You’re levitating, toes curling, face twisted in pleasure. Everything goes black as your release takes you – each pulse harder than the last.

“O-oh…Fuckkk…” He sounds wrecked, voice pitchy as you convulse around him. You’d barely come down when you feel his hand reach between where your bodies connected.

“Can I have one more, angel?” His fingers find your swollen bud, sending shockwaves through your body as they strum furiously. His thrusts start to stutter, rhythm becoming sloppy, his own release not too far away. 

“Yes–God–Yes!” You were practically sobbing as he coaxed you over the edge one more time, body twitching and writhing as his fingers and cock took you apart. You sink deeper into the mattress, arms and legs like jelly. 

“W-want your cum,” you hiccup, spent and delirious from each orgasm he pulled from you.

“Ahhh, shit,” you could hear his restraint slipping away at your cock-induced admission. “Gonna fill you up again, m’kay?”

With one more thrust, he spills into you. Ropes of white, hot cum painting your insides as he collapses onto you.

The two of you lay for what feels like several minutes, the room filled with the sound of your heavy breaths and the clock ticking – proof that the world is still turning.  He rolls off of you, pulling your back to his front as he spoons you. His fingers trace up and down your arms as he presses a chaste kiss against your hair.

“Feelin’ okay, sweetheart?” His voice is teasing again, but it's softened with something tender as he strokes you.

“Mmmm.” Your mind is hazy as you settle back into him, body like lead on the bed. He chuckles in response.

“Wow, so pliant.” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice. “Must’ve really done a number on you to have you so docile.”

You crane your head back, eyes locking on to his own pooling with affection. Mouth open, you ready to bite back, but you’re cut off by the sound of your stomach growling – loudly.

Face burning hot, a small giggle bubbles out before you can stop it. Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, grin spreading ear to ear.

“I love that sound.” He says it so casually. So openly. Like the words don't make your heart stutter.

“What, my belly rumbling?” You raise your eyebrows facetiously, lips turned up.

He sighs as his arms tighten around your (very empty) stomach.

“Mmm… That too.” His words mold around you like silk. With one last squeeze, he continues. “Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, hm?”

With a soft grunt, he scoops you into his arms and carries you into the bathroom, setting you down on the counter. You catch a glimpse of his toned ass and back as he turns to start the shower. The sound of the water running settles you as you swing your legs, hands propped behind you.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this relaxed before. Must’ve been wound up pretty tight, you chuckle to yourself. Satoru goes to grab some towels, leaving you to inspect the state of his bathroom. 

Like his bedroom, it was mostly bare – like he didn’t spend much time here. But, little pieces shone through. His toothbrush was pink. Of course it was. It shouldn’t fit him, but somehow it seems right laying beside a mangled up bottle of toothpaste. Some cologne and toiletries decorated the counter – all expensive and tossed haphazardly.

Steam starts to curl around you as the water heats up. You close your eyes, allowing it to ease you further. You’ve already had sex with him – twice. What harm could relaxing do at this point?

The sound of his footsteps, light and quick, opens your eyes. Dropping the towels on the counter, he stands between your legs, closing his warm palms over your thighs.

“Well, someone looks cozy.” Somehow, you don’t mind his teasing as much now. You’ve started to see through it, his way of showing affection. But, he’s still Gojo, and you need to poke back a little.

“I deserve a little R&R after what you just put me through.” You cross your arms, breasts pressing together slightly, giving him an accusing glance.

“What?” He chuckles. “You mean providing you with boundless, mind-altering pleasure?” He dips in a little closer, eyes dropping down your body before coming back up to your face. “You have my sincerest apologies.”

He steps back, bending at the waist, bowing with the utmost fanfare – truly worthy of an Emmy. 

God. Why does he have to be so… charming?

“Well, I guess I can forgive you – since you’re so sorry…” You trail off, feet fidgeting, trying to stuff down the butterflies in your stomach.

He picks himself back up, eyes gleaming. “How magnanimous,” he grins, “and here I thought I’d have to make it up to you.” The glint twinkles into mischief.

You can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Oh?” That one word, loaded, pulls him in again.

“Mhm,” he purrs, hooking his index finger under your chin, lifting your gaze up to his. “In fact, I think I’ll make it up to you right now.” 

