a curse hits gojo when he is on a mission with you, causing him to turn into a cat! now he has to be in your care for an undetermined amount of time, which is a problem because he is desperately in love with you.
contents. gojo satoru x fem!reader • fluff • cat gojo • yearner gojo • down bad gojo lmao • some angst • attempts at humour • ~17k words • also can you guys tell i did the ears in the pics myself??? jahsjahq
THE mission had been simple. exorcise a low-grade curse in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of tokyo, maybe file a report, maybe grab lunch after. that was what gojo had been thinking about as he stepped through the broken doorway—lunch. specifically, whether you’d let him drag you to that new ramen place or if you’d put your foot down and insist on something with vegetables.
he should have known better. things were never simple with him.
the curse had been small, unassuming: a blob of shadows and static that barely registered on his six eyes. he’d let you handle it, hanging back with his hands in his pockets, watching the way you moved through the dim light. you were good, really good. he liked watching you work. the sharp focus in your eyes, the way your cursed energy flickered like a heartbeat.
but then the curse had done something unexpected. instead of attacking, it had shrieked— a sound that scraped against his skull like nails on a chalkboard— and exploded into a cloud of purple-black smoke. gojo had thrown an arm up instinctively, infinity flickering for just a fraction of a second too late.
the smoke had gotten in. through his mouth, his nose, his eyes. he’d coughed, stumbled, and then everything had gone sideways.
literally. the world had tilted, the ground rushing up to meet him, except the ground was suddenly much closer than it should have been. his clothes had pooled around him in a heap of fabric, and when he’d tried to step out of them, his body had moved wrong. all wrong. four points of contact instead of two. a tail. fur.
he’d looked down— down at paws, white-furred paws— and the last thing he’d heard before consciousness slipped away was your voice, sharp with alarm, calling his name.
when gojo woke up, it was to the smell of rain and old concrete. he was tucked into a corner of the warehouse, half-hidden behind a collapsed shelf, and he was still a cat.
a white cat, he realized, lifting a paw to inspect it. white fur, blue eyes; because of course even as a cat he’d have the six eyes, the same impossible blue staring back at him from the cracked surface of a puddle nearby. he was small, too. not a kitten, but not much bigger than one. his tail flicked once, twice, a test. it worked. everything worked, just… differently.
what the hell, he thought, except what came out was a confused little mrrp?
he tried to speak. opened his mouth, focused, pushed words up his throat and got a squeaky meow for his efforts. great. fantastic. this was fine. he was gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, and he’d been turned into a cat by a curse so weak it shouldn’t have been able to touch him.
he sat down heavily— or as heavily as a cat could sit— and wrapped his tail around his paws. okay. okay. he could work with this. the curse had dissipated after that explosion, so the threat was gone. all he had to do was wait. someone would find him. probably you. you’d been right there, after all.
as if on you, he heard it! your voice, distant but getting closer, threading through the rain and the rubble.
“gojo! gojo, where are you? this isn’t funny!”
he should have meowed. he should have made some kind of noise to lead you to him. but instead he just sat there, frozen, as your footsteps grew louder. because you sounded worried and you never worried about him. you always said he was too strong to worry about, too annoying to miss. but your voice was tight, fraying at the edges, and when you came into view, picking your way through the debris, he could see your face.
you looked scared for him.
gojo’s chest did something strange. tight and warm and aching all at once, a feeling he’d been trying to ignore for months now. he liked you. more than liked you. liked you in the way that made him offer to go on missions with you even when he didn’t have to, liked you in the way that made him linger after training just to hear you laugh, liked you in the way that kept him up at night staring at his ceiling and thinking about the curve of your smile.
and now you were here, kneeling in the dust, your hands shaking as you pushed aside a broken plank of wood. your eyes swept the corner where he was hiding, passed over him, then snapped back.
“oh my god,” you whispered.
gojo blinked at you. you blinked back.
“gojo?” you said, and he could hear how stupid you felt saying it to a cat, but also how desperate. “is that… is that you?”
he meowed. it was the only thing he could do. but he made it count— looked you right in the eyes and meowed with as much yes, it’s me, you idiot as he could pack into a single syllable.
your breath caught and then you were moving, scooping him up off the ground with careful hands, cradling him against your chest. you were warm, warmer than he’d expected. your heartbeat was fast, rabbiting against his side where you held him, and your fingers were trembling as they smoothed over his fur, dusting him off.
“what happened to you?” you asked, your voice cracking. “you’re so small. you’re—god, you’re a cat. how are you a cat?”
gojo wanted to say something reassuring and to tell you he was fine, that this was just a minor inconvenience, that he’d be back to his annoyingly handsome self in no time, but all that came out was a soft, pathetic mew, and you made a sound like your heart was breaking.
“okay,” you said, pulling yourself together with visible effort. “okay. i’ve got you. i’ve got you, satoru. i’m taking you to shoko.”
he pressed his face into the crook of your elbow and let you carry him out into the rain. it was all still confusing for him too, despite how strangely calm he was feeling.
the trip to jujutsu high was a blur of motion and muffled sounds. you’d wrapped him in your jacket to keep him dry, and he’d let you, even though it was undignified and he was pretty sure his tail was sticking out at a weird angle. you ran most of the way, your cursed energy flaring with urgency, and gojo spent the journey trying not to think about how close your hands were to him and how gently you held him.
shoko was in her office when you burst through the door, soaked and breathless and holding cat-him like he was the most important thing in the world.
“shoko,” you said, “you need to look at him. it’s gojo. he’s a cat. a curse turned him into a cat.”
shoko raised an eyebrow. took a long drag of her cigarette. exhaled.
“you’re serious,” she said.
“do i look like i’m joking?”
shoko looked at you, looked at the cat… uh, him. the cat— gojo— met her gaze with unmistakably familiar blue eyes, and something in her expression shifted. she stubbed out her cigarette and gestured to the examination table.
“put him there.”
you did, reluctantly, your hands lingering on his fur for a moment before you stepped back. gojo sat on the cold metal table and tried to project as much dignity as possible. it was difficult when he came up to shoko’s elbow.
shoko examined him. she didn’t do much— a flash of reversed cursed technique, a long look at his eyes, a gentle press of fingers along his spine. gojo tolerated it because it was shoko, and because he trusted her, and because he could see you watching from the corner of the room with your arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding in a scream.
“well?” you said, the moment shoko stepped back.
“it’s a curse,” shoko said, reaching for another cigarette. “a transformation-type. annoying, but not dangerous. his body’s fine, his soul’s still his, which is the important part. the curse is embedded pretty deep, but it’s already degrading. i’d say a week, maybe two, and he’ll change back on his own.”
“a week or two,” you repeated. “he’s going to be a cat for a week or two.”
“unless you find the original curse user and force them to undo it, but that’s a needle in a haystack situation. my advice? stock up on cat food and patience.”
you made a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. gojo meowed an indignant sound, because cat food? he was not eating cat food. he’d rather starve.
shoko glanced at him and he could have sworn she was hiding a smile. “one more thing,” she said, turning back to you. “since you were the one with him when it happened, and since his cursed energy is going to be… let’s say unstable while the curse runs its course, you’re going to have to look after him. keep him close. your energy will help stabilize his while he heals.”
you blinked. “what? me? why me?”
“because you were there. proximity matters with this kind of curse. his system is already keyed to yours. if anyone else tried to take care of him, it could prolong the transformation or cause complications.” shoko’s voice was flat, clinical, but her eyes flicked to gojo for just a moment. “congratulations. you’re a cat sitter.”
gojo watched your face cycle through about seventeen different emotions. surprise. worry. reluctance. and then, underneath all of it, something softer. something that made his heart— his tiny, cat-sized heart— skip a beat.
“fine,” you said finally, reaching out to scoop him off the table. you held him against your chest again, and he shuddered at how much he liked it and how right it felt. “fine. but you’re helping me buy supplies, shoko. i don’t know the first thing about cats.”
“neither does he,” shoko said, nodding at gojo. “this is going to be entertaining.”
gojo wanted to flip her off. he settled for a hiss, which was deeply unsatisfying and only made shoko laugh.
you carried him out of the office and through the halls of jujutsu high, and gojo tried to focus on the practicalities. a week or two as a cat. he could handle that. he’d handled worse. but then you looked down at him, your expression soft in a way you never let him see when he was human, and you said, “don’t worry. i’ve got you.”
and gojo realized, with a sinking feeling, that this was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.
because he was in love with you. completely, stupidly, helplessly in love with you. and now he was going to spend every moment of the next fourteen days pressed against your side, unable to tell you, unable to do anything except meow and hope you didn’t notice how he looked at you.
… your apartment was small. gojo had never been inside it before— you were private about your space, always deflecting when he offered to walk you home or come over after missions, but now here he was, deposited on your couch while you rummaged through a bag of supplies shoko had helped you pick up on the way.
a litter box. cat food. a small bed you’d grabbed on impulse, even though gojo had already decided he wasn’t going to use it. a brush. some toys.
“this is insane,” you muttered, pulling out a bag of dry food and staring at it in bewilderment. “you’re gojo satoru. you’re supposed to be untouchable. how did a cat curse get you?”
gojo meowed. it was a fair question, honestly. he’d been distracted, watching you.
you sighed and sat down on the couch next to him, the cushions dipping under your weight. for a moment, you just looked at him. at his white fur, his blue eyes, the way his tail curled around his paws.
“you’re still you in there, right?” you asked quietly. “you can understand me?”
he meowed again, and bumped his head against your hand. your breath hitched in wonder, yet soon you were petting him, your fingers sliding through his fur in slow, careful strokes. it felt good. embarrassingly good. gojo’s eyes half-closed before he could stop them and a low rumble started in his chest.
was he… purring?
oh god. he was purring. he was purring because you were petting him, and he couldn’t stop, and you were smiling now— a sweet smile, soft and wondering, the kind he’d do anything to see.
“you’re kinda cute like this,” you said, and gojo wanted to die. “don’t tell me i said that when you turn back.”
he filed that away for later. you think he’s cute. he was never, ever letting you forget it.
you kept petting him as the evening stretched on, and gojo let himself relax into the touch. it was fine. this was fine. he was just… gathering information. observing. definitely not enjoying the way your thumb brushed behind his ears or the quiet sound of your breathing as you settled deeper into the couch.
a week or two, shoko had said. a week or two of this. of you.
gojo closed his eyes and purred, trying not to think about how hard it was going to be to go back to normal after this. how much he was going to miss the weight of your hand on his fur, the softness in your voice when you said his name. but that was a problem for later.
day 1
gojo woke up slowly, consciousness filtering back in fragments. the couch was soft beneath him, softer than he expected, with a blanket that smelled like you draped over his small body. he stretched, arching his back the way cats did, and froze mid-stretch as the events of yesterday came crashing back.
right. he was a cat.
he blinked his eyes open, the world sharp and muted all at once in that strange way cat vision worked. your apartment was quiet, morning light slanting through the curtains in pale gold stripes. and then he heard a door creaking open, soft footsteps on wooden floors.
gojo turned his head and every thought in his brain promptly fell out and scattered across the floor.
you were standing in your bedroom doorway, and you were... you were barely dressed. sleep-rumpled hair falling across your face, an oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, shorts that rode up your thighs. you were scratching lazily at your neck, eyes half-closed, clearly not fully awake yet. and your shirt— your thin, worn-out, very comfy-looking shirt— clung to you in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
gojo could see everything.
well, not everything, not really, but enough that his cat-heart started hammering against his ribs, enough that he felt heat rush to his face even though he was covered in fur and you couldn’t possibly tell. your nipples were visible through the fabric, soft shadows in the morning light, and you seemed completely unaware. you yawned, stretched your arms above your head, and the shirt rode up higher, exposing a strip of your stomach.
gojo made a sound, a small, strangled mrrp that he immediately regretted.
you didn’t even look at him. just shuffled past the couch toward the bathroom, bare feet padding on the wood, and closed the door behind you with a soft click.
the bathroom door.
the bathroom.
gojo stared at the closed door for a long moment, his brain still short-circuiting. then his body reminded him, with an uncomfortable urgency, that he hadn’t used the bathroom since before the mission yesterday. that he was, in fact, a living creature with biological needs. and that somewhere in your apartment, there was a litter box.
he looked at it. shoko had made you buy one, a small plastic rectangle filled with gray sand-like pellets. it sat in the corner of your kitchen, pristine and unused, waiting for him.
no.
absolutely not.
he was gojo satoru. he was not going to squat in a box of sand like some common house pet. he had standards. he had dignity. he would wait.
so he waited. curled on the couch, tail twitching, ears flicking, every instinct screaming at him to find dirt and dig. the minutes crawled by. you were taking forever. what were you even doing in there? brushing your teeth? hair? he didn’t care. he just needed you to leave so he could use the toilet like a civilized being.
finally, the bathroom door opened. steam curled out, carrying the scent of your soap, and you emerged in a cloud of warmth. your face was damp, hair pulled back now, and you’d put on a bra. gojo tried not to feel disappointed about that.
“morning, cat,” you mumbled, not really looking at him as you headed for the kitchen. “hope you slept okay.”
gojo didn’t wait. he launched himself off the couch, four paws hitting the floor, and sprinted for the bathroom before you could ask questions. he slipped through the gap in the door— you’d left it open a crack— and landed on the cold tile floor.
the toilet loomed above him like a porcelain mountain.
okay, he could do this. he was smart. he was resourceful. he’d figure it out.
he jumped onto the small step stool you kept by the sink and from there onto the edge of the sink. the toilet was close now. close enough.
gojo gathered himself, calculated the distance, and leaped.
he misjudged.
the rim of the toilet was narrower than he’d thought, and his paws slipped on the smooth porcelain. for one glorious second he balanced, teetering on the edge, and then gravity remembered he was a cat and not, in fact, immune to its laws.
he fell straight into the water.
it was so cold. shockingly, insultingly cold. gojo splashed and scrambled, claws scrabbling against the sides of the bowl, but the porcelain was too slick and he was too small and the water was rising up to his chin—
“what the—”
you were in the doorway. your eyes were wide, your mouth open, and for a moment you just stared at the absolute disaster unfolding in your toilet.
“oh my god,” you said. then you were moving, crossing the bathroom in two steps, and your hands were in the water, around his small wet body, lifting him out. “oh my god, gojo, what were you thinking?”
he was dripping, soaking wet, cold, humiliated, and thoroughly pathetic. water streamed off his white fur in rivulets, and he was pretty sure there was something stuck to his tail that he didn’t want to think about.
you held him at arm’s length, your expression cycling through horror, disbelief, and something that looked suspiciously like suppressed laughter.
“the toilet,” you said. “you tried to use the toilet.”
he meowed. it was a defensive meow, a don’t judge me meow, but it came out small and wet and miserable.
you bit your lip as your shoulders shook and a second later you were laughing; full-body laughter that bent you double and made tears spring to your eyes. you laughed so hard you had to set him down on the bath mat, and even then you kept laughing, clutching your stomach, gasping for air.
gojo sat in a puddle of toilet water and glared at you with all the dignity he could muster, which was not much, considering he was dripping and shivering and his tail was doing that weird puffy thing cats did when they were upset.
“i’m sorry,” you wheezed, not sounding sorry at all. “i’m sorry, i’m not—it’s not funny—”
actually, it was funny. he knew it was funny. if the roles were reversed, he’d be laughing so hard he’d pass out. but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
you finally got yourself under control, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “okay. okay, i’m done. i’m sorry. let’s get you cleaned up.”
you scooped him up again, more carefully this time, cradling him against your chest even though he was wet and probably smelled like toilet water. you didn’t seem to care. you carried him to the sink and turned on the warm water, testing the temperature with your elbow before you lowered him in.
“don’t scratch me,” you warned and he didn’t. as if he would. he sat in the sink and let you run water through his fur, let you pump soap into your palm and work it through every inch of him, because your hands were gentle and warm and he was too embarrassed to do anything else.
“you have to use the litter box,” you said as you rinsed him off, your voice softer now. “i know you don’t want to. i wouldn’t want to either. but you’re a cat right now, gojo. your body works like a cat’s. you can’t—” you paused, biting your lip again. “you can’t keep trying to use the toilet. you’re too small. you’ll fall in again.”
he meowed. it was a defeated meow, an i know meow, that made your face soften.
“look,” you said. “i’ll put it somewhere private, okay? somewhere you don’t have to feel weird about.”
you wrapped him in a towel afterwards— one of your towels, soft and worn and smelling like lavender— and rubbed him dry while he sat on the bathroom counter, limp and exhausted and strangely light. the humiliation was still there, burning under his skin, but so was something else. something warm.
you were being so kind to him despite the fact that he was as much of gojo as he was a small wet cat who’d fallen in your toilet and needed help. you were kind. you’d always been kind, even when you pretended not to be, even when you rolled your eyes at his jokes and called him annoying. and gojo sat there in his towel, letting you dry between his toes, and fell a little more in love with you.
“there,” you said finally, stepping back to admire your work. he was fluffy now, his white fur sticking up in all directions, and you laughed again, fondly. “you look ridiculous.”
he meowed. you look beautiful, he tried to say, but it came out as a squeak.
you didn’t understand. you just picked him up and carried him back to the couch, settling him on a fresh blanket, and went to make breakfast.
gojo curled into a ball and watched you move around the kitchen, and tried very hard not to think about the litter box waiting for him in the corner. he failed.
… you set a bowl of milk in front of him. just milk. in a little ceramic dish that you’d probably found in the back of your cabinet, the kind you’d use for dipping sauce or something.
gojo stared at it.
then he looked at you, sitting across from him at your small kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in your hands, like a normal person. you had a spoon. you were eating. the milk in your bowl looked exactly like the milk in his dish, except yours had floating bits of grain and sugar and his was just… milk.
he meowed. pointedly.
“what?” you said around a mouthful of cereal. “you’re a cat. cats drink milk.”
he was not a cat. he was a human trapped in a cat’s body, and humans did not drink milk from a dish on the floor. humans drank milk from a glass, or a mug, or at the very least a bowl that they held in their hands while sitting at a table like a civilized creature.
he walked over to your chair and pawed at your leg.
you looked down at him. “what? you want some of mine?”
yes. no. he wanted his own bowl of cereal, actually. he wanted to sit across from you and eat breakfast the way he’d imagined a hundred times before— casual, easy, stealing pieces of fruit from your plate just to watch you roll your eyes.
but he couldn’t have that so he’d settle for the next best thing.
he jumped onto the chair next to yours, then onto the table itself. you made a sound of protest, but he was already walking across the surface, navigating around your coffee mug and the morning paper, until he reached your cereal bowl.
he looked at it. looked at you. then lowered his head and lapped at the milk.
it was so good. the milk was cold and sweet, and the cereal bits that came with it added a pleasant crunch. his tongue worked in that weird cat-way, curling backward to scoop up liquid, and he couldn’t help the small sound of contentment that escaped him.
“are you eating my cereal, gojo,” you said flatly. “still got your sweet tooth as a cat?”
he meowed. yes. deal with it.
you watched him for a long moment, your spoon suspended halfway to your mouth. then you sighed that long-suffering sigh you always used around him and pushed the bowl slightly in his direction.
“fine. but we’re sharing. and you’re not getting your own bowl because i’m not washing extra dishes for a cat.”
gojo lapped at the milk again, you resumed eating from the other side of the bowl, and the two of you sat there in the morning light, sharing breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world. he was pretty content with that.
he watched you between sips. the way your fingers curled around your spoon, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when it fell into your face, the way your eyes kept flicking to him with something soft and wondering. you were thinking about something. he wished he knew what.
you finished the cereal before he did— you had the advantage of a spoon— and sat back in your chair, cradling your mug of coffee in both hands. gojo kept lapping at the milk, his tail curling contentedly behind him, and tried not to think about how domestic this felt.
“you know,” you said quietly, “it’s weird. having you here. like this.”
he paused, milk dripping from his whiskers, and looked up at you.
“you’re always so… much. when you’re human. loud and tall and everywhere. but right now you’re just—” you gestured vaguely with your mug. “you just sit there and watch me. it’s different.”
gojo didn’t know what to do with that. he meowed softly, hoping it came across as is that bad?
you shook your head, like you’d understood him. “no. not bad. just different.”
you finished your coffee in comfortable silence, and then you stood up and carried your dishes to the sink. gojo hopped off the table and followed you, because apparently his legs had decided that’s just what he did now. followed you. everywhere.
you noticed. “are you… following me?”
he sat down and looked at you. yes. obviously.
you made a face, amused and flustered, and turned back to the sink. he watched you wash your dishes, the stretch of your back, the curve of your neck. you dried your hands and walked to the bathroom, and he followed there too.
“gojo,” you said, pausing at the bathroom door. “i’m going to take a shower.”
he meowed.
“you can’t come in.”
he meowed again, more indignant this time. he wasn’t trying to come in. he was just… standing here, in the hallwa, which was a public space. you stared at him. he stared back.
“i know you’re in there,” you said finally, pointing at his small furry face. “i know you’re watching. don’t be weird.”
you closed the door. gojo sat in the hallway and listened to the water run, and felt his face burn even though he was covered in fur. he wasn’t being weird. he was just… curious about your routine and your life. about the small, private moments you never let him see when he was human.
the door opened twenty minutes later and you stepped out in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around your hair and another around your body. you looked down at him, still sitting in the exact same spot, and your expression did something complicated.
he meowed.
you shook your head and walked to your bedroom, and he followed there too. when you sat on the edge of your bed to dry your hair, he jumped up next to you, settling into a loaf position on your comforter. you didn’t tell him to leave. you just kept drying your hair, your movements slow and practiced, and every few seconds you’d glance at him like you were checking that he was still there.
you got dressed behind the door of your closer, not before giving him a pointed look, and gojo politely looked at the wall. mostly. he was only human. well. not human right now. but his mind was human, and his mind was very aware that you were changing clothes six feet away from him, and he was very determined not to be a creep about it.
you turned around in a fresh outfit and found him staring at the wall with an intensity that would have been suspicious if you knew him better.
“okay,” you said, grabbing your bag from the desk. “i have to go. shoko wants me to help with some reports, and i’m already late.”
gojo’s ears perked up. you were leaving? now? without him?
you walked to the front door, and he jumped off the bed and trotted after you, his claws clicking on the wooden floor. you slipped on your shoes, and he sat by the door, waiting.
“gojo,” you said, looking down at him. “i can’t take you with me.”
he meowed. loud. why not?
“because you’re a cat. i can’t just show up at jujutsu high with a cat. everyone will ask questions, and shoko will never let me live it down, and—” you paused, something flickering across your face. “and it’s not safe. you’re vulnerable like this. if something happened to you…”
you trailed off. gojo watched the worry settle into your features, the way your brow furrowed and your mouth pulled down at the corners. he meowed again, softer this time. i don’t want to be alone.
you crouched down, bringing yourself to his level. your hand reached out, hesitant, petting him with slow strokes along his back, from the nape of his neck to the base of his tail. his eyes half-closed without permission and that stupid purr started up again, rumbling through his small chest.
“i know,” you said quietly. “i know you don’t. but i’ll come back early, okay? i promise. i’ll finish up as fast as i can and i’ll come straight home.”
you scratched behind his ears, right in that spot that made his back leg twitch, and gojo leaned into your touch like a desperate animal. which, he supposed, he was.
“be good,” you said, standing up. “don’t destroy my furniture. use the litter box. eat the food i left you. and for the love of god, don’t try to use the toilet again.”
he stood in the entryway for a long moment, staring at the closed door. the apartment felt different without you— quieter, colder, emptier. your presence lingered in the air, in the smell of your coffee and the warmth of the spot on the couch where you’d sat, but it wasn’t enough.
he wanted you back already. very pathetically. but then his ears twitched, and he looked around, a different kind of feeling creeping in.
you’d left him alone in your apartment with nothing to do for hours except… explore.
gojo’s tail curled up, slow and curious. this was your space; the space you never let him see, the space where you were just you, without your armour and your careful walls. and now he had unfettered access to all of it.
he walked back into the living room, looking at everything with new eyes. the books on your shelf, worn and dog-eared. the stack of dvids by the television. the blanket on the couch that you’d wrapped around him last night, still rumpled from his body.
he jumped onto the couch and sniffed the blanket. it smelled like you, like lavender and something warmer underneath, something that was just yours.
okay. okay, this was fine. this was an opportunity. he could learn things about you— little things, private things— and store them away for later, when he was human again and he could finally, maybe, do something about the way he felt.
he hopped off the couch and padded toward your bedroom, the door still open from this morning.
gojo paused at the threshold, his heart beating too fast. this felt… invasive. wrong. but you’d said he could roam, hadn’t you? you hadn’t said don’t go in my room. you’d just said don’t destroy your furniture and use the litter box. so he stepped inside.
your bed was unmade, the sheets tangled from sleep. your pajamas— the t-shirt and shorts from this morning— were draped over the back of a chair. a half-empty glass of water sat on your nightstand, next to a book with a bookmark sticking out of it. your scent was everywhere here, thick and intimate, and gojo breathed it in without meaning to.
he jumped onto your bed. the mattress was soft. the pillows smelled like your shampoo. he walked in a circle and he curled up right in the center of the warm spot where you’d slept.
he was going to learn so much about you today. he was going to open every drawer and sniff every shelf and piece together the version of you that existed when no one was watching.
and then, maybe, when he was human again, he’d know exactly how to love you.
… it was strange how natural it felt— padding across wooden floors on four paws, whiskers twitching at every draft, ears swiveling toward every tiny sound. his body moved differently now, lower to the ground, more deliberate. he found himself sniffing things without meaning to. the corner of the couch. the leg of the kitchen table. the bottom of the door you’d walked through.
you smelled like coffee and soap and something faintly sweet. he filed that away.
the kitchen was first. he jumped onto the counter and walked along the edge, inspecting everything. your spice rack was organized alphabetically, which made him smile. your refrigerator was covered in magnets: a tiny mt. fuji, a cartoon sushi roll, a faded advertisement for some local festival. there were photos tucked under some of them, and gojo pressed his nose close to look.
you with shoko, both of you younger, making silly faces at the camera. you with nanami, both of you looking serious and slightly uncomfortable, like someone had forced you to pose together. you with geto— gojo’s heart twinged at that one, old grief surfacing— your arm around his shoulders, both of you laughing at something off-frame.
and then one of you alone. sitting on a beach somewhere, the sunset behind you, your hair blowing across your face. you looked happy. peaceful. gojo stared at it longer than he meant to.
he moved on.
the bathroom was next. he hopped onto the edge of the sink and peered into your medicine cabinet through the gap where you hadn’t quite closed it. toothpaste. floss. a hairbrush with strands of your hair tangled in it. skincare products lined up in a specific order— cleanser, toner, moisturizer, all the same brand. a bottle of painkillers. a small box of band-aids with cartoon characters on them.
he felt like a spy, like a thief! like someone who was collecting pieces of you to keep forever.
the bedroom was the most revealing. he’d already been in there, but now he had time to really look. he jumped from the bed to your dresser, walking carefully around the scattered items on top. jewelry in a small ceramic dish. a watch with a cracked face that you never wore anymore. a folded piece of paper that he nudged open with his nose.
it was a letter. from someone named kaori. your mother, maybe? the handwriting was neat, careful, the kind of cursive that older generations used. i hope you’re eating enough, it said. you always forget to eat when you’re busy. don’t work too hard. call me when you have time. love, mom.
gojo’s chest ached. he stepped away from the letter, suddenly feeling like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. but he couldn’t stop. his paws carried him to your closet next, pushing the sliding door open with his head. your clothes hung in neat rows— work clothes on one side, casual on the other. a shelf above held folded sweaters and a shoebox that he somehow managed to knock down with his tail.
the box spilled open. photographs. lots of them.
old ones, mostly. you as a kid with missing front teeth, holding up a fish you’d caught. you as a teenager in a school uniform, looking bored at some ceremony. you with people he didn’t recognize— friends from before jujutsu high, probably, before your life had become curses and missions and death.
and then, near the bottom, a photo of you with him.
gojo stared at it. it was from years ago, back when you’d first joined. he remembered this day— some group outing that yaga had organized, forcing everyone to go to an arcade. in the photo, he had his arm slung around your shoulders, too casual and close. you were laughing at something he’d said, your head tilted back, your whole face bright with it. and he was looking at you.
he was looking at you the way he always looked at you — like you were the sun. he hadn’t known anyone had taken this picture. he hadn’t known you’d kept it.
gojo sat in the middle of the scattered photographs, surrounded by pieces of your life, and felt something crack open inside his chest. you were so much more than he’d let himself see. you had a mother who worried about you. you had a past that didn’t involve him. you had a whole world inside you that you kept hidden behind light sarcasm and rolled eyes.
he wanted to know all of it, every last bit.
the afternoon stretched on. gojo explored every room, every drawer, every hidden corner. he found the spot under your bed where you’d dropped an earring months ago and never bothered to retrieve. he found a stash of chocolate in your desk drawer— emergency supplies, probably, for difficult days. he found a notebook in your living room, half-filled with grocery lists and random thoughts and one line that made him freeze: satoru was annoying today. i couldn’t stop smiling.
he stared at that line for a full minute. then he closed the notebook with his paw and walked away, his face hot, his tail doing that weird puffy thing again.
by the time the sun started to set, gojo had mapped every inch of your apartment. he knew which floorboards creaked. he knew which window had the best view of the sky. he knew that you kept a spare key under the fake rock by the door, which was a security risk he’d be lecturing you about later.
he was curled up on the couch, when he heard footsteps in the hallway, keys jingling. your voice, muffled through the door, saying something to someone on the phone.
“yeah, i know. i’ll be there tomorrow. i just—he’s alone, okay? i don’t want to leave him alone for too long.”
gojo’s ears shot up. his tail started wagging— no, cats didn’t wag, they flicked, but it was definitely wagging adjacent. he jumped off the couch and ran to the door, his claws skittering on the wood, and sat there waiting as the lock turned.
the door opened and there you were. tired, your hair slightly windswept, a bag slung over your shoulder. you smelled like the outside; cool air and concrete and a hint of the coffee shop you must have passed on the way home. your eyes found him immediately, your face softening.
“hey,” you said, your voice gentle. “you waited by the door?”
he didn’t answer. couldn’t answer. but his body answered for him— launching forward, jumping up, paws reaching for you. you caught him without thinking, your arms wrapping around his small body, pulling him against your chest.
gojo buried his face in your neck and purred, embarrassingly loudly. he couldn’t stop it. he pressed his forehead against your jaw and purred and purred, and your hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his fur.
“awe, so sweet,” you murmured. he felt the words vibrate through your throat. “god, you’re so soft. how are you so soft?”
he meowed against your skin and you laughed, carrying him inside after kicking the door shut behind you.
you walked to the couch and sat down with him still in your arms whilst he curled up in your lap like he belonged there, because maybe he did, at least while he was a cat.
“shoko had more information,” you said, your hand stroking along his back in slow, rhythmic motions. “about the curse.”
gojo looked up at you, his ears forward, his full attention on your face. you were staring at the wall, your expression thoughtful, your thumb tracing absent patterns through his fur.
“she said it’s anchored to your emotional state. something about the way the curse was designed— it feeds off… i don’t know, attachment? connection? she used a lot of big words.” you frowned. “basically, the more stressed or agitated you get, the longer it’ll take to wear off. so you need to stay calm. relaxed. which is hilarious, considering it’s you.”
he meowed. i can be calm.
“you literally fell in my toilet this morning.”
fair point.
you sighed, leaning your head back against the couch. your hand kept petting him, steady and soothing, and gojo felt his eyes starting to droop. the purring hadn’t stopped. he wasn’t sure it knew how to stop.
“she also said your cursed energy should stabilizing,” you continued. “which is good. means the curse is breaking down faster than she expected. you might only be a cat for a week, not two.”
gojo felt a spike of something— panic, maybe, or longing— and forced himself to take a slow breath. he had to stay calm.
“so that’s good news,” you said, and you almost sounded disappointed. almost. “you’ll be back to annoying me in no time.”
he wanted to tell you that he didn’t want to go back. not yet. not when he had you like this, soft and unguarded, your hand in his fur and your body warm beneath him. not when he’d just started to learn who you really were.
but he couldn’t so he just purred louder, pressed his face against your stomach, and let you talk.
you told him about your day. about the reports you’d filed, the mission briefings you’d sat through, the way nanami had given you a look when you’d said you had to leave early. a cat, he’d said, and you’d said yes, a cat, and he’d said it’s gojo, isn’t it, and you hadn’t been able to deny it
“he knows about the mission,” you muttered. “everyone knows. shoko told ijichi—i mean, she told everyone, basically. so now the whole school knows that gojo satoru is a cat. i hope you’re happy.”
you talked until your voice went hoarse and the sky outside turned dark, the apartment filling with shadows. and then you stood up, carrying him with you, and walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth. he sat on the edge of the sink and watched you, the way you moved through your nighttime routine with practiced ease. wash face. brush teeth. tie hair up. moisturize. the same steps, every night, a ritual he’d never seen before.
you changed in the bedroom with your back to him again while he looked at the wall like a gentleman. then you climbed into bed and held your arms out.