His lips brush against yours, soft and tantalizing, until he finally latches on, kissing you like he really did have something to apologize for. You wrap your arms around his neck, legs hooking around his waist, pulling him in closer. His other hand threads through your hair, angling you so he can deepen this kiss.

You shudder, chills running down your spine as you slip your tongue into his mouth. Kissing him was like indulging in the most decadent cake before you’ve had dinner – you really should know better, but it tastes too damn good.

When you finally pull away from each other, you can’t catch your breath.

“C’mon,” he steps back, his dick twitching slightly, coming to life. “Let’s shower and eat before I bend you over the sink.” He only sounds like he’s half-kidding.

Pushing yourself up, you hop off of the counter, following him into the shower. Hot water stings your skin, cascading down your hair and body. Closing your eyes, you stand there for a minute, enjoying the burn.

Behind you, you hear a soft click. Satoru tugs you back gently before pouring some shampoo over your head. Before you have time to question it, his skilled fingers are working your scalp, massaging carefully as you lean into it. 

Once he’s satisfied, he rinses you off, just as methodically. He pumps his hands full of conditioner, working it into your ends before neatly plaiting it. You look at him quizzically, eyebrows raised.

His shoulders rise in response. “My best friend in high school had long hair,” he explains, voice dipping low, almost wistful. “Sometimes I would braid his hair when he slept.”

Your confusion only grows. “Friend, or lover?” You joke, but your curiosity peeks through. His laugh is small, reminiscent. Something bittersweet washes over his face as he gets lost in his thoughts for a moment. Watching him, you feel something constrict in your chest. You spare him having to answer.

“Here.” You wash his hair the same way he did yours, the smell of sandalwood permeates the air. The two of you continue to shower in a comfortable silence, rinsing off and washing each other, hands lingering a little longer than necessary.

It was sweet.

Once you’re both dry and moisturized, Gojo fetches a shirt for you. It hangs loosely over your narrower frame as you pull on some boxerbriefs. By the time you’re done getting changed, he’s already in the kitchen.

You wander through the hall, following the whistle of the kettle. When you find him, he’s sporting the same clothes as you, with the addition of some sunglasses. Water heating up, he rummages through his barren cupboards, pulling out some cup ramen.

“Sorry,” he rubs the back of his head, hair still a little damp as it hangs loosely over his shades. “I don’t usually keep a lot of food on hand.” He says sheepishly.

You salivate, hunger fully manifested now. “Ramen’s great.” You reassure him – and you mean it. The thought of the MSG flavored broth and squishy noodles sounds perfect.

He sets the styrofoam cup down in front of you, pouring boiling water in before sealing it back, then doing the same to his. Smiling, you thank him as he pulls a stool up, he takes residence beside you. 

It feels so easy. So natural.

You bristle at the thought as it gnaws at you, soft at first. Subtle. You try to shake it off and glance at the white haired man beside you, answering some emails on his phone. You turn your eyes back forward, unease growing. When his timer goes off, your stomach is in knots, appetite fading.

Your body works on its own, knuckles white around the cup, denting slightly from your grip. Spine stiff, you swallow the noodles down, broth and all, letting it scorch your mouth, gaze fixed ahead, doing everything you can to avoid the man who was now staring at you. 

This feeling…

It’s too easy. Too natural. 

Not right. No. 

You glance around his kitchen, his dining room, living room. Everything feels a million miles away. 

A few rinsed dishes in the sink. A fancy coffee machine that looks like it’s never been touched. A bag of half eaten chocolates. 

Too much.

Too him.

You don’t notice your breath quickening, or the sweat dripping down your knitted brows. When you finally dare to look at Gojo, you feel guilty.

He’s looking at you so softly, mouth turned down slightly, eyes wide with worry. Like he’s not sure what he’s done wrong. Your heart slows, your shoulder falls as you look at him. You feel your face melt and jaw unclench as you offer him a soft smile.

He hasn’t done anything wrong – what is wrong with you?

You scold yourself for getting worked up over nothing, for ruining the smile that was glued to his face earlier. For –

“Hey.” His voice is gentle and light. Like a beacon of light. A hand pulling you from drowning in your thoughts.

He pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him, arms embracing you tightly, tenderly. One hand wrapped around the back of your head, he pulls you into the crook of his neck, his touch grounding you. There was no trace of desire. This time, it’s something quieter, steadier. The kind of contact you didn’t realize you were starving for.

You sigh into him, body going slack against him. He presses a soft kiss to your temple. The two of you don’t speak. He just holds you – and you let him.

Finally, you pull back, searching for his eyes. Instead, you see yourself. You look so small reflecting off his sunglasses. Turning away, you avert your gaze for a second, before turning back, this time staring at his chest, watching it rise and fall.

“Sorry–” Your apology is cut off as Satoru’s phone lights up on the counter, buzzing. You go still when you see the caller ID, warmth draining from your skin.

Nanami.

>>next

masterlist

[hnnycrmb]

Make a Man Out of You: Chapter 13

CW - Gojo/Reader, both are consenting adults (minimal age gap), 18+, explicit sexual content, emotional vulnerability, shame spiral, sensory overstimulation, intimacy hangover, aftercare

You could feel your sharp edges dulling as Satoru’s body pressed over you like a weighted blanket. The world outside didn’t seem to exist – only his breath at your collarbone and the faint buzz of the lights in the hall. You could still feel your pulse in places you didn’t know you had one.

 Nestled into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You could feel him softening inside you as he burrowed further. You sigh into him, allowing yourself to get comfy on the desk that – by the grace of god – was supporting the two of you. 

Absent-mindedly, your hands trace over his back, his shoulders, his neck, until they find their home in his hair. They continue to waltz about, threading through his soft strands. His smile presses into the side of your neck while your fingers do their work.

This was a bad idea. Reckless. But right now, you just can’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you allow yourself to melt, shoving the scolding voice in your head to the back.

Eyes closing, the exhaustion from the day settling deep into your bones. You try to resist, to stay awake, but Gojo’s body warm against yours keeps urging you toward sleep. He shifts slightly on top of you, wrapping his arms tighter. 

“Hang on.” His voice is rough, like he too was fading in and out of consciousness.

Before you can question it, your body is weightless, cool air whistles against your back instead of the desk. Cursed energy tunnels around you both as your stomach drops. You hold onto Gojo like your life depends on it, suffocating him against your neck.

Finally, you feel something soft beneath you. Warm. When your eyes open, you’re somewhere you don’t recognize. For a second, you think you’re dreaming, shadows warping, the sound of cursed energy fading from your ears. Then the smell hits you – sweet, sharp and painfully familiar. Taking a deep breath, your body stiffens when you connect the dots. It smells like Gojo.

His body is shoved off of you when you bolt upright. Your eyes dart around the room – Gojo’s bedroom – as you scramble with the blanket to cover yourself up. Curtains partially drawn, the moon lit up the room enough for you to make out some details. 

There wasn’t much in the way of furnishings or decor other than the bare minimum, but it still felt comfy. His sheets were slightly disheveled and pillows a little lopsided, like he’d taken a cat nap and hadn’t bothered to make it. On his singular nightstand, there was a small lamp, some chargers and a half-drunk water bottle. 

Oh god.

Nausea replaces the contentment that had settled in your stomach as you clutch the blankets tighter over love-bitten chest, like it could erase what just happened. 

What were you thinking? How could you do this?

This shouldn’t have happened. One second you were sitting alone in the dark, a hollow shell of yourself in the classroom. And now? You were wrapped up in Gojo’s sheets, body aching and burning, with his cum leaking out of you onto his bed that smelled like him in his apartment.

You pull your legs into you, resting your head on your knees. The blanket bristles your skin, too rough, too warm. Every place he touched itching as you began your mental thrashing.

Careless. 

Stupid.

Reckless. 

You could go on and on. Any semblance of control you deluded yourself into thinking you had – gone. 

And yet, your body still hummed, traitorous, the ache between your thighs pulsing with leftover warmth. The ghost of his touch clung to your skin, sheets wrapped around you holding his scent.

You weren’t like this before. Before, when you were you, life was easy and predictable. Sure, you’d kept your cursed energy at bay, would exorcise a curse here and there, but everything was normal – boring even.

What the hell happened?