“come here,” you said. “you’re sleeping with me tonight. i don’t want you falling in the toilet again.”
he should have been offended, but instead he jumped onto the mattress and walked up your body— over your legs, your stomach, your chest— and settled in the curve of your neck, his small body tucked against your shoulder. you pulled the blanket up over both of you, and your hand found his back again as the room went dark.
gojo lay there in the quiet, listening to your breathing slow, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath him. you were warm. you were safe. you were here.
for the first time in a long time, gojo felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
he closed his eyes, pressed his nose against your pulse point and let the sound of your heartbeat carry him to sleep.
day 3
next two days changed a lot.
not the curse— that was still firmly in place, still humming through his small body like a low-frequency buzz. but gojo himself had changed. adjusted. surrendered, maybe, to the strange rhythm of being a cat.
it started with the little things. the way his tail developed its own vocabulary, curling and flicking without his permission. the way he caught himself watching birds through the window with an intensity that felt almost predatory, his back legs bunching beneath him before he remembered he wasn’t actually supposed to want to eat them.
by the second morning, he’d stopped trying to use the toilet.
(he used the litter box. he didn’t think about it. if he thought about it, he’d die of embarrassment, so he simply didn’t think about it. you’d cleaned it without comment, without teasing, and that was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.)
by the second afternoon, he’d figured out how to open your bedroom door. he’d launched himself at it, paws outstretched, and the door had swung open on his first try. he’d felt so proud that he’d done it three more times, just to prove it wasn’t a fluke.
you’d come home to find every door in the apartment wide open, including the bathroom, and you’d stared at him with an expression caught between exasperation and genuine concern.
“what are you,” you’d said, “a cat or a burglar?”
he’d meowed. both. i’m both now.
but the real change was deeper than that. it was in the way he felt when you came home— that rush of warmth, that stupid wagging-adjacent tail, that desperate need to be in your arms. it was in the way he’d started sleeping on your chest every night, your heartbeat under his ear, your hand a warm weight on his back. it was in the way he’d stopped counting the days until he turned back.
this was the life, he thought.
he woke up on the third morning— no, wait, the second morning? time was weird when every day was the same soft blur of naps and pets and you— and stretched luxuriously, his front paws extending, his back arching, his tail straightening out behind him. the sun was warm on his fur. the pillow beneath him smelled like your shampoo. and you were still asleep next to him, your face slack and peaceful, your lips slightly parted.
gojo watched you sleep. he’d never admit to that when he was human, but right now, with his cat-brain humming contentedly, he let himself look. the way your lashes fanned across your cheeks. the way your hand had ended up curled near his body, like you’d been reaching for him in your sleep. the way you mumbled something unintelligible and turned your face into the pillow.
you were beautiful. he’d always known that, but seeing you like this— unaware, unguarded, soft— made something twist in his chest.
he leaned forward and licked your nose, just a tiny swipe of his rough cat-tongue across the tip of your nose. he didn’t even think about it; his body just did it.
you scrunched up your face, snorted, and opened your eyes.
“did you just… lick me?”
gojo meowed. maybe.
you stared at him for a long moment. then you laughed— a groggy, morning laugh that turned into a yawn halfway through— and reached out to scratch behind his ears. “you’re so weird. you know that? you’re the weirdest cat i’ve ever met.”
he purred. thank you.
the morning passed in that easy, lazy way that mornings had started to take on. you made coffee and shared your cereal with him again— he’d stopped pretending he didn’t want it— and he sat on the back of the couch while you scrolled through something on your tablet, your other hand absently stroking his fur.
and that was when he saw it.
your tablet. the screen was bright, glowing with text. you were reading something and your finger was scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. but more importantly, there was a keyboard. a digital keyboard, popping up when you tapped on a search bar, with letters he could theoretically press. with his paws.
gojo’s ears shot up. his tail went straight. he stared at that keyboard like it held the secrets of the universe, because maybe it did. maybe, just maybe, it held the ability to talk to you.
he’d been silent for two days. two days of meowing and purring and hoping you understood what he meant. two days of watching you guess and getting it wrong half the time. two days of wanting to tell you things and having no way to say them.
he waited until you set the tablet down to refill your coffee. the moment you turned your back, he was on it— paws pressing against the screen, trying to figure out the pressure, the angle, the how of it all. the keyboard had popped up automatically when his paw hit the search bar, and now letters were appearing, jumbled and wrong.
aklsdhf, the screen read. qweiur.
not great. but possible.
he tried again, more carefully this time. used one claw to tap a single letter. h. yes. e. yes. l. l. o.
hello.
the word sat there on the screen, glowing and perfect, and gojo’s heart raced so fast he thought he might pass out. he could do this. he could actually do this.
you came back with your coffee, and he quickly pawed the screen clear, hiding the evidence. not yet. he wanted to wait for the right moment. wanted to say something that mattered.
for some reason, that night, you were quiet.
not the comfortable quiet of the past few days, but something heavier. something that pressed down on the apartment like a physical weight. you’d made dinner— rice and vegetables and some kind of fish that gojo had eyed with interest until you’d put a small piece on a plate for him— and you’d eaten in silence, your eyes distant, your mind somewhere far away.
now you were lying on the couch, your tablet abandoned on the coffee table, your arm thrown over your eyes.
gojo watched you from the arm of the couch, his tail flicking. something was wrong. he could feel it— the shift in your energy, the way your aura had dimmed to something small and subdued. you were sad. or lonely. or both.
he didn’t like it.
he jumped down from the arm and padded across the cushions, placing one paw on your stomach, then another. you didn’t move, so he climbed all the way up, settling his entire body on your belly, and tilted his head to look at your face.
you moved your arm and looked down at him. your eyes were tired, rimmed with something that might have been unshed tears if he looked close enough.
“hey,” you said softly. “what are you doing?”
he meowed. checking on you.
you stared at him for a long moment and sighed, your hand coming up to rest on his back as you turned your gaze to the ceiling.
“you’re going to think this is stupid,” you said. “you’re going to make fun of me when you turn back.”
he wouldn’t, he absolutely wouldn’t, but he couldn’t tell you that, so he just purred and pressed his forehead against your sternum.
another long pause. your hand moved in slow circles on his fur.
“it’s just…” you started, then stopped. swallowed. started again. “it’s been quiet. before you got here, i mean. my whole life has been quiet, but i didn’t notice it until recently. or maybe i noticed it and i just… didn’t want to admit how much it bothered me.”
gojo’s ears went back. he listened.
“i come home to this apartment every night and it’s empty. no one waiting for me. no one to talk to. i eat alone, i sleep alone, i wake up alone. and i told myself i was fine with that. i am fine with that. mostly.” your voice cracked, just a little. “but then you showed up. and now there’s someone here when i come home.”
you laughed, but it was wet. shaky.
“and i know you’re not really a cat. i know you’re gojo and i know you’re going to turn back and leave and this is all going to go away. but right now, in this moment, it’s… nice. having company. not being alone.”
your hand stopped moving. your breath hitched.
“i didn’t know how lonely i was until i wasn’t lonely anymore.”
the words hung in the air, fragile and heavy. gojo lay there on your stomach, his small body rising and falling with each of your breaths, and felt his insides churn with sadness.
he knew that feeling. he knew it so well it lived in his bones.
the strongest sorcerer in the world, and he went home to an empty apartment every night too. he ate alone. he slept alone. he woke up alone, in a bed that was too big for one person, in a house that echoed when he walked through it. he filled the silence with noise— with jokes and complaints and relentless teasing— because silence was the thing he feared most.
and then there was you. there had always been you, in the background of his life, rolling your eyes at his antics and calling him an idiot. but he’d never let himself get close. never let himself want more than stolen glances and missions that took too long and excuses to be near you.
but now— now he was here, on your couch, on your stomach, in your life in a way he’d never been before. and you were lonely. and he was lonely. and maybe you could be lonely together, and maybe that would make it less lonely for both of you.
he wanted to tell you. god, he wanted to tell you. he wanted to jump off the couch and run to the tablet and type out everything he’d been holding in for months. i’m lonely too. i’ve been lonely for years. and being with you— even like this, even as a cat— is the least lonely i’ve ever felt.
but his paws were clumsy and his heart was full. you were crying now, silent tears sliding down your temples into your hair, yet he couldn’t leave you to type when you needed him here.
so he did the only thing he could do. he climbed up your chest, carefully, placing each paw with intention, until he was close enough to press his nose against your cheek. and then he licked your tears.
one. two. three.
you made a sound— half-laugh, half-sob— and your arms came around him, pulling him tight against your chest. you buried your face in his fur. he let you, purring as loud as he could, hoping you could feel the vibration against your skin.
“you’re such a good cat,” you whispered, your voice muffled. “the best cat. i hope you don’t remember i said that.”
he’d remember all of it.
you fell asleep on the couch, exhausted from crying, your body curled around his. gojo stayed awake, watching the shadows move across the ceiling, listening to your breathing even out. his mind was racing, full of words he couldn’t say and promises he wanted to make.
he’d tell you, not now, not like this, but soon, when he was human again and he could wrap his arms around you properly and look you in the eyes and say all the things he’d been practicing in his head for months.
i’m here. i’ve always been here. and i’m not going anywhere.
he pressed his nose against your collarbone and closed his eyes, and let the promise settle in his chest like a stone.
day 5
“shoko wants to run some tests,” you’d said that morning, stuffing him into a carrier that he’d immediately protested with the most pathetic meows he could muster. “stop that. you’re being dramatic.”
he was not being dramatic. he was being cat. there was a difference.
the carrier was small and cramped and smelled like plastic, and gojo spent the entire train ride pressing his face against the mesh door, watching the world blur by.
jujutsu high looked the same as always, but everything felt different from this angle, low to the ground, the world towering above him. you carried the carrier up the steps and through the main gate, and gojo’s ears swiveled, cataloging every sound. the crunch of gravel. the distant thwack of training dummies. someone yelling, probably one of the first-years.
shoko was already there, leaning against the wall with a cigarette dangling from her lips, and the look on her face when she saw the carrier was the most entertained gojo had ever seen her.
“you actually brought him,” she said, pushing off the wall. “i didn’t think you would.”
“you said you needed to examine him.”
“i said it would be funny to watch him squirm in a carrier.”
you shot her a humourless look, but you were already opening the door, reaching inside to scoop him out. gojo emerged into the fluorescent light of the hallway and immediately regretted everything. he was small. he was vulnerable. he was being held like a baby in front of shoko, who had seen him at his worst more times than he could count but never like this.
“my god,” shoko said, “can’t believe that you’re the size of a guinea pig.”
gojo hissed at her. it was deeply satisfying.
“he’s feisty,” shoko observed, straightening up. “good. the curse hasn’t affected his personality.”
“can you just do the examination?” you sighed. “he’s heavy.”
“he’s like five pounds.”
“he’s dense.”
shoko snorted and led the way to her office, and gojo endured the examination with as much dignity as he could muster. she poked and prodded, flashed lights in his eyes, pressed her fingers along his spine in that way that made his back leg twitch. she muttered things to you— cursed energy flow is good, transformation is holding steady, no signs of degradation— and you listened with a furrow between your brows, your hand resting on his back the whole time.
“he’ll be fine soon,” shoko said finally, stepping back to light another cigarette. “just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“which is…?”
“keeping him calm. relaxed. happy, if possible.” shoko’s eyes flicked to gojo, and he could have sworn she was hiding a smile. “shouldn’t be too hard. he looks pretty happy to me.”
gojo meowed. mind your own business.
you didn’t seem to notice the subtext. you just thanked shoko and scooped him up and carried him out of the office, and gojo thought that was the end of it. he was wrong.
because the hallway outside shoko’s office was no longer empty.
ijichi was standing there, clipboard in hand, his glasses fogging up like they always did when he was nervous. he was saying something to someone— nanami, maybe, or one of the assistants— but the moment he saw you, his mouth snapped shut.
“is that…” ijichi’s voice cracked. “is that gojo-san?”
gojo looked at him. ijichi looked back. something primal rose up in gojo’s chest— something that had nothing to do with being human and everything to do with being a cat confronted with a very nervous, very twitchy man who had once spilled coffee on his favorite shirt.
he hissed.
ijichi made a sound like a deflating balloon and stumbled backward, his clipboard clattering to the floor.
“he hates me,” ijichi whispered. “even as a cat, he hates me.”
“he doesn’t hate you,” you said, but you were laughing, your shoulders shaking, and gojo felt a surge of triumph. he’d made you laugh.
he hissed at ijichi one more time, just for good measure.
you were still laughing when you turned the corner. gojo was still feeling smug, but then he saw nanami, walking down the hallway with a stack of papers in one hand and his usual expression of mild exasperation on his face. he was dressed in his work clothes— the suit, the tie, the whole thing— and his shoes were polished to a shine.
his pants were pressed to a crisp line.
gojo’s tail went straight. his ears went forward. his entire body tensed with the kind of focused energy that usually preceded something stupid.
“satoru, no,” you said, but it was too late.
he launched himself out of your arms— you weren’t holding him tightly enough, too relaxed from laughing— and hit the ground running. four paws skidding on the polished floor, claws scrabbling for purchase, and then he was moving, a white blur of fur and chaos, heading straight for nanami’s legs.
nanami looked down. nanami saw him. nanami’s expression did not change, which was exactly the wrong response.
gojo bit him.
not hard since he was a small cat, his teeth weren’t exactly weapons of mass destruction, but hard enough to be felt. he sank his tiny fangs into the fabric of nanami’s pant leg and held on, dangling from the cuff like a particularly aggressive accessory.
nanami stopped walking. looked down. raised one eyebrow.
“is this gojo,” he said.
“yes,” you said, running over to pry him off. “i’m so sorry. he’s been weird all morning.”
gojo held on. he didn’t know why. something about nanami’s calm, unflappable demeanor made him want to cause problems. maybe it was the cat instincts. maybe it was just gojo.
“he’s biting my pants,” nanami observed.
“i can see that.”
“he’s not letting go.”
“i can also see that.”
there was a moment of silence. gojo dangled from nanami’s pant leg, his jaws locked, his eyes defiant. nanami looked down at him with the same expression he wore during mission briefings— mildly annoyed, deeply unimpressed.
“if you value your teeth, gojo,” nanami said quietly, “you will let go.”
gojo did not let go.
you finally managed to pry his jaws open— which was humiliating, by the way, your fingers prying his mouth apart like he was a disobedient puppy— and scooped him up against your chest. he squirmed, trying to get back to nanami’s pants, but you held him tight, your hand pressing firmly against his back.
“i am so sorry,” you said again, backing away. “he’s not usually like this.”
nanami looked down at the teeth marks in his trousers. looked at gojo. looked back at you.
“yes,” he said. “he is.”
gojo watched him go with a profound sense of victory as he walked away.
you, meanwhile, were not victorious. you were embarrassed, your face flushed, your grip on him tighter than necessary as you carried him through the rest of the building. as if he was your actual pet.
“what was that?” you hissed at him. “you can’t just bite nanami. he’s going to bill you for those pants. do you know how much nanami’s pants cost?”
gojo meowed. worth it.
“it was not worth it. nothing is worth nanami’s disappointed face.”
but your voice was lighter than it had been this morning, and when you finally escaped the building and stepped outside, you were almost smiling again. gojo counted that as a win.
you didn’t take him straight home. instead, you walked past the gates of jujutsu high, through the streets of tokyo, toward a part of the city he didn’t recognize. the sun was warm on his fur, and the carrier was slung over your shoulder, and he had his head poking out of the top, watching the world go by.
“there’s a park near here,” you said, almost to yourself. “i used to go there a lot. before… everything.”
you didn’t elaborate. gojo didn’t push. he just watched your profile as you walked, the way your eyes softened when you passed a bakery, the way your steps slowed when you reached a small green space tucked between buildings.
the park was tiny— a few trees, a bench, a patch of grass that was more brown than green. but there was a fountain in the center, a small concrete thing with murky water, and sitting next to it was a cat.
a stray. orange and white, with matted fur and one torn ear. it looked up as you approached, its eyes wary, and gojo felt something shift in his chest.
“hey, baby,” you said softly, crouching down. you were already reaching into your bag, pulling out a small pouch of cat food— you carried cat food with you?— and shaking some into your palm. “i haven’t seen you in a few days. i was worried.”
the stray cat blinked. then it stood up, stretched, and padded over to you with the casual confidence of a creature who knew it was about to be fed.
gojo watched, frozen, as the stray rubbed against your leg. as you scratched behind its torn ear and made soft, cooing sounds that you’d never made at him, not once, not even when he was being the most adorable cat in the entire world.
the stray ate from your palm. you smiled at it and gojo, from the carrier, felt something hot and irrational bloom inside.
jealousy.
he was jealous of a stray cat.
“you’re so pretty,” you were saying to the orange-and-white menace, your fingers stroking along its matted back. “look at you. you’ve been taking care of yourself, haven’t you? good job, baby.”
gojo meowed loudly. i’m right here.
you glanced at him. “what? you want some too?”
no. he did not want some. he wanted you to stop petting that mangy alley cat and pet him instead. he was right there, in a carrier, watching you shower affection on a creature that had done nothing to deserve it.
the stray finished eating and rubbed its face against your knuckles. you laughed— a soft, happy sound— and scratched under its chin.
gojo hissed.
the stray’s ears went back. it looked at him with flat, unimpressed eyes, and then it turned its back on him and pressed its head into your palm.
how dare it.
“gojo,” you said, with warning in your voice. “be nice.”
he would not be nice. he would never be nice. not to this interloper, this pretender, this cat that was getting more of your attention in five minutes than he’d gotten all day.
the stray finished its meal and licked its paw, utterly indifferent to gojo’s rage. you stayed crouched there for a few more minutes, talking to it in that soft voice, and gojo sat in his carrier and stewed.
finally, you stood up. brushed off your knees. looked down at the stray with something like regret.
“i have to go,” you said. “but i’ll come back, okay? be safe.”
the stray meowed and walked away, disappearing into the bushes. gojo watched it go with a sense of deep satisfaction. good. it knew its place.
you picked up the carrier and looked at him through the mesh. your expression was unreadable.
“were you jealous?” you asked.
gojo turned his head away. no.
“you were. you were totally jealous of a stray cat.”
he was not. he was not. he was simply… concerned. about your safety. stray cats carried diseases.
you laughed, the sound bright and warm, and gojo felt his anger melting despite himself. you started walking again, the carrier swinging at your side, and he watched the park disappear behind you.
“don’t worry,” you said, quieter now. “you’re still my favorite cat.”
he meowed. i’m your only cat.
“for now,” you said. “who knows what’ll happen when you turn back.”
gojo thought about that for the rest of the walk home. about what it would mean to be your favorite anything when he was human again. about whether the way you looked at him— really looked at him, past the jokes and the noise and the infinity— meant what he hoped it meant.
he didn’t have answers. but he had time.
day 7
gojo had stopped counting the days until he turned back. now he was counting something else entirely— the number of times you smiled at him, the number of times you reached for him without thinking, the number of nights he fell asleep to the sound of your heartbeat.
but tonight, when you emerged from your bedroom, all of his counting ground to a halt.
you were dressed up. a dress, navy blue, falling just above your knees, with a neckline that made his mouth go dry. your hair was different too, curled softly around your face, and your lips were shiny with something pink and tempting.
gojo sat on the back of the couch and stared.
you were beautiful. you were always beautiful, even in your ratty sleep shirts with your hair a mess and your face bare. but this was different. this was weaponized beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made him want to crawl inside your closet and destroy every other outfit you owned so you could never wear this dress for anyone else.
“don’t look at me like that,” you said, smoothing your hands down your sides. “you’re making it weird.”
he couldn’t help it. his eyes were glued to you, tracking every movement as you checked your reflection in the mirror by the door. the dress hugged your waist. your lips caught the light. your earrings— tiny gold hoops— swung when you tilted your head.
where were you going? who was this for?
you didn’t tell him. you just slipped on a pair of heels and grabbed your purse, and crouched down to give him a quick pet on the head.
“be good,” you said. “don’t destroy anything. i’ll be back later.”
soon you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you, and gojo was alone in the apartment with nothing but his thoughts and the lingering scent of your perfume.
he sat in the dark for a long time, his tail wrapped around his paws, his mind spinning. a date. you were going on a date. someone else had asked you out, and you’d said yes, and you’d put on that dress and those heels and that lip gloss for someone else.
the jealousy was immediate and irrational and all-consuming.
he wanted to follow you. wanted to track you down and sit in whatever restaurant or bar you were at and glare at whoever was lucky enough to be sitting across from you. but he was a cat. a small, white, useless cat who couldn’t even type properly.
he looked at the tablet, sitting on the coffee table where you’d left it. the screen was dark, but he knew it was charged. he knew how to turn it on. he’d been practicing in secret, late at night when you were asleep, tapping out messages and deleting them before you could see.
tonight, he decided. tonight he would finally do it. not because he was jealous— okay, partially because he was jealous— but because he couldn’t wait anymore. couldn’t keep all of these words locked inside his small cat body.
he jumped off the couch and padded over to the tablet. pressed the power button with his nose. the screen glowed to life, and he waited impatiently for it to wake up, his tail flicking.
the keyboard appeared. gojo took a deep breath and started typing.
it took seventeen attempts.
seventeen times he typed out the sentence, and seventeen times he messed it up— pressing the wrong letter with his clumsy paws, hitting delete when he meant to hit space, accidentally closing the app entirely and having to start over. his claws were too long for the screen. his paws were too big for the individual keys. his patience, which had never been his strong suit, wore thin with every failed attempt.
but he kept going.
wil you go out woth me
delete. delete. delete.
will you go out woth
no.
will you go out woth me
close.
will you go out with me once i’m human again?
yes. yes, that was it. his paws were shaking, his heart was racing, and the sentence sat there on the screen in all its imperfect glory. he read it over three times, checking for mistakes. there was one— with was missing an h, but he’d hit the wrong key and he couldn’t figure out how to fix it without messing everything up.
it would have to do.
he added a signature, because he was gojo satoru and he couldn’t resist. — catoru
there. done. now all he had to do was wait.
the hours crawled by.
gojo curled up on the couch with the tablet propped against a pillow, the screen still lit, the message still waiting. he watched the door. listened for your footsteps. imagined a hundred different ways this could go— you laughing, you blushing, you saying yes, you saying no, you throwing him out the window.
he hadn’t thought about the possibility of you coming home sad.
but when the door finally opened, well past midnight, the energy that entered the apartment was wrong. heavy. deflated. your footsteps dragged on the floor, slower than usual, and when you flicked on the light, gojo’s heart sank.
your makeup was smudged. your eyes were red. and you smelled faintly of alcohol.
you didn’t look at him, didn’t say hello. just kicked off your heels— one, then the other, both landing crooked by the door— and dropped your purse on the floor with a thud.
gojo meowed. hey. i’m here.
“hey, gojo,” you said, but your voice was flat. wrong. you walked past the couch without stopping, heading for the bathroom, and gojo heard the sink turn on. water running. the sound of you splashing your face.
he jumped off the couch and followed you, the tablet forgotten for the moment. sat in the bathroom doorway and watched you scrub at your face with a towel, watched your shoulders shake with something that wasn’t quite crying but wasn’t not crying either.
“bad night?” he tried to say, but it came out as a questioning meow.
you looked at him in the mirror. your reflection was tired, your eyes puffy, your pretty lip gloss long gone.
“i got stood up,” you said, your voice cracked on the last word. “he didn’t even show. i sat there for an hour like an idiot, drinking wine by myself, waiting for someone who was never going to come.”
gojo’s chest tightened. the jealousy was still there, but it was buried under the realisation that you were sad. you were hurt. someone had made you feel small and unwanted, and gojo wanted to find that person and show them exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his infinity.
but he couldn’t. so he just walked into the bathroom and rubbed against your ankles, purring as loud as he could.
you reached down and picked him up, holding him against your chest. your dress was soft under his paws. you smelled like wine and disappointment and the faint remnants of your perfume.
“i had three glasses,” you admitted. “maybe four. i lost count. and then i walked home because i didn’t want to take the train and cry in front of strangers.”
you weren’t crying now, but you were close. gojo could feel it in the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers trembled against his fur.
you carried him to the bedroom and set him on the bed while you changed out of the dress. gojo turned his back and listened to the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of you pulling on your sleep shirt. when he turned around, you were curled up on your side, facing the wall, your shoulders hunched.
he climbed onto the pillow next to your head and nudged your cheek with his nose.
“not now, baby,” you whispered. “i’m tired. we can play tomorrow.”
but he didn’t want to play. he wanted you to see the tablet. he wanted you to read his message. he wanted to tell you that you weren’t unwanted. that someone was waiting for you. that he was waiting for you.
he meowed again. more insistent this time. pawed at your shoulder.
you sighed and rolled over, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. “what? what do you want?”
he couldn’t answer. so he jumped off the bed and ran to the living room, his paws skidding on the floor, and nudged the tablet with his nose. the screen had gone dark— it had been hours, of course it had— and he couldn’t turn it back on. couldn’t show you. couldn’t do anything except stand there on the coffee table, tail drooping, feeling useless.
you appeared in the doorway, watching him. your expression was tired, confused.
“what are you doing?”
he pawed at the tablet. meowed. pawed again.
you walked over and picked it up, turning it over in your hands. the screen stayed dark. you pressed the power button, and gojo held his breath, waiting for the message to appear, waiting for you to see—
nothing. the tablet was dead. out of battery, probably, because he’d left it on for hours like an idiot.
“did you want to play a game?” you asked, and your voice was so gentle, so kind, so completely unaware of what he’d been trying to do.
gojo deflated. sat down heavily on the coffee table and wrapped his tail around his paws. no. i wanted to tell you i love you.
you picked him up anyway, cradling him against your chest, and carried him back to the bedroom. the tablet stayed behind, dark and silent, its message lost.
you climbed into bed and he curled up on your chest, the way he did every night now. your hand found his back, your fingers tracing slow patterns through his fur. you were quiet for a long time, your breathing slow, and gojo thought you’d fallen asleep.
“i’m going to be sad when you turn back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “isn’t that stupid? you’re gojo satoru. you’re annoying and loud and you never shut up. but you’re also… here. you’re always here. you sleep on my chest and you wait by the door and you make me feel like someone gives a shit whether i come home or not.”
gojo’s little heart clenched.
“and when you’re human again, it’s going to be different. you’re going to be different. you’re going to go back to your life and your missions and your stupid jokes, and i’m going to go back to being alone. and things are going to be awkward because i spent two weeks talking to you like you were a cat, telling you things i’ve never told anyone, and you’re going to remember all of it.”
your voice cracked.
“you’re going to remember all of it, and you’re going to look at me differently, and i don’t know if i can handle that. i don’t know if i can handle you knowing how lonely i am and pretending you don’t.”
you swallowed. your hand kept moving on his back, steady and soothing, even as your eyes filled with tears.
“so yeah. i’m going to be sad. because right now, like this, you’re mine. you’re my cat and you sleep on my chest and you don’t talk back and you don’t judge me. and when you turn back, you won’t be mine anymore. you’ll just be gojo. and gojo doesn’t… gojo doesn’t belong to anyone.”
gojo wanted to scream. wanted to claw his way out of this tiny body and wrap his arms around you and say i’m yours, i’ve always been yours, i’ll always be yours. but he couldn’t. he could only purr, loud and desperate, and press his face against your collarbone.
“you’re a good cat,” you whispered. “the best cat. i’m going to miss you so much.”
you fell asleep like that, tears drying on your cheeks, your hand heavy on his back. gojo stayed awake, watching your face in the dim light, his heart so full it hurt.
he would tell you. tonight was ruined, tonight you needed sleep and comfort and the quiet presence of something that loved you. but soon. tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. he would find a way to type that message, or he would wait until he was human again and say it with his own voice.
i’m yours. i’ve always been yours.
he curled up against you, his small body pressed to your chest, and closed his eyes.
day 8
gojo woke up warm.
not the usual warmth of your body pressed against his small cat form, but something deeper. fuller. his limbs felt long again, his spine straight, his hands—
his hands.
he had fingers. ten of them, attached to palms, attached to arms that ended in shoulders that felt broad and solid beneath the blanket. his legs were tangled with yours under the sheets, and his chest was pressed against your back, and his arm was wrapped around your waist like it had always belonged there.
he was human again.
gojo lay there in the gray morning light, barely breathing, cataloging every sensation. the weight of his own body. the stretch of his skin. the familiar hum of infinity settling back into place around him like a second skin. his six eyes were online again, drinking in the world with perfect clarity— the dust motes floating in the air, the texture of your pillowcase, the soft curve of your shoulder where your sleep shirt had slipped down.
and you. curled against him like he was something safe, your hand clutching his forearm, your breath warm against his wrist. you were still asleep, your face relaxed, your lips slightly parted.
gojo watched you and felt like his heart was going to crack right open.
he didn’t move. didn’t dare. this was a dream, surely— he’d fall through it if he breathed too hard, wake up small and furry and alone on your pillow. but your weight was solid against him, and his fingers were real when he flexed them, and the morning was too quiet and too perfect to be anything but true.
he’d turned his infinity off and turned back. sometime in the night, while he’d been curled against your chest, listening to you breathe, the curse had finally released him.
you stirred. your hand tightened on his arm, and you made a small sound— the same sound you made every morning, the one he’d come to recognize as not yet, five more minutes— and pressed back against him.
gojo’s breath caught.
you were so warm, and you fit against him like you’d been made to, and your sleep shirt had ridden up sometime during the night and his bare thigh was pressed against the bare skin of yours and he was very, very naked.
oh god. he was naked.
the realisation hit him like a truck. he was naked in your bed. his clothes— his human clothes— had been left behind in that warehouse a week ago, destroyed or lost or scattered to the wind. and now here he was, skin to skin with you, your body tucked against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
he should move. extract himself, find a blanket, find something to preserve the last shreds of your dignity and his. but you were so comfortable, and he was so happy, and the morning light was painting gold stripes across your face, and he couldn’t. couldn’t move. couldn’t breathe. couldn’t do anything except watch you wake up.
your eyes fluttered open.
for a moment, you just blinked— unfocused, still half-asleep, your brain clearly not processing what your eyes were seeing. a man. in your bed. an arm around your waist. a chest against your back.
and then you saw his face.
“good morning,” gojo said, and his voice came out wrong— rough and low and cracked from a week of disuse, like he’d forgotten how to shape words with a human mouth. but it was his voice, his, and he watched your eyes go wide, watched the sleep evaporate from your face, watched you suck in a breath that made your whole body go rigid.
“gojo?” you whispered.
he smiled. it felt strange on his face— too big, too bright, too human after a week of cat expressions. but he couldn’t help it. you were looking at him like he was a ghost, and he wanted to reassure you, wanted to tell you he was real.
you turned in his arms, fast. your hand came up to touch his face— his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth— your fingers were shaking. “you’re human. you’re—when did you—how—”
“sometime last night,” he said. his voice cracked on the last word. “i woke up like this. with you.”
you stared at him. your eyes were bright, wet, and your lips were parted, and your hand was still on his face, and gojo thought he might die if he didn’t kiss you right now.
so he did.
it was clumsy— his nose bumping yours, his lips missing their target before he corrected, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck with fingers that still felt too new. but when his mouth finally found yours, everything else fell away.
you made a sound against his lips; a small, surprised, oh sound that melted into something softer, and then your fingers were in his hair, and you were kissing him back, and gojo satoru had never been happier in his entire life.
he pulled back too soon, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard. your eyes were closed. your lips are pink and slightly swollen, and he’d done that, he’d done that, and he wanted to do it again and again until he forgot how to do anything else.
“i’ve wanted to do that for months,” he said, and his voice was still rough but he didn’t care. “years, maybe. i don’t know. i’ve lost track.”
you opened your eyes, looked at him. your expression was dazed, confused, overwhelmed— all the things he was feeling reflected back at him.
“you’re naked,” you said.
gojo laughed. it came out raw and bright, and he felt it in his chest, in his throat, in every part of him that had been small and silent for a week. “yeah. i noticed.”
“you’re naked in my bed.”
“technically, i’m naked in our bed.”
you made a sound— half-laugh, half-groan— and pushed at his chest, enough to put a few inches between you. “gojo. satoru. you need to—you need to put something on. i can’t—i can’t think when you’re—”
“when i’m what?”
“naked!”
he grinned.