It was supposed to be simple. Dress as a man, train hard. It wasn’t supposed to be messy. Other than your grandpa and your (one) friend, you’d never gotten so tangled up in other people before. You’d date around casually, but you’d never been swallowed up like this.

The bed beside you shifts slightly, reminding you that you weren’t alone. Bracing yourself, you peel your forehead off your knees as you peek at the man who’d so easily turned your entire being around. 

You were expecting smug, cocky – hoping for it even. Because then you could brush this aside, pretend it never happened. Instead, his eyes are soft and wide as he watches you, like he can see your inner turmoil. There was no trace of hurt or even regret on his face. It was almost like… he was thankful. 

He blinks slowly, taking it all in, like he felt so fortunate to see you bare – physically, emotionally. You can’t decide which unnerves you more – the gratitude or the gentleness. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look at anyone without the armor of humor. It made you want to crawl into him and run from him in the same breath.

Your lips part, but you can’t quite make words come out. 

What do you even say? Especially when he’s looking at you like that?

So, you sit, mouth open like a fish, watching each other. He lets it settle for just a moment before his arm pulls you down onto him, your positions reversed from just a few minutes ago in the classroom.

His scent fills your nostrils as he cradles your head, coaxing you, trying to smooth the tension from your body. His lips press to the top of your head, his kiss firm and steady. When he pulls away, he hums.

“There you go thinking too much again.”

You can’t help but chuckle. He’d said something similar the day you’d started at Jujutsu Tech. 

“Yeah, well you ought to think more.” You tease, feeling a little bitter. Whatever. It’s not like either of you were really thinking ahead.

“Hey, I think the perfect amount. Thank you very much.” 

He rolls over, pulling you with him until you're both on your side, laying face to face. His hand reaches out, soft against your cheek.

You soften unconsciously into him, feeling a little better than you had a moment ago. How is he able to affect your mood like that?

“You’re so beautiful when you smile like this.” His words are delicate as his eyes trace your face. Your hand twitches, reaching up until it rests overtop his. You hadn’t even realized you were smiling. The air thrums between you, heavy with something fragile – like the moment before a string snaps.

He wiggles in closer, pulling you slightly so you do the same. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as his eyes dart back to yours – just for a moment, before his gaze settles back on your mouth. He leans in closer, mouth hovering just over yours.

He waits there, his breath tickling your face, silently asking permission. You close the gap for him, a soft gasp exiting his lips before his mouth is soft against yours. This kiss is different from the others you’d shared. 

Before, it was hunger and heat, fueled by desperation and unbridled desire. Now, he explored your mouth, almost curiously. Like he wanted to find and taste every crevice on your lips. His tongue embarked on its expedition, searching for and discovering what made you melt.

Hand still glued to your cheek, his other one snakes beneath your side, pulling you flush to his body as he rolls onto his back, your knees framing his waist. He deepens the kiss, like he wants to eat you whole as his hand leaves your face, trailing down your back until it finds your ass.

Shivers rack your body as his hands grip tighter, needier, pulling you down harder against his stiffening cock. Your hips shift forward slightly, desperate for friction as you whimper into his mouth. He makes a pained noise in the back of his throat as he grinds back into you, eyes squeezing shut.

The obscene sound of squelching fills the room as you rock back and forth against him, spreading a concoction of his earlier release and your wetness up and down his cock. Foreheads pressed together, your mouths still as you grind in tandem, his hands guiding you up and down.

You pant, struggling to catch your breath, the pressure of him dizzying. Your hips move faster, messier. So, so close. You needed more. You pull away from his face propping yourself upright, hands pressed to his chest. Your head tips back as you moan, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Feels s’good…” Your words come out breathless as you press down harder, slipping up and down his flushed dick.

“F-fuck, baby…” His voice cracks as he watches your chest heave and bounce while you pleasure yourself against him. “So pretty like this. Could watch you forever.”

His voice, wrecked and broken, causes you to clench. Your belly tightens as you pick up the pace, faster, harder, as your thighs twitch, clamping around his waist.

“Satoru…” His name comes out like a warning on your tongue – warning him and yourself. “I-I think…I’m gonna…” Words fail as you disappear, too high off of him to acknowledge just how much you’re slipping.

“Shit.” He groans as he bucks into you. “Wanna see you cum, beautiful. C’mon,” he encourages you, “Make yourself cum on my cock, baby.”