“i’ll find something,” he said, and he meant to get up, he really did. but his legs felt strange beneath him; weak in a way they’d never been, unsteady after a week of four paws and a tail. he swung them over the side of the bed and stood up, and immediately his knees buckled.
you caught him. your hands on his arms, your body pressed against his side, holding him upright. “whoa. easy. easy. you’ve been a cat for a week. your body needs time to adjust.”
gojo leaned on you, more than he needed to, maybe, but you were warm and steady and he liked the way you fit against him. “i’m fine. i’m perfect. i’m better than fine.”
“you can’t stand.”
“i can stand. i’m choosing not to.”
you sighed and guided him back to the bed. he sat down heavily, the mattress dipping under his weight, and looked up at you. you were still in your sleep shirt, your hair a mess, your face flushed from the kiss. you were beautiful. you were so beautiful he couldn’t look away.
“stay there,” you said. “i’ll find you something to wear.”
you disappeared into the closet and gojo sat on the edge of the bed and tried to remember how to be human. his hands looked right. his feet looked right. everything was in the right place, more or less, and his cursed energy was humming along like it had never left. he flexed his fingers, curled them into fists, stretched them out again. human. human. human.
but then his eyes landed on the tablet.
it was still on the coffee table in the living room, where he’d left it last night. dead battery, probably. but the message— his message, the one he’d spent seventeen attempts typing— was still there. waiting.
“here,” you said, emerging from the closet with a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. “they’re not your size, but they’ll work until we can get you home.”
he pulled on the clothes, they were tight in some places and loose in others, and they smelled like you, and stood up again, more carefully this time. his legs held.
“i need to show you something,” he said.
you frowned. “what? satoru, you can barely walk. you should sit down. i’ll make breakfast, and then we can—”
“no. it’s important.” he took a step, then another. his body remembered how to do this, even if his muscles had forgotten. “the tablet. last night, before you came home, i—i typed something. i wanted you to see it.”
your frown deepened, but you didn’t argue. you just followed him as he walked, with one hand on the wall for balance, to the living room. the tablet was still on the coffee table, dark and silent. gojo picked it up, found the charger you kept by the couch, plugged it in.
the screen glowed to life.
he navigated to the notes app with fingers that felt too big and too clumsy, and there it was. his message.
will you go out woth me once i’m human again? — catoru
he turned the screen toward you.
you read it. once. twice. three times. your lips moved silently, shaping the words, and gojo watched your face cycle through confusion and recognition and something that looked a lot like hope.
“you typed this,” you said. it wasn’t a question.
“with my paws,” he said. “it took seventeen tries. i was going to show you last night, but your tablet died, and then you were sad, and i couldn’t—i couldn’t make you look at it when you were already hurting.”
you looked up at him. your eyes were bright again, but not with tears this time. with something else. something that made his heart stutter in his chest.
“you wanted to go out with me,” you said.
“i want to go out with you. i’ve wanted to go out with you for a really long time. i just—” he swallowed. “i didn’t know how to say it. and then i was a cat, and i couldn’t say anything at all, and i thought i’d missed my chance. but i’m human now. and i’m asking. properly. will you go out with me?”
you stared at him for a long moment. the tablet hung between you, the screen still glowing, the misspelled words still waiting.
suddenly, you laughed.
it was a wet sound, shaky and bright, and you were crying, but you were smiling too, and you set the tablet down on the couch and stepped into his arms like you belonged there.
“yes,” you said against his chest. “yes, you idiot. yes.”
gojo wrapped his arms around you and held on. you were warm and solid and real, and you fit against him the same way you had in bed— like you’d been made to be there, like the universe had designed the two of you to slot together.
“i heard you,” he said quietly. “last night. what you said about being sad when i turned back. about not being yours.”
you went still in his arms.
“i heard all of it,” he continued. “and i need you to know—i am yours. i’ve been yours for a long time. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”
you pulled back just enough to look at his face. your eyes were red, your cheeks wet, and you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
“you’re not going to forget?” you asked. “all the stuff i said? all the embarrassing, lonely, pathetic stuff?”
“never,” he said. “i’m going to remember every single thing. i’m keeping all of it.”
you laughed again, softer this time, and you reached up to wipe your tears with the back of your hand. “you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”
“absolutely,” he said, grinning now, wide and bright and full of so much joy he thought he might burst. “i’m going to be the most insufferable boyfriend you’ve ever had. i’m going to tell everyone. i’m going to tell nanami. i’m going to tell ijichi. i’m going to tell that stray cat.”
“don’t you dare.”
“too late. i’m already planning the speech.”
you hit his chest and he caught your hand, holding it against his heart. you could probably feel it pounding. he didn’t care.
“look,” he said. “i was a cat for one week, and it was the best week of my life. because i was with you. because you took care of me. because you let me sleep on your chest and eat your cereal and fall in your toilet—”
“oh my god, we’re never talking about the toilet again.”
“—and i fell in love with you,” he finished. “i was already in love with you. but being a cat made it worse. better. more. i don’t know how to explain it.”
“you don’t have to explain,” you said. “i know.”
and then you kissed him.
it was better than the first one— slower, deeper, more certain. his hands found your waist, and your hands found his hair, and the morning light filled the apartment with gold, and gojo satoru thought that maybe, just maybe, getting turned into a cat was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
you pulled back eventually, breathless, and rested your forehead against his.
“catoru,” you said, and you were smiling. “you signed it catoru.”
“i panicked.”
“it’s cute.”
“i’m cute.”
“you’re something.”
he laughed and you laughed, the sound filling the apartment like sunlight.
outside, the world was waking up. missions waited. curses waited. the endless, exhausting work of being a sorcerer waited. but right now, in this moment, none of that mattered.
gojo was human again. he was in love. for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t alone.
“so,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at your face. “breakfast? i’m thinking cereal. from your bowl.”
you groaned. “you’re never going to let me eat alone again, are you?”
“never,” he said, and he meant it. “never, never, never.”
you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. you took his hand and led him to the kitchen. gojo followed.
the end.
[ an. hope you guys liked this!! might be a little rushed sorry about that. comment if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist!! ]
you can fill as many prompts as you'd like on any day throughout the week of june 24-30, there are no assigned days for anything. whether you want to go for bingo, blackout, or just a few boxes, you are welcome to participate :D
all types of fanworks are allowed!
the bingo card was made by collecting the top 24 prompts and shuffling the list to place them on the card. if you have questions about any prompt, please reach out! but they are meant to be very open to interpretation!
synopsis: Megumi Fushiguro is avoidant. He keeps his distance, convinced it’s the only way to keep the one he loves safe. But love doesn’t wait, and neither does fate. When tragedy strikes, the words they never said become the only thing left between them.
wc: 3.3k+
cw: angst on angst on angst, NO happy ending, reader dies, some jjk stuff: shikigami, cursed energy, yadayada, megumi refuses to communicate (but he cares i swear), like 99% reader's pov
a/n: (repost from my old acc) hate this so much but i tried
“Don’t die on me.”
Megumi’s voice is tight and controlled—but you know him well enough to recognize the underlying fear he refuses to show.
Despite the pain tearing through your leg, you glare at him and keep moving, leaning on his support as you limp forward. Every step sends a jolt of agony through your body, but you can’t let him see how weak you feel.
Today’s mission had gone completely sideways. What Gojo had promised as an “easy peasy, grade-four clearance” had become a test of endurance and survival. You had cleared the grade 4 curses without issue, your techniques flowing smoothly, confidence high.
Then the grade 1 curse appeared—a writhing shadow, its movements sharp, far faster and more vicious than you anticipated. It struck, slashing at your legs and torso, leaving you bruised, bleeding, and gasping for air. Each strike sent a jolt of pain through your body.
By the time you stumble into the infirmary, knees weak, you let out a shaky sigh, fingers trembling as you brush a strand of hair from your face.
“That was close, huh?”
Megumi doesn’t even spare you a glance as he lowers you onto the cot. His expression is unreadable, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the walls, as if acknowledging your existence is dangerous.
“Too soon?” you ask, your voice quieter now, uncertain.
He doesn’t respond. His silence makes you anxious, making the pain in your leg almost bearable in comparison.
“You okay? Does Shoko need to check you out too?”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the floor. The words are short, almost dismissive, leaving you unsure if they’re meant to end the conversation or avoid it entirely.
“Okay…” Your frown deepens, confusion mixing with worry. Before you can ask more, Shoko rushes in, urgency etched on her face.
“I heard what happened. Are you okay?” As she begins working on you, Megumi slips out without a word, disappearing before you can stop him.
The next day, you spot him in the courtyard with Yuji and Nobara. The morning sunlight hits their faces, laughter spilling through the air, but something about the sight makes your stomach churn.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” you call out, trying to sound casual, forcing a smile onto your face.
Yuji and Nobara greet you with their usual enthusiasm. Yuji’s grin is wide, and he wraps you in a quick hug, asking if you’re okay, while Nobara’s laughter cuts through the tension, peppered with questions about your leg and how you’re feeling. Their energy is warm and comforting, filling the space around you with a sense of normalcy you hadn’t realized you were craving.
Megumi, however, barely acknowledges you. His gaze is fixed ahead, lips pressed into a thin line, expression unreadable. It’s as if your presence is an inconvenience. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak, doesn’t meet your eyes—a silent barrier keeping you at arm’s length.
The group, (mostly Yuji and Nobara), decide to head out for ice cream. You automatically fall into step beside Megumi, hoping that he’ll say something, look at you, give a sign that the bond you’ve always shared isn’t completely gone.
But he doesn’t.
You steal glances at him, noticing the faint furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, and the subtle tension in his hands. He keeps his distance—just enough to remind you he’s there, but far enough that it stings. Every step beside him is a quiet battle between wanting to reach out and knowing he’ll pull back.
You tell yourself he’s just shaken from yesterday’s mission. Maybe he’s processing, maybe he’s exhausted, maybe he doesn’t know how to deal with his own fear and worry. It makes sense, logically. But your heart refuses to accept logic.
A laugh from Yuji snaps you back. You push the worry aside, joining their conversation, letting the teasing and chatter draw you in. But even as you smile, a part of you can’t stop looking at Megumi, noting every small movement, every tiny flicker of attention that isn’t directed at you. The distance between you is both physical and emotional, and it leaves a feeling of emptiness that you can’t shake.
Every laugh, every shared joke between the others, underscores the silence between you and him. And even though you force yourself to keep the happy facade going, a part of you is quietly mourning the closeness you used to have—the way he made you feel safe, seen, and important, without ever having to say a word. By the time the ice cream is finished and the group disperses, you’re left with the gnawing realization that Megumi is still present, but unreachable, and that ache in your chest is only growing stronger.
During next week’s training is when you let yourself be concerned.
The first-years rotate through partner groups, and when you’re paired with Megumi, he barely looks at you before moving into position. The tight line of his jaw and the way his shoulders stiffen make your stomach twist.
Something is off.
“Ready?” you ask, trying to break the silence, your voice a little too loud in the empty training room.
He nods sharply, barely acknowledging you. His eyes flick to yours for a fraction of a second before darting away, and that small gesture makes your heart twinge. You’ve fought with him countless times, and this—the distance, the restraint, the unspoken worry—is new.
He summons his serpent shikigami. It lunges with precision, but something feels off. You dodge easily, almost instinctively, noticing the lack of force behind his strikes. His movements are measured yet restrained, as if he’s testing you without actually trying to win.
With every swing, every calculated deflection, your concern grows. This isn’t a fair match—there's a wall between you, invisible but noticeable. The thought gnaws at you: Why is he holding back?
You counter, and your strikes land easily. It’s supposed to feel good, the satisfaction of victory, but it tastes bitter. Pride doesn’t come; only confusion and a tightness in your chest as you realize he’s making it too easy for you.
Yuji’s laughter breaks the moment. “Dang, Megumi, you just let her beat your ass!” Nobara cackles beside him. You force a small smile, but your eyes are still on Megumi.
After they leave, you approach him, anger and worry tangled together.
“What the hell was that?” you demand.
He doesn’t look at you, jaw tightening. After a long, quiet beat, he grunts, almost dismissively, “Focus on your own moves,” and walks away. You stand there, heart pounding, replaying every hesitation, every pause, every moment where he seemed to deliberately give you the upper hand. His predictability, usually comforting, now feels suffocating. Every unspoken reason behind his actions presses on you, leaving you frustrated, worried, and painfully aware of the distance he’s placing between you two.
“Megumi, watch out!” you shout. He barely dodges the cursed attack hurls toward him with sharp speed.
Once again, Gojo had called this mission “easy, peasy, lemon squeezy,” but after your last near-disaster, you didn’t trust his judgement. You’ve learned the hard way that nothing with Gojo’s seal of approval is ever as simple as it seems.
Megumi’s focus seems scattered, his head flicking toward you more often than toward the cursed spirit in front of him. Every stumble, every careful step you take, he notices. It’s almost as if he’s afraid to let you out of his sight, even if it puts him at risk. He moves with precision, but there’s a tension in his shoulders, a slight stiffening every time you falter.
Nue’s form sparks and crackles as it lashes out with a burst of electricity, paralyzing the curse just long enough for you to strike. You channel your technique and finish it off cleanly, breath coming in ragged gasps. Your knees hit the ground as the adrenaline fades, vision swimming from the effort.
Megumi is instantly at your side, crouching, just enough to help, but he keeps distance. There’s a tension in the way he hovers, like he wants to close the gap but fears what that might mean.
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes flicking to yours but never holding your gaze. His jaw tightens, and his fingers shift faintly near his shikigami.
“I’m fine,” you wheeze, forcing a small, shaky smile. “Just… tired.”
He doesn’t answer, only watches you with that unreadable gaze, letting silence settle between you, charged with all the unspoken thoughts and feelings he refuses to voice.
Even now, when he’s crouched beside you, every slight movement—adjusting his stance, shifting his hands—carries purpose. He stays close, watches your every move, and moves as if ready for anything, but he doesn’t speak or reach out.
The corridor echoes with your heavy breathing and the faint crackle of Nue’s energy. He moves with precision, his focus unshakable… but something feels different, as if he’s holding himself back. When the mission ends, you’re both drained. Your legs shake, sweat and grime cover your skin, and every muscle protests with fatigue. Megumi stands beside you, posture stiff, gaze averted, yet still lingering just a fraction too close. He doesn’t say a word about the fight, doesn’t offer congratulations or comment on your technique. He just watches, silently, his attention never fully leaving you.
You want to reach out, to say something, but the words stick in your throat. He would never respond the way you hope. Not with words. Not with softness.
Still, the pull between you is too strong to ignore. Every small glance, every subtle movement he makes—holding himself apart, watching you, just out of reach—makes it impossible not to try.
Once you get back to the dorms, you catch him alone and fall into step beside him. Maybe it’s foolish, maybe it won’t change anything—but you need to say it.
“Thanks for looking out for me… I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you murmur, glancing at him for any flicker of acknowledgment.
Megumi stiffens. His eyes flick to the floor, jaw tightening, and he shifts his weight, silent.
After a long pause, you press on. “You’re acting weird. Is everything okay?”
For a moment, he freezes. When he finally meets your eyes, it’s brief—a flash of something unreadable—before he turns away again.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, voice flat and clipped, leaving your question hanging. You take a hesitant step back, frustration and worry twisting in your chest. He’s right there, so close, yet unreachable.
The following morning, you run into him in the hallway. The distant chatter of the other students echoes off the walls, but it feels muffled, like you’re the only two people in the world.
“Hey… can we talk?” Your voice is quieter than expected, almost swallowed by the space between you.
He meets your eyes for a brief second, something like surprise flickering there before he looks away and nods. That nod twists your stomach, but at least he isn’t leaving entirely.
You pull him aside into a quiet corner. The chill of the hallway presses around you, and for a second, you hesitate. But the tight knot of unanswered questions in your chest pushes you forward.
“Megumi… what’s going on with you?” you demand, voice trembling just enough to betray how much this hurts.
He doesn’t answer. His gaze drops immediately to the floor, shoulders stiff, posture rigid. A faint clench of his hands at his sides makes you wonder if he’s frozen or just avoiding you.
“I mean it,” you continue, stepping a little closer. “You’ve been so distant lately. During training, yesterday’s mission… You wouldn’t even look at me. Did I do something wrong?”
Finally, he glances up. Just for a second. His dark, unreadable eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker—guarded, heavy, impossible to read—before he looks away again.
“I’m not distant,” he says quietly, clipped. “You’re reading too much into things.”
“You call this not distant?” you snap, hurt spilling out. “You barely talk to me, you don’t look at me, and every time I try to—”
He flinches at your words, jaw tightening, a sharp inhale escaping him. “Stop,” he interrupts, voice low but firm. “Don’t make this about feelings. Just focus on training.”
You inhale sharply, disbelief twisting in your chest. “Is that really all this is? Just training?”
He says nothing. His hands twitch at his sides, fingers brushing against each other as if the movement itself might anchor him. He wants to respond, but he doesn’t.
You stare, every unspoken word pressing against you. The hallway stretches on, quiet and heavy. For the first time, you realize the distance is intentional—but whether he’s upset, indifferent, or simply keeping you at arm’s length, you can’t tell.
Megumi steps back, putting space between you, eyes flicking away. “We’re done here,” he mutters, and walks off. You remain rooted in place, chest tight, mind swirling with longing and confusion, wondering if you’ll ever breach that wall.
Three weeks crawl by, and Megumi keeps his distance. Every glance in the hall, every passing shadow that could be him makes your chest tighten. You feel sick to your stomach, a knot of longing and frustration twisting tighter with each day.
You miss the mornings he used to hand you coffee, the quiet brush of his hand against yours as you walked back to the dorm. You miss the way he let you hold his hand during the scary parts of movies, just tight enough to make you feel safe. Those small, careful gestures—so easily overlooked, so hard for him to give—are gone now, and the absence leaves your chest aching.
He hovers nearby, notices when something goes wrong, yet never lingers. Conversations are clipped, his attention quick and fleeting, like he’s afraid to stay too long. Every careful glance, every subtle pause near you, reminds you that he’s present—but behind a wall you can’t reach. The little rituals where his guard slipped just enough to show affection are gone, leaving only the quiet ache of what’s missing.
Every time his name comes up, it feels like a twist of the knife. You imagine what he’s doing, who he’s talking to, whether he’s thinking of you at all. And the worst part? You know him well enough to understand that he probably is, but he won’t show it, he won’t say it, and that knowledge only makes the emptiness heavier. At night, when you’re alone, the silence is deafening. You replay every memory: the brush of his hand, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead when he focused on something, the quiet moments where his guard slipped just enough for you to see him. And you ache for him like a wound that won’t close, the slow burn of longing stretching longer and longer, every day heavier than the last.
“You’re up! Your first solo mission, yay!” Gojo grins at you, making exaggerated jazz hands.
You roll your eyes but still focus as he lays out the details: a grade 2 curse haunting an abandoned school on the edge of town.
It sounds intimidating, but you’ve grown stronger these past couple of weeks. You trust they wouldn’t send you if they didn’t think you could handle it.
Ijichi pushes his glasses higher on his nose. “You’re ready to go?”
You nod and follow him to the car.
On the ride, you scroll through the mission report—locals claiming the place is cursed, groups of thrill-seekers sneaking in, only to vanish without a trace.
Weird, you think, though the unease curls tight in your stomach.
You arrive and step out, stretching your legs.
“Thanks, Ijichi.”
“No problem. I’ll put up the curtain. Good luck.”
You glance back and watch the veil shimmer into place, the outside world fading from view.
Okay… I got this.
The front doors groan as you push them open. The air inside is thick, stale, carrying the faint stench of mold and rot. Dust drifts from the high ceiling, coating your hair and lashes until your eyes burn and water. You sneeze, the sound echoing in the hollow hall.
Something wet plops onto your head, heavy enough to make you flinch.
What the hell—?!
You tilt your gaze upward—and freeze.
It’s clinging to the rafters like some grotesque insect, skin slick and gray, a row of sharp teeth visible even at this distance. Four bulbous, crimson eyes bore into you, unblinking, the cursed energy radiating from it so heavy it makes your pulse stutter.
It drops into the hallway in a fluid motion, the thud reverberating through the floor. Then it lunges.
You throw yourself sideways, your shoulder slamming into the wall. You recover fast, countering with a strike that momentarily locks its limbs in place.
For a heartbeat, you think you have the advantage—until its chest heaves and it lets out a guttural, rattling cough.
A spray of thick, gluey substance explodes from its mouth, splattering across your torso and arms.
The burn is immediate—acid-hot, sinking beneath your skin like fire laced into your veins. You scream, stumbling forward, hands clawing at the sticky film.
Your heart pounds too fast, then slows. You cough out blood, gasping for air. Each breath feels thinner than the last, your chest tightening as if your lungs were shrinking.
Your weapon slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor.
It slashes your stomach, blood pouring out. You grip your torso to stop the bleeding.
The hallway tilts. Your vision blurs, tunneling until the curse is just a smear of shadow in front of you.
Then… nothing. Everything goes black.
Megumi arrives moments later, summoned by Ijichi’s frantic call. He bursts into the building, cursed energy flaring, heart hammering like it might rip out of his chest.
And then he sees you.
Your body is crumpled on the floor, motionless. Blood matted your hair, your skin covered with dust and grime. A shockwave hits him—stomach lurching, chest constricting, breath catching in a strangled gasp.
“No… no, no, no!” His voice cracks, sharp and raw, breaking the rigid walls he’s built around himself. He drops to his knees beside you, fingers trembling as they hover above your still form, afraid to touch you because if he does, the world might shatter entirely.
He shakes you, desperately, heart clawing its way out of his chest. “Wake up! Please, wake up!” His hands press against your arms, your chest, searching for even the smallest sign of life.
The silence hits him like a hammer. The nothingness—the absence of your voice, your warmth, your stubborn determination—rips through him. Every breath feels too loud, too hollow, too much. Megumi doesn’t cry—he can’t—but the tightness in his throat and the heat of his panic burn worse than any wound ever could.
His shikigami’s warning growls are meaningless now; the Demon Dogs materialize with snarls and snapping jaws, leaping toward the curse, but he barely registers them. His attention is entirely on you, crumpled on the floor, unmoving. The growls, the snapping, even the impact of their attacks—all fade into the background, replaced by the deafening silence of your absence. The one person he’s always wanted to protect, the one person he could never let get hurt… and he couldn’t even do that.
He presses his forehead to your shoulder, stiff hands trembling against your limp body. “I’m so sorry… I should’ve—” His voice breaks again, swallowed by the cavernous quiet of the abandoned school. “I failed you…”
Megumi’s world narrows to the impossible ache in his chest, the empty space where your presence used to be, and the stark, cruel reality that you’re gone. No excuses, no missions, no explanations—just the raw, suffocating truth.
For the first time, the controlled, impenetrable Megumi Fushiguro shatters, and all that remains is a boy who can’t protect the one person he loves, kneeling in the dust, broken and silent, his grief so heavy it carves a hole through the world itself.
haha see how the opening line haunted him in the end, lol...
gojo satoru manages to reach heaven only to…fumble the bag?
★ PAIRING: nerd!jo x fem reader x frat!kuna
★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unplanned pregnancy. mention of abortion. cunnilingus. gojo being kinda mean? lotta conversation (sorry)
★ WORD COUNT: 3.1k
★ JADE’S NOTES: erm… hi :3
part five of frat bro turned dad of the year
gojo satoru has experienced a lot of highs throughout his life.
from winning the spelling bee at his private elementary school at second grade against a group of fifth graders (the word had been supercalifragilisticexpialidocious), to getting a golden medal at his high school's science fair after creating his own genetically modified bacteria from scratch, to getting a full ride scholarship to tokyo tech university despite his parents' wealth.
and yet, none of those highs seem to compare to the one he has right now.
to having you splayed out on his navy blue bedsheets, glowing underneath the cheap star pasties he'd never bothered to take off his ceiling. to letting him slide your panties down, letting him taste every last inch of your body.
satoru would gladly get punched by sukuna again if it meant he'd have you like this.
he's not even sure how he got into this position in the first place. the last thing he remembers is the feel of your lips against his, cock straining in his pants at the mere taste. each kiss that you gave greedier than the last, wanting to make it last as long as you could before he passed away.
"w-wait," he pulls away, his cheeks flushed a light tint of pink and a sheepish smile on his face, "i have something to show you. i have your baby shower gift upstairs but it's a surprise."
you raise a brow but stand up once you see him do so, "you got me a present?" it seemed like too much—he already let you use his house for the baby shower, and it still hasn't been fully cleaned up after the event.
his hand takes a spot on the small of your back, easing each one of your footsteps as you head up the stairs. "okay, trust me, step up." you do, with the overwhelming fear that you might take a wrong step and crack your head and quite possibly bleed out. but gojo's presence is a steady anchor beside you, taking each step at a time.
his footsteps echo against the pristine white floors leading up to one of the rooms on the right side of the hall, the hinges creaking to indicate you'd stepped inside of one. "okay, we're here." he takes his hands off your face, taking a step back.
you don't immediately open your eyes, slowly blinking to get adjusted to the sudden bright lights beaming down on you. when you do, you're immediately welcomed by the cutest nursery you've laid eyes upon. the walls were painted in a pale grey color like much of the house, following the minimalist design he had in each room.
in the middle of the room there was a brown crib made of the finest grained ash wood and acrylic spindles. a bellini crib. it was expensive, you knew that much. it'd been featured in people magazine and in nearly every mom blog you managed to stumble across, revered as being the 'number one necessity in your nursery!' it was only a distant dream until now, far too expensive to go through with.
a mobile hung over the crib, adorned with all the planets in vibrant colors. all perfect for the baby's stimulation. he'd really had it all in mind. there were a couple drawers pushed against the walls, each one storing a selection of baby clothes inside. the room, despite being minimalistic, had a couple animal paintings hung up on the wall. a couple teddy bears scattered around to make it feel cozy.
"oh, um, wow," you exhale, running a hand across the crib's railing, taking in the sheer details of the room. everything was taken into account, from the wall plugs having protection on them to a comfortable rocking chair pushed in the corner of the room. gojo had taken every consideration when it came to the nursery, not just the baby's, but also your own.
it's a lot to take in all at once, to take in the sheer amount of effort that gojo put into this room. not out of a sense of responsibility or out of a sense of duty, but rather because he simply cared enough to do such a gesture. a couple tears fall down your cheeks, a broken laugh leaving your lips, "this is a lot, are you sure?"
"i'm not pressuring you into anything," gojo speaks up, coming up to step next to you. he clasps a hand around your shoulder, every gesture making your heart pound that much faster in your chest. "but i think that my house would be a much better place to raise a baby than a dusty dorm room. plus, you'd have your own room, you wouldn't have to worry about anything with me."
and then you… jumped on his bones faster than he could've imagined. not how he expected his night to go after nearly getting knocked out of this astral plane onto the next, but hey, he wasn't complaining by any means. your lips were much more greedy, much more demanding this time around, and he reciprocated all the same. tugging on your bottom lip before his tongue moved against yours, his hands nearly gripping your waist.
the thought of you only doing this because you were still emotional still nagged at him, satoru turning to look at you before he led you into his bedroom. "are you sure you're okay with this?" he questions, one of his hands resting on yours, "we don't have to do anything you don't want to do. i promise."
you reach over, twisting the knob to his bedroom. "i want to do this with you." the reassurance has a small sigh of relief leaving his lips. it doesn't take much for him to follow you inside, watching as you move around all the too familiar room to his bed. he'd set up a separate room in the penthouse, just down the hall, but god what he wouldn't do to get this sight everyday.
everything with sukuna had been done in a rush, in a quick twenty minutes before you were out of his room. this wasn't that. it was anything but that. satoru was the complete opposite—taking his time as he went along. sliding your heels off with the utmost care, thumbs lightly rubbing against your swollen ankles.
"oh, that feels good," an almost sinful moan leaves your lips when his thumb rubs against a sore spot, his fingers working on massaging the knot. you're all but putty in his hands, your back almost arching off the bed from just how good you're starting to feel. "all i wanna do is make you feel good," he murmurs, his fingers working all the way up to your calves.
his lips pressed against your ankle, slowly trailing up the side of your leg. a shiver ran down your spine with each one, his fingers pushing your dress up to your hips. "you have no idea how much i thought about this," he murmured against your skin, practically salivating without so much as taking your panties off.
you're already dripping against the thin material of your underwear, your thighs pressing tightly together. a whine leaves your lips, his hands quickly tugging your thighs apart when he comes to notice. "patience, sweetheart, i'll take care of you, promise."
as if to prove himself, gojo moves up your inner thigh, lightly sucking on the flesh hard enough to leave a mark behind. his fingers hook on the waistband of your panties, sliding them down inch by inch. none of the textbooks he'd picked up in anatomy could've prepared him for how pretty your pussy was.
he blows a gust of wind against your puffy lips, your cunt clenching around nothing in response. "please…" you let out a small whine, bucking your cunt up to his face. it doesn't work—he just takes your hips and pushes them down. gojo starts moving even slower if that was even possible, moving at a snail's pace to your folds.
"please what?" he cocks his head to the side, acting completely clueless. like you weren't dripping onto his bedsheets all because of him, like your clit wasn't pulsing his name in morse at this rate. a huff leaves your lips, your head thrown back against the pillows behind you. "please, eat me out gojo."
"nuh uh, you know what to call me," he's relentless with each tease, each rise he gets out of you only fueling his own ego even more.
"satoru, please eat me out," you speak up, watching as he quickly makes work to adjust himself between your legs. hoisting each one over his shoulder, his gaze completely focused onto your cunt.
"that's all you had to say, princess." he all but leans down to feast, his fingers spreading your puffy lips apart.
your hand reaches down to tug at his hair, fingers threading around the snowy white strands, hips bucking into his eager mouth. his nose grinded against your clit, his tongue flicking in and out of your hole. "f-fuck, you taste better than i imagined," he groans against your cunt, each vibration sending a jolt up your spine.
"you've imagined this?" your question came out breathier than you would've expected, your chest heaving with every shaky breath that left your lungs. his jaw went slack, tongue swiping in and out of your drenched pussy.
"since the day we met," he mumbled against your skin, two of his fingers taking over his mouth. they weren't as big as sukuna's—his had filled you up in a way you'd never felt before—but they were long. they reached spots you only could've imagined, the two scissoring to spread you wider and wiiiider. he curled them almost two inches, "oh fuck!" a loud moan leaving your lips with each thrust against your g-spot.
his hips grind against the mattress, getting off on just how good he was making you feel. each moan and each tug sent a shiver running down his spine, making him all that much more greedy. he wants more, more, more of your reactions. wants to drink them in just as he's drinking you in.
you want to lose yourself to the moment, to the pleasure, and yet you can't. you focus on the way his tongue flicks around your clit, the way he slurps up your slick like it's the finest wine, and there's still something nagging in the back of your head.
"why'd sukuna beat you up?" satoru looks up from his spot, glasses foggy and a string of drool connecting his lips to your cunt. he blinks slowly, letting out a nervous laugh, "you're really asking me that right now?"
you know how volatile sukuna can be—despite not knowing him for all that long. he reacts before he thinks about anything, he's blunt, he's an asshole, the list goes on and on really. but he was also determined to change his ways in favor for taking care of the baby. to prove himself to you. it kept nagging at you, you know that he wouldn't just ruin the chance because of nothing at all.
"why?" you repeat, pulling your dress back down. it's not intentional, yet it comes out as an accusation. if you weren't suspicious before, now you definitely were. what exactly was he hiding from you? "just answer me that. why'd he punch you?"
satoru shakes his head, fingers running through the strands as he messes it up even further. "does it really matter?" he scoffs, sitting back on his ankles and wiping the drool spilling from his lips with the back of his hand, "i do everything for you. i take you to your appointments, i bring you food, i set up a goddamn nursery for you," his voice wavers, "and i'm still waiting for you to make a choice."
everything he's done throughout the last few months that you had just assumed was him being kind, was him trying to be supportive, was now being tossed back in your face. it stung. you'd been in bliss just five minutes ago, and now you were struggling to keep yourself from crying twice in one night. "i never asked you to do that."