His words spur you on, hips stuttering as you cry out. Your nails dig into his chest as your body arches, twitching. White-hot pleasure rings in your ears, dizzying you. Hands on your hips, he guides you through it until you’re collapsing forward, body spasming.

“So good, angel.” He lets you lay for a moment, arms wrapped around you as he coos in your ear. “You did so well.” Your mind is still hazy when you feel him twitch against you, the movement causing you to jolt. 

Carefully, he brings you onto your back, kissing down your jaw as he slots between your legs. His hands are tender as they roam. Like he’s memorizing every little curve and dip on your body. One hand stops on the side of your thigh, nudging you open a little wider. The other traces your breasts, kneading softly, pinching and softly rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“F-fuck…” You stutter, eyes half-lidded as you watch him worship your body. You feel him everywhere. He looks so pretty treasuring you like this. So…human. You’d grown used to his cocky smile, his probing gaze. The way he can strip you down with a few jovial words. 

But right now… The way he’s clinging to you, touching you, looking at you. You shouldn’t let him see you like this. Not this real. Not this close. It’s stripping you in a completely different way. In a way that makes your pulse race. 

His hand on your chest halts, stopping where your heart is ready to hammer out of place. Your breath catches when you feel him line up with your aching hole.

“Wanna be inside you.” His words are addled with adoration against your neck. Thighs spreading instinctively, you brace your hands on his shoulders, granting him access.

His face pulls away from your neck, lips latching onto yours as his tip stretches through your walls. You arch into him, whining into his mouth. Even though you’d just taken him not even an hour ago, it was a tight squeeze. You clamp down, trying to pull him in deeper.

When his hips are flush against you, you both freeze, breathing heavy into each other’s mouths. You felt so…stuffed. The sheer size of him filling you up made it hard to catch your breath.

When you open your eyes, you see his own staring back at you, glassy and drunk. Like he’s just taken his sip of beer for the first time in years.

Everything is still around you two. Bodies tangled, scents intermingled, it all felt so intimate.

You could get lost in his eyes – in this moment. And what makes it even worse… You want to.

His hand on your chest migrates back to your face, brushing a strand of hair away before settling back on your jaw. His eyes study your face, trying to soak in every trace of worry, of pleasure. Trying to learn you.

Finally, he drags out, slowly. Making you feel every inch, every ridge, every vein.

“Oh god,” you gasp as he thrusts back in, just as slow, pace brutal. Tears prick the sides of your eyes. Every drag of his dick had you reeling, still sensitive from earlier. You felt like a live, frayed wire. Electric courses through you, sparking with each thrust right there.

“So perfect.” He sounds awestruck, face hovering right over yours as he continues his deliciously tormenting pace. “Could stay here forever.” His voice is hoarse, rough with want. You clench around him at his words. 

God. His voice. 

Your hips meet his as you match his rhythm, finding him halfway. Your nails bite into his shoulders as he slams up hard.

“Satoru!” You see stars for a moment, tightening impossibly around him. The squeeze of you around him causes him to whimper, and repeat. 

“God, please!” You weren’t sure what you were even begging for at this point. More? Less? The feel of him deep inside you was too much, but not enough.

“Right here, baby?” He slams into that spot again, doubling checking. You yelp, tears running down your cheeks as you nod mindlessly. 

“Please–”

Slam.

“P-please–”

Slam.

“Ple–”

His tip grinds up, deep and hard, splitting you in half, his hand tightening on your waist. You’re levitating, toes curling, face twisted in pleasure. Everything goes black as your release takes you – each pulse harder than the last.

“O-oh…Fuckkk…” He sounds wrecked, voice pitchy as you convulse around him. You’d barely come down when you feel his hand reach between where your bodies connected.

“Can I have one more, angel?” His fingers find your swollen bud, sending shockwaves through your body as they strum furiously. His thrusts start to stutter, rhythm becoming sloppy, his own release not too far away. 

“Yes–God–Yes!” You were practically sobbing as he coaxed you over the edge one more time, body twitching and writhing as his fingers and cock took you apart. You sink deeper into the mattress, arms and legs like jelly. 

“W-want your cum,” you hiccup, spent and delirious from each orgasm he pulled from you.