"you didn't have to!" his voice booms throughout the room, frustration edging into concern once he sees a tear falling down your face. gojo scrambles onto his feet immediately, walking over as if he was tending to a wounded animal. each step taken with precaution, his hands coming up in defense.
he reaches out to hold your hand upon getting close enough only to have you pull away. he's never had that happen before, never seen you look so upset because of him. "i'm sorry," he starts off, "i didn't mean to snap at you, i swear. but i just, i don't know why it's so hard for you to choose me. what has sukuna ever done for you? i've done everything that he hasn't and more."
you shake your head, unwilling to listen. everything feels like it's starting to crash down, like the blissful escape you got with gojo had been nothing more than a plot. for him to feel like he had a reason to have control over you, to have control over your feelings. "tell me why he punched you."
gojo takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. he stays silent for a few seconds before reluctantly coming to admit, "i told him he wasn't going to be part of the baby's life. that it was going to be me raising his kid."
you don't react in that moment. frankly, you're tired of reacting. "so you think just because you've been helping me out, because you've been there for me, you get any say over what i choose to do?" you rub your temples, starting to feel the exhaustion of the day weighing down on your body.
you pull your heels back on, feet immediately screaming in protest when the straps start to cut into your ankles again. you don't get too far, your hand wrapped around gojo's doorknob when his hand grasps around your wrist. it's not tight enough to hurt, loose enough where you could easily leave, but enough to make you look at him.
"i'm sorry." gojo almost looks like he's at the brink of tears, the most pathetic he's looked as of yet. "i really am sorry. i just, i've been doing everything to get you to like me, doing everything you need me to do and sukuna doesn't do anything and… you still can't pick. he left you when you needed him, suddenly he's asking to be in your life again? why, because he can't deal with the fact that it's me you might end up with?"
you let out a scoff, shaking your head. there's no hesitation as you get off the bed, just sheer determination to get the hell out of this house. "i really do appreciate you, but you don't get to control my decisions just because you feel you have some right to. and if you're keeping track, then just don't do anything for me ever again if you're going to throw it back in my face."
gojo simply stares in shock as you untangle your hand away, making your way out the door. "w-wait, no, i did it because i l-”
"i don't want to speak to you right now." you quickly speak up, folding your arms tightly around your chest. "you're no better than sukuna by doing this by the way." gojo looks like he has more to say, like he's willing to barricade the door, but he doesn't say anything. he just watches you leave, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.
the two men in question didn't seem to think you were capable of making your own decisions, sukuna with deciding on an abortion before talking it out with you and gojo deciding that sukuna wasn't worth having around. it was frustrating and it was infuriating—being treated like a child even by someone you thought you could trust.
you don't do much as manage to get through the door when your phone started to ring second after second, screen flashing with a call. gojo. each one of his texts, calls go unanswered. there's nothing to talk about with him right now. you pick up after five minutes of straight calls, not bothering to listen to anything that leaves his mouth, before speaking:
"look. i need some time. i know you think i'm incapable of making my own—" you can hear a string of protests leaving him, yet you continue, "—but that's what i need. if you can't give me that, i don't know where that leaves us."
with that much, you hang up. the calls come to a stop, so do the text messages.
going home doesn't seem all that appealing right now, even if that's probably the best decision. you know shoko means well, but having her ask questions is the last thing you need right now. you end up walking around for a while, making your way onto a familiar row of houses with greek lettering on bright banners.
they don't seem all that grand when they're not hosting a party, just five black houses on the same block leading up to the biggest one on the left. you steady your nerves, making your way over. your hand stops halfway before you manage to knock before you let out a resigned groan, your fist pounding against the wooden door three times.
some guy you've briefly seen around campus, usually high off his mind with an easel in hand—choso, opens the door at the third knock. "yo, do i know you?" he scratches his head, eyes widening dramatically when he looks down to meet your bump. you can practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out if he'd slept with you or not.
you clear your throat, awkwardly shifting in your spot, "hi. is sukuna here?"
a visible wave of relief washes over the man in front of you—probably relieved he wasn't the father—before nodding. "yeah, i'll go call him over. come in." choso leads you inside the home, vaguely gesturing over to the couch.
he plops down beside you, grabbing the previously discarded roll tray. choso plucks his phone, thumbs quickly typing up a text before letting it fall beside down. suddenly he comes to realize.. the state you're in, tossing the half rolled joint off to the side, "my bad."
you wave it off, glancing over his shoulder when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. sukuna still has a couple pieces of pink frosting stuck to his hair and forehead, dragging a towel over it to get the rest off. "hey."
synopsis: a young shrine maiden finds herself once again serving at the prestigious Zenin estate, a task you have carried out on special occasions for the past three years. Despite your experience, you have a strong distaste for the clan's traditional and archaic lifestyle. Your position as a servant within the estate belies the true nature of your relationship with Naoya Zenin, as you wield an unexpected dominance over the heir of one of jujutsu society's most powerful clans in a twisted sexual dynamic.
[ part 1 ]
featuring: naoya zenin x fem!reader
word count: 3.3k
contents: n/sfw, explicit sexual content, 2nd person pov, no use of y/n, misogyny, manhandling, psychological manipulation, foot play (kinda), degradation, orgasm denial, basically just 1k words of reader teasing and being mean to naoya only to leave him unfulfilled
a/n: okay fine!! I also want to see him pathetic and on his knees it just seems like a lot of fun 😩😤
⁀➴ read it on ao3 | masterlist
The Zenin estate had come into view long before the car passed through the gates and pulled into the drive. You had always hated the place. For three years, you’d been sent with two other miko who worked at your family’s shrine, all daughters of lesser jujutsu families, to supplement the estate’s staff during ceremonial events and holidays. It was considered an honor to serve one of the great jujutsu clans, and many were sent from temples and ryokans all over.
To put it bluntly, you didn’t understand families like the Zenin, who still lived like the country hadn’t changed in the last two hundred years. Who insisted on keeping a sprawling estate and observing archaic practices. Sure, you were used to ceremony and tradition, but that didn’t mean you didn’t set aside your robes and hibakama on your days off and take the train into Shinjuku for karaoke and cheap sake with your friends. You liked the crowds, the neon, and the noise. Liked not bowing your head with every word.
But you weren’t in the city now. As the car shuddered to a stop underneath the estate’s tiled eaves, you straightened your back on instinct and smoothed the white sleeves of your robe. You would only have to be here for a week. Maybe ten days, if the rites dragged. The family liked longevity in their permanent staff, and the younger ones that came to bolster the household on special occasions were held to a high standard. Those that did not serve well were not asked back. Not for the first time, you wondered if that would really be so bad.
The driver opened your door. You stepped out, blinking in the late afternoon light, and were greeted by the scent of incense and clipped pine. The main house rose before you, its dark wood polished to a shine. Somewhere inside, the staff would be watching. They always were.
You followed the others out. The older woman waiting for you was a long-time housekeeper named Ikeda-san, who you recognized, with a severe face and her hair pulled tightly back. One of the vigilant supervisors the supplemental staff for the week would be heeding closely during your stay. Another larger group of young women, all dressed in plain kimono in neutral colors, were already being herded toward the service door with their luggage. Those would be the maids and cleaners, you surmised.
“Don’t drag your feet,” Ikeda-san snapped.
No one spoke back. There was only the sound of sandals scraping gravel and long sleeves whispering against fabric as the line hurried along. Inside, some of the others could not restrain themselves, casting furtive glances around the halls and murmuring to one another in low voices. You bit back a reflexive sigh. They would be corrected for their curiosity. You’d already endured your share of scoldings and knew very well not to gawk. It wasn’t like it was all that impressive anyway. Not when you knew what else waited inside the walls.
You were given enough time to set your things down in the service wing and to remove your shoes before the supervisor began rattling off assignments. Who would assist in the kitchens, who would prepare ceremonial rooms. You listened with half an ear, already knowing where you would be placed.
“It shouldn’t happen, but if one of the family asks you for something, find one of the housekeepers first,” you reminded the other two miko. “Or me.”
While the supplemental staff were at the estate, they were supposed to be under supervision at all times. But there were always gaps. Even the best-run households had them.
Immediately, the shrine maidens were sent to the storage to begin arranging the ceremonial implements under the watchful eye of the head miko. Later, you would start preparing the offerings and lighting the lanterns. It was tedious work, but it kept you mostly out of the way of the family. Which was just as well because the Zenin men hated when women looked clever, and the women hated when they looked defiant. So, it was easier to just not show your face at all, if possible.
On the second day, you rose early with the others, ready for another long day. Your objective that morning was to clean the ancestor tablets. The head miko hovered nearby, as always. Halfway through the task, Ikeda-san appeared unexpectedly.
“Tea is needed in the west reception room,” the housekeeper said. “For Naobito-sama and Naoya-sama. Immediately. All the maids are occupied.” Her eyes swept over the shrine maidens, eventually settling on you. “You. You’ll go.”
You bowed automatically, but you gritted your teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”
The walk to the west wing was long. The reception room there was rarely used, far from the main wing and poorly lit during the first half of the day. Usually, it was only opened during overflow gatherings, when the estate was bursting at the seams. Somehow, you had the feeling, as you carried the tray, that Naoya had something to do with this.
At the threshold, you set down the tray and lowered yourself to your knees to slide open the door. The figures of father and son at the center of the room contrasted one another. Naobito Zenin, sharp-featured and broad-shouldered even in age, was halfway sprawled on the tatami, clearly disinterested. Naoya sat across from him with his legs folded neatly, straight-backed, arms crossed over his chest. Not exactly the picture of familial camaraderie. What they were doing here instead of off with the rest of the men, you couldn’t guess.
Naoya’s back was to you, and he did not move as you bowed and retrieved the tray. Naobito, however, perked up instantly.
“The shrine girl,” he remarked. You didn’t expect him to remember your name. Perhaps, it was too generous to assume he remembered your face either. Did Zenin men see women as anything more than an ass or a pair of tits? “Did you bring sake?”
“Apologies, but no,” you replied, setting out the cups. “Sake wasn’t requested. I was instructed to bring tea.”
Naobito grunted as you poured, keeping your eyes down, as was expected. Though, you sensed him leaning back slightly to peer at your backside. “Suppose it’s not entirely a waste.”
“We called for tea ten minutes ago,” Naoya said. The complaint was delivered mildly, aimed nebulously into the room rather than to you directly. Because it would have been far too below him to address a serving woman. “Wouldn’t be so bad if they sent one that smiled, at least.”
You fought to keep your eyes from rolling as you finally lifted them to look directly at him. “You forgot to request that, too, Naoya-sama.”
There was a brief pause. Then, Naobito barked out a laugh, slapping a large palm against his knee. The Zenin patriarch had always been the irreverent type. You would have never dreamed of talking back in front of a housekeeper or any other member of the family.
“You’d do better to send your requests to the kitchen if you’re worried about being served a face worth looking at, Naoya. That one kitchen girl, Hanako-san. Terrific mouth—”
“Tch. I’m not interested in kitchen gossip,” Naoya said dismissively. His eyes met yours with barely any indication he was actually looking at another person. “That will be all, shrine girl.”
You seethed as you bowed silently and backed away from the low table. Naobito grunted disinterestedly again, already reaching for the teacup you’d placed in front of him, his attention as mercurial as ever. There would be no more acknowledgment of your presence.
Back in the corridor, you exhaled. The way they spoke about women here—as if you all blurred together, useful only for a pretty mouth or an ego boost—it was disgusting. The faint heat of anger still tingled across your face and ears as you headed back in the direction of the service wing, distracting you just enough that you didn’t realize Naoya had followed you out until his hand had snatched you by the wrist.
You moved on instinct, swinging your fist, but he didn’t even need to use his technique to stop you. He parried you easily, laughing.
“Let go of me,” you said, giving your wrist a yank.
He released you easily with a grin. “So, you are here. Why’d I have to find out on my own?” he asked, tone dangerously pleasant. “You don’t answer when I call you.”
You glared. “I didn’t bring my phone.” A lie—it was in the bottom of your travel bag. Turned off and forbidden on the estate.
Naoya cocked his head, the tips of his bleached hair tipping with the motion. “Next time, come when you’re called.”
“I’m not a dog,” you said with a scowl.
“Sure, you are,” he said. “You’re like a stray, aren’t you? Always coming back for more handouts.”
“Is there something you need? Ikeda-san will be looking for me,” you snapped.
“Later,” he said, amusement gleaming in his eyes now as he took a step closer. “I know you’re impatient, but later. Haven’t seen you since the equinox.”
You scoffed quietly through your nose, lifting your chin. “You sound like the desperate one, Naoya-sama.”
His smile widened, teeth shining, and you felt the prickle of fine hairs rising along your nape. “You wish. You like it when I notice you. I know you do.”
“I like it when you’re too busy with clan business to bother me while I’m working,” you said briskly. “Don’t you have things to do?”
His head fell back with a laugh as he turned around and headed back to the reception room. You watched him go, quietly fuming, and waited until he disappeared entirely before starting back toward the miko’s workroom. You knew you shouldn’t let him get under your skin. It was easier said than done. Naoya had always enjoyed trying to get a rise out of you, and worse, he wasn’t wrong—you did like it when he noticed you. If only because it was thrilling, being able to put the Zenin heir in his place behind closed doors.
You shared a room with the two other miko from her family’s shrine. They were younger than you, newer to the rhythms of working for the Zenin, and understandably exhausted from having the older women breathe down their necks all day while they completed their duties. As you folded your robes at the foot of your futon and unwound your hair, the sounds of their soft breathing filled the air.
A low vibration cut through the quiet. You nearly jumped out of your skin and stared, frozen, at your bag. The steady cadence of sleeping breaths continued without a hitch. Carefully, you dragged yourself closer and slowly scrounged around your things until you dug out your phone, which you’d shamefully powered back on as soon as you were finished for the day. The screen was cold and bright beneath your fingers as you squinted at the latest notification.
The message, predictably, was from Naoya. You sighed. He’d waited until this late? Of course. If a Zenin heir wanted something, time became irrelevant.
You: What do you want?
His response was immediate.
Zenin Naoya: Come outside. Usual place.
You considered ignoring his demand. But that would just be delaying the inevitable. Moving gingerly, you slipped your phone into your pocket and padded barefoot toward the hall, careful not to disturb the futons beside you. The estate was not a welcoming place in general, but it was a different beast at night.
All the lights had been dimmed or covered, the corridors gone blue-black with shadow. The gardens beyond the windows were barely distinguishable in the thin glimmer of moonlight. You clutched your robe around you, senses peeled for any signs of cross housekeepers or restless clan members.
You slipped out of the service wing and into the outer corridor. The “usual place” wasn’t far, but it required a careful route. In usual Naoya fashion, it was not exactly romantic—just a storage alcove behind the old training hall that was full of surplus tatami mats and boxes of junk. The door was already opened a crack for you when you reached it. You ducked inside.
Naoya was waiting, arms folded impatiently, still in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier that day. “You do know how to come when you’re called.”
“It’s nearly midnight,” you hissed. “I have work at dawn.”
The sleeves of his yukata rustled as he shifted his weight. “You didn’t come all this way just to turn around again.”
“Try me,” you said dryly. “I should make you wait out here until you rot.”
You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears, even as he tried to keep his smirk.
“Fine. I could have any of those bitches my clan called here to serve. They’d kneel if I told them to,” he said.
His boastfulness was thin. You rolled your eyes, unimpressed. “Very well. If you’re so spoiled for choice, then I’ll see myself out,” you said, turning.
Naoya was beside you in a flash, shutting the door with a scowl. It absolutely enraged him when you called his bluffs. You realized very early on in knowing him that it didn’t take much to make him feel pathetic.
“You think it’s funny, don’t you?” he muttered. “Making a scene. Making me chase you.”
You snorted softly and lifted your face precariously close to his. “I think it’s sad, Naoya. You wouldn’t know what to do with me if you caught me.”
That was what did it. Naoya’s hand shot out to grasp your chin. Before you could squirm away, he had shoved the line of his body sloppily against yours, trapping you against the door, and mashed your mouths together. The door rattled against your back as he clumsily took what he wanted from you, all teeth and pride. You let him for the moment, giving as good as you got. Let him believe that if he pressed hard enough, you would yield.
Your spine scraped the grain of the door as you sank your fingers into his hair and tugged his head back hard enough to draw a hiss from his throat. “You’re the one who belongs on their knees, Naoya,” you whispered, lips grazing the piercings in his ear.
He shuddered through gritted teeth. You could feel how hard he tried to suppress it, but it was always the same. No matter how stubbornly he denied it, this was what he really wanted every time. You both knew he was stronger, that his technique could have you flat on your back in the blink of an eye, just the way he liked to crow that all proper women should be. But he never used it on you. None of the other miko or kitchen girls would even dare to presume it.
But you did. You always had, and the sick part was knowing he’d come to crave it almost as much as you did. It was your little shared theater of violence, here in the dark behind the walls of one of the proudest houses in jujutsu society.
“Well?” you said, sliding two fingers of your free hand past his lips and into his mouth. “What are you waiting for? On your knees.”