“Ahhh, shit,” you could hear his restraint slipping away at your cock-induced admission. “Gonna fill you up again, m’kay?”

With one more thrust, he spills into you. Ropes of white, hot cum painting your insides as he collapses onto you.

The two of you lay for what feels like several minutes, the room filled with the sound of your heavy breaths and the clock ticking – proof that the world is still turning.  He rolls off of you, pulling your back to his front as he spoons you. His fingers trace up and down your arms as he presses a chaste kiss against your hair.

“Feelin’ okay, sweetheart?” His voice is teasing again, but it's softened with something tender as he strokes you.

“Mmmm.” Your mind is hazy as you settle back into him, body like lead on the bed. He chuckles in response.

“Wow, so pliant.” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice. “Must’ve really done a number on you to have you so docile.”

You crane your head back, eyes locking on to his own pooling with affection. Mouth open, you ready to bite back, but you’re cut off by the sound of your stomach growling – loudly.

Face burning hot, a small giggle bubbles out before you can stop it. Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, grin spreading ear to ear.

“I love that sound.” He says it so casually. So openly. Like the words don't make your heart stutter.

“What, my belly rumbling?” You raise your eyebrows facetiously, lips turned up.

He sighs as his arms tighten around your (very empty) stomach.

“Mmm… That too.” His words mold around you like silk. With one last squeeze, he continues. “Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed, hm?”

With a soft grunt, he scoops you into his arms and carries you into the bathroom, setting you down on the counter. You catch a glimpse of his toned ass and back as he turns to start the shower. The sound of the water running settles you as you swing your legs, hands propped behind you.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this relaxed before. Must’ve been wound up pretty tight, you chuckle to yourself. Satoru goes to grab some towels, leaving you to inspect the state of his bathroom. 

Like his bedroom, it was mostly bare – like he didn’t spend much time here. But, little pieces shone through. His toothbrush was pink. Of course it was. It shouldn’t fit him, but somehow it seems right laying beside a mangled up bottle of toothpaste. Some cologne and toiletries decorated the counter – all expensive and tossed haphazardly.

Steam starts to curl around you as the water heats up. You close your eyes, allowing it to ease you further. You’ve already had sex with him – twice. What harm could relaxing do at this point?

The sound of his footsteps, light and quick, opens your eyes. Dropping the towels on the counter, he stands between your legs, closing his warm palms over your thighs.

“Well, someone looks cozy.” Somehow, you don’t mind his teasing as much now. You’ve started to see through it, his way of showing affection. But, he’s still Gojo, and you need to poke back a little.

“I deserve a little R&R after what you just put me through.” You cross your arms, breasts pressing together slightly, giving him an accusing glance.

“What?” He chuckles. “You mean providing you with boundless, mind-altering pleasure?” He dips in a little closer, eyes dropping down your body before coming back up to your face. “You have my sincerest apologies.”

He steps back, bending at the waist, bowing with the utmost fanfare – truly worthy of an Emmy. 

God. Why does he have to be so… charming?

“Well, I guess I can forgive you – since you’re so sorry…” You trail off, feet fidgeting, trying to stuff down the butterflies in your stomach.

He picks himself back up, eyes gleaming. “How magnanimous,” he grins, “and here I thought I’d have to make it up to you.” The glint twinkles into mischief.

You can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Oh?” That one word, loaded, pulls him in again.

“Mhm,” he purrs, hooking his index finger under your chin, lifting your gaze up to his. “In fact, I think I’ll make it up to you right now.” 

His lips brush against yours, soft and tantalizing, until he finally latches on, kissing you like he really did have something to apologize for. You wrap your arms around his neck, legs hooking around his waist, pulling him in closer. His other hand threads through your hair, angling you so he can deepen this kiss.

You shudder, chills running down your spine as you slip your tongue into his mouth. Kissing him was like indulging in the most decadent cake before you’ve had dinner – you really should know better, but it tastes too damn good.

When you finally pull away from each other, you can’t catch your breath.

“C’mon,” he steps back, his dick twitching slightly, coming to life. “Let’s shower and eat before I bend you over the sink.” He only sounds like he’s half-kidding.

Pushing yourself up, you hop off of the counter, following him into the shower. Hot water stings your skin, cascading down your hair and body. Closing your eyes, you stand there for a minute, enjoying the burn.

Behind you, you hear a soft click. Satoru tugs you back gently before pouring some shampoo over your head. Before you have time to question it, his skilled fingers are working your scalp, massaging carefully as you lean into it. 

Once he’s satisfied, he rinses you off, just as methodically. He pumps his hands full of conditioner, working it into your ends before neatly plaiting it. You look at him quizzically, eyebrows raised.

His shoulders rise in response. “My best friend in high school had long hair,” he explains, voice dipping low, almost wistful. “Sometimes I would braid his hair when he slept.”

Your confusion only grows. “Friend, or lover?” You joke, but your curiosity peeks through. His laugh is small, reminiscent. Something bittersweet washes over his face as he gets lost in his thoughts for a moment. Watching him, you feel something constrict in your chest. You spare him having to answer.

“Here.” You wash his hair the same way he did yours, the smell of sandalwood permeates the air. The two of you continue to shower in a comfortable silence, rinsing off and washing each other, hands lingering a little longer than necessary.

It was sweet.

Once you’re both dry and moisturized, Gojo fetches a shirt for you. It hangs loosely over your narrower frame as you pull on some boxerbriefs. By the time you’re done getting changed, he’s already in the kitchen.

You wander through the hall, following the whistle of the kettle. When you find him, he’s sporting the same clothes as you, with the addition of some sunglasses. Water heating up, he rummages through his barren cupboards, pulling out some cup ramen.

“Sorry,” he rubs the back of his head, hair still a little damp as it hangs loosely over his shades. “I don’t usually keep a lot of food on hand.” He says sheepishly.

You salivate, hunger fully manifested now. “Ramen’s great.” You reassure him – and you mean it. The thought of the MSG flavored broth and squishy noodles sounds perfect.

He sets the styrofoam cup down in front of you, pouring boiling water in before sealing it back, then doing the same to his. Smiling, you thank him as he pulls a stool up, he takes residence beside you. 

It feels so easy. So natural.

You bristle at the thought as it gnaws at you, soft at first. Subtle. You try to shake it off and glance at the white haired man beside you, answering some emails on his phone. You turn your eyes back forward, unease growing. When his timer goes off, your stomach is in knots, appetite fading.

Your body works on its own, knuckles white around the cup, denting slightly from your grip. Spine stiff, you swallow the noodles down, broth and all, letting it scorch your mouth, gaze fixed ahead, doing everything you can to avoid the man who was now staring at you. 

This feeling…

It’s too easy. Too natural. 

Not right. No. 

You glance around his kitchen, his dining room, living room. Everything feels a million miles away. 

A few rinsed dishes in the sink. A fancy coffee machine that looks like it’s never been touched. A bag of half eaten chocolates. 

Too much.

Too him.

You don’t notice your breath quickening, or the sweat dripping down your knitted brows. When you finally dare to look at Gojo, you feel guilty.

He’s looking at you so softly, mouth turned down slightly, eyes wide with worry. Like he’s not sure what he’s done wrong. Your heart slows, your shoulder falls as you look at him. You feel your face melt and jaw unclench as you offer him a soft smile.

He hasn’t done anything wrong – what is wrong with you?

You scold yourself for getting worked up over nothing, for ruining the smile that was glued to his face earlier. For –

“Hey.” His voice is gentle and light. Like a beacon of light. A hand pulling you from drowning in your thoughts.

He pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him, arms embracing you tightly, tenderly. One hand wrapped around the back of your head, he pulls you into the crook of his neck, his touch grounding you. There was no trace of desire. This time, it’s something quieter, steadier. The kind of contact you didn’t realize you were starving for.

You sigh into him, body going slack against him. He presses a soft kiss to your temple. The two of you don’t speak. He just holds you – and you let him.

Finally, you pull back, searching for his eyes. Instead, you see yourself. You look so small reflecting off his sunglasses. Turning away, you avert your gaze for a second, before turning back, this time staring at his chest, watching it rise and fall.

“Sorry–” Your apology is cut off as Satoru’s phone lights up on the counter, buzzing. You go still when you see the caller ID, warmth draining from your skin.

Nanami.

>>next

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