You released his hair to splay your palm against a muscled shoulder, urging him lower. Naoya glared at you like he wanted to bite, his face red with ire and his shallow breaths pressing against your chest. True to form, he fought you for another heartbeat before sinking down to his knees. It wasn’t a graceful surrender. The way he dropped to the tatami was angry, hands grasping at your robes at either side of your thighs.
There was a flicker of shame tangled up with hunger behind his eyes that you relished. He clearly wanted you to see how undignified this was, how much he loathed the idea of being beneath you. You merely pressed your fingers harder against his tongue until you felt it quiver with a moan.
“Good boy,” you murmured, tracing his cheek with your thumb before pulling your fingers free.
Naoya exhaled sharply and tightened his hands at your thighs. “Insolent whore.”
“Behave, or I’ll let you take care of this—” You lifted your foot and slipped it over the hard bulge half-hidden under the loose fabric of his hakama until he hissed. “—on your own.”
His nails dug into the cotton, releasing something close to a whine high in his throat. You kept your heel poised, savoring the tremor that ran down his body. He clenched his jaw as you rocked against him, deliberately pressing at the thick, hot shape of him beneath his clothes. A flush spread up his neck, and his breath fanned humid against you with a shiver. So sensitive.
“Are you hard for me already, Naoya? Is that what you wanted, dragging me out here in the middle of the night?” you asked. You leaned your knee forward, letting your bare leg slip free of your robes.
He spat your name in reply, but it came out raspy and broken as he scrambled greedily for the newly-revealed skin, practically flinging the hem of your robe aside to slip his hands higher up your leg. His mouth found the inside of your knee first, biting and sucking roughly. You drew a shaky breath, bracing yourself against the door as he worked his way up to bury his face against your thigh.
“Easy,” you breathed, pressing your heel into his erection again, just hard enough to remind him not to get ahead of himself. The proud Zenin heir, forced down before you, so desperate to prove he wasn’t desperate at all.
Naoya stiffened, panting and glancing up at you with his lips parted and flushed. You let your heel rest heavy between his legs as he kneaded desperately at your thighs.
“You don’t get to taste me for your pleasure,” you reminded him. “You do it to please me.”
You watched his face crumble as he clenched his teeth around the urge to protest. His hips jerked involuntarily toward your foot, and a needy sound slipped through his teeth before he could stop it. You dragged your fingers through his hair, letting your nails scrape hard along his scalp.
“You want it? Say it,” you demanded.
For a moment, you were certain he’d try to rip the control away—that he’d snap and pin you to the wall, fuck obedience into your throat until you couldn’t talk back. He wanted to. You could feel it in the way his hands shook, in the heat radiating from his skin.
“Say it, Naoya,” you said, bending closer to watch him through your lashes. “Beg.”
He snarled like a dog with its back to the wall, lips pulling back, throat working. “I want it,” he groaned. “Let me.”
You smiled slowly. “Not yet.”
A subtle roll of your foot, and he sucked in a shuddering breath. The line of his jaw went slack as you extricated yourself from his grasp. To say he was hot and bothered now was an understatement, but after the greeting he gave you earlier that day, you were less than eager to indulge him now. No matter how appealing it sounded.
“Bitch,” he spat at you in spite of his pride laying in tatters, legs still splayed and hakama askew. “You can’t leave me like this. You said you’d do something about it.”
You scoffed primly as you fixed the front of your robe. “I didn’t make any promises, and I don’t like your attitude. You’re so noisy tonight. Maybe you can try again tomorrow.”
He choked on his own indignation as you turned away to slide the door open, but he didn’t move. And you didn’t bother looking back as you slipped out into the night. You imagined he would remain paralyzed a while longer, fuck his fist furiously, and return grumbling to his quarters. It wasn’t your concern. You hurried quietly back to the service wing, feeling the low, pleasant ache in your thighs from where Naoya had clung to you. The idiot. It was never enough humiliation for him. But he would never say so.
Thanks for reading! Subscribe on ao3 or let me know if you want to be tagged here on tumblr in part 2. Likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated <3
megumi x female!reader, nsfw, aged up!megumi, boyfriend!megumi, all the first times in a relationship, shorts smut series, sex, piv, unprotected sex, oral sex, fetish, phone sex, fingering, face sitting, anal play, anal, breath play, dry humping, thigh riding, semi-public, edging, emotional sex, saying i love you, college!au, no curses!au, or basically discovering through the progression of your relationship that your stoic and shy boyfriend is actually a freak, mdni
first time…
જ⁀➴ …meeting each other
જ⁀➴ ...going on a real date
જ⁀➴ ...making out (and he asks you to be his girlfriend, officially)
જ⁀➴ ...dry humping
જ⁀➴ ...sleeping over at his place (and he uses his fingers on you)
જ⁀➴ ...waking up to him
જ⁀➴ ...having sex
જ⁀➴ ...eating you out
જ⁀➴ ...face sitting
જ⁀➴ ...going down on him
જ⁀➴ ...thigh riding
જ⁀➴ ...matting press
જ⁀➴ ...doing it raw
જ⁀➴ ...doggy style
જ⁀➴ ...riding him (and breeding kink full out)
જ⁀➴ ...breath play (and he tells you he loves you)
જ⁀➴ ...edging (and you say 'i love you' back)
જ⁀➴ ...having car sex (on your sixth month anniversary)
જ⁀➴ ...having sex on your period
જ⁀➴ ...having phone sex
જ⁀➴ ...reuniting after some time apart
જ⁀➴ ...cockwarming
જ⁀➴ ...being restrained
જ⁀➴ ...using a toy
જ⁀➴ ...having semi-public sex
જ⁀➴ ...having shower sex
જ⁀➴ ...having bath sex
જ⁀➴ ...using ice
જ⁀➴ ...using candles
જ⁀➴ ...having to be quiet
જ⁀➴ ...squirting
જ⁀➴ ...anal play
જ⁀➴ ...spending your birthday together (and full anal)
જ⁀➴ ...spending his birthday together
ryomen sukuna finally decides to man up….three months after he spoke to you last. is he too late or will you let him back in?
★ PAIRING: frat bro! ryomen sukuna x nerdy! fem reader
★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unplanned pregnancy. baby gumi cameo. sukuna being a self absorbed asshole (what’s new). mention of abortion.
★ WORD COUNT: 3k
★ JADE’S NOTES: uh don’t take your baby to a frat 😄👍
part three of frat bro turned dad of the year
ryomen sukuna’s a man who’s used to being in control.
he’s used to the world shifting around his feet to accommodate to the sheer amount of space that he takes up, used to being the center of attention in every room he steps in. necks craning around to catch a glimpse of him, a call of his name in hopes he’d at least give them a curt nod, a pat on the shoulder.
even in rooms he’d never stepped a foot in, he was the center of attention. his name rolling around like waves, from one mouth onto the next, rumors that he didn’t care to deny nor confirm.
he doesn’t remember the last time he’s so much as had to lift a finger to get a woman to talk to him, they flock to him like a pack of vultures to decaying flesh. they’re eager to talk to him, they’re eager to be seen with him, but they never want to actually get to see him. not that it matters, he forgets about them by the time they’re upstairs in his room.
you had completely tilted that on its axis. sure, you jumped at the first opportunity to go up to his room (who could blame you), but you’d also taken to tutoring him seriously. actually teaching him the material even when you both knew he wasn’t paying attention to the material.
he noticed little things about you—from the way you color coordinated your journals: red for stats and blue for english, to the way you nibbled on your pen while you contemplated how to explain things to him. how you kept a little snack on you in case he needed it after practice.
you were everything he should’ve hated himself for liking, everything he did hate himself for liking, and yet here he was. standing in front of your dorm building.
sukuna’s been many things throughout his life.
he’s been an asshole, he’s been a chronic avoidant and ghoster, he’s been a liar.
but what he hasn’t been is just plain old discarded.
replaced.
and by none other than president of nerd-city himself, satoru gojo.
satoru gojo who once had a head brace on in high school, teeth forced shut by metal clasp after metal clasp. satoru gojo who once went over digimon evolutions for one of his classes—writing a twenty page analysis and getting an a for it.
satoru gojo who had a prized membership to barnes and nobles, spending most of his time surrounded by books with his stupid fucking sweater vests.
but here you are, getting walked up to your dorm building by that nerd. his fingers splayed across your back, gently guiding you up the stairs to your building. you’re in his hoodie, hands fiddling with the sleeves as if you’re debating giving it back. you don’t.
the part that gets him the most about your interaction with gojo is that you seem happy being around him, happy in a way he’s never given you the opportunity to be around him. it’s stupid, but sukuna swears he could’ve wrung his scrawny ass neck just for giving you a forehead kiss.
sukuna doesn’t think twice before speeding back off to the frat house. he doesn’t punch a wall like an overgrown man child (though the thought of putting satoru’s face on the door to throw darts lingers), instead, he just sits there. in pure silence and in the dark.
he thinks about calling yoruzu or any of the multiple unsaved numbers on his phone—any of them that would be showing up to his door before he even got the chance to ask them to come over with their panties half down their knees.
for once, the thought makes him want to throw up.
then, he thinks about trying to make things right with you, of showing up to your dorm with a cheap bouquet of roses from the grocery store and a half-assed apology. you’d probably push him away.
that thought makes him even more nauseous.
sukuna settles for calling toji over instead.
this used to be toji’s scene—showing up to nearly every party with a girl on each arm. his shirt lost by the end of the night, manicured nails trailing up the ridges of his stomach. phone blowing up with messages from those very same girls, demanding a text back that never came.
it’s weird to see him look so grown up, so put together. though, its a sight that fits him, sukuna has to admit that much.
the baby on his chest looks out of place in the frat house, a thumb in between his lips as curious eyes take in the space around them. beer bottles scattered throughout every surface of the room, leaving behind rings that’d be a pain in the ass to clean up.
toji plops onto the couch, one hand on megumi’s back as he settles down. he keeps the baby still against him, one strong hand cradling his back.
“you want a beer, man?” sukuna speaks up from the kitchen, perusing through the different bottles on the fridge. budweiser, vodka, red bull, monster, and a single bottle of half empty water. not like he had much to offer regardless.
“nah, i’ll get a water.” he grabs the pathetic excuse for a water (making a mental note buy some more, he’ll probably forget by tomorrow though) and a can of budweiser. he tossed over the bottle where toji was sitting, plopping down on the couch once more. spreading his legs wiiide while the game loaded.
the game started off fairly competitive, the two of them practically yelling insults at the other before conversation started up. about the frat, about torture methods initiation methods for the new pledges, about whatever their brains could figure out.
he decides to bite the bullet then. sukuna takes a quick swig of the beer can in hand, crushing the tin in his palm. that’s all it takes for him to speak up, “how’d you know you were ready to be a dad and shit?” he vaguely gestures over to where megumi’s crawling over his father’s lap like his own personal jungle gym.
toji lets out a sigh that makes him sound twenty years older, looking down at megumi with an expression that isn’t anything short of devotion. of pure adoration to the bundle of joy his wife brought into the world.
“wasn’t ready, but little guy’s mom—” the little guy in question has now decided the other man’s a better source of entertainment, a tirade of giggles leaving his chest while pudgy little fingers reach out to tug on sukuna’s lip ring. “lil’ guy’s mom needed me to be, so here i am. buying diapers and all that shit.”
“mm. makes sense.”
“what’s with the question, man? you plannin’ on settling down?” toji questions, letting out a quiet snort, “or did ya get a girl pregnant?” it’s spoken as nothing more than a joke, toji’s laugh echoing through the empty halls of the house.
sukuna doesn’t answer. he picks at the tab on his beer can, prying it off. trying to look everywhere but the man in front of him, focusing on the stupid painting choso put up on the wall. toji sees right through the little act, his laugh fading into a disbelieving scoff.
“no fucking way, man,” toji finally manages to get out, eyes practically the size of saucers. “congrats.” the pats on his back are awkward, unsure.
he only manages to get out a grunt of acknowledgment, “thanks man,” sukuna mutters out, arms coming to lay behind his head, “but i messed up. me and baby mama aren’t talking anymore.”
toji lets out a low whistle, taking a large swig of water. he tossed away the empty bottle, only adding to the mess already scattered around the coffee table. “what’d you do to her?”
“gave her a couple hundred bucks for the abortion and a happy meal. said i didn’t wanna be a dad,” sukuna merely shrugged in response, barely managing to avoid the punch toji sent to his arm.
“no shit she doesn’t want anything to do with you,” once again, toji does nothing but state the obvious.
“i know that much. don’t know how to be back in her life when she’s avoiding me like the plague.”
“you gotta apologize. say you’re sorry for bein’ a dick. let her know you wanna be a part of the baby’s life,” toji answered like it was the simplest thing in the world, like they were just discussing what to eat. “don’t expect her to let you back in, but show her you’re tryin.’”
the two of them continue to lounge around the couch for a while longer, cuing up a game of 2k on the communal playstation downstairs. megumi’s calm as long as he has his binky and his wolf themed pacifier, eyes closing blissfully. he doesn’t wake or cry even once, he just remains with one fist curled up against toji’s chest asleep.
“look man, just think about i said,” toji speaks up once he’s about to step out of the room, pacing around in circles to keep megumi asleep, “pregnancy’s hard and shit,” understatement of the year, “so think about ‘er and how she’s feeling.”
gojo’s getting all the moments that he’s missing out on, the moments that he should be by your side.
sukuna doesn’t get out of the car just yet. the engine runs on idle, his fingertips tapping against the steering wheel to the song playing on his speakers. the song ends far too quickly for his taste, going to the next one queued up on his playlist. he doesn’t tap his fingers to this one.
his hands run through his hair, pink ends sticking up in every direction. far too messy for his taste. he runs them through his hair again, a frustrated groan leaving his lips when they only get more messed up. after a few more times of doing so, he decides to let his hair be. he’s doing everything and anything to avoid getting out of the car just yet, even going as far to check his reflection in the car’s mirror.
a few people that he sees on campus roam around in and out of the building, the thought of any of them catching them with you nearly making him want to turn away and leave. but he lets that thought simmer down, shaking it away with a scoff. nobody would dare say anything to his face anyways.
“yo, what’re you doing with gojo?” too aggressive.
“c’mon ma. i’ll do anything to be part of the baby’s life again, i swear on my playstation.” too pathetic by his standards.
a few people stop in their paths to look through the window, confused at the man talking to himself and gesturing to nothing in particular. sukuna looks insane, he’s aware. this is what you’ve led him to. with one quick glare, the people staring are soon enough getting back on their merry way, pretending as if it never happened in the first place.
he crosses the road in quick strides, entering your dorm building as someone else is leaving. the floor smells like stale laundry, food containers spilling out of trash bins outside, paint peeling off the walls in thick sheets. sukuna really needed to figure out a better living arrangement for you.
he approaches the half bored ra sitting at their desk, not even giving him a glance as they continue to scroll through their phone. sukuna clears his throat obnoxiously so, garnering the attention of even those just passing by. “can i help you?”
sukuna gives them your name and a brief description of your appearance, able to get your room number with just a quick search. the elevator’s broken which leaves him going up the stairs, taking two at a time and avoiding the students coming down with heap after heap of laundry in their basket.
he doesn’t knock on the door just yet, listening to the chatter going on inside through paper thin walls. he hears your voice call out to shoko, a small laugh leaving your lips afterwards. it makes his chest clench. he amounts it to heartburn.
he really should stop drinking so much red bull. (it’s not the red bull.)
the longer that he stands here, the more underprepared that he feels. every apology he’d practiced in the car before coming up here faded from his memory, leaving him scrambling to try to find the pieces. the overpriced $10 bouquet he picked up from the gas station (the flowers are dying, he was in a rush), suddenly feels like too little.
just as soon as he’s about to leave your door and resign himself to a life of mediocre hookups and a life of not knowing his kid, he brings his hand up. knock. knock. just two short knocks to disrupt the routine you had going on, to disrupt the noise that was going on inside.
“are you expecting someone?” he hears shoko speak behind the door.
“no, let me check who it is though.”
the door swings open about five seconds the later, the smile on your face quickly fades away at the sight of sukuna standing at your door. your arms cross across your chest defensively, blocking yourself off from him. “what do you want.”
you spoke to sukuna like he was nothing more than a pest, nothing more than just a nuisance. but damn, if you didn’t look beautiful even while you were glaring daggers at him. after seeing only glimpses of you around campus, either with shoko or alone, this was a sight that was more than welcome.
it’s still early on in your pregnancy. maybe three, four months max. but given that the giant in front of you’s nearly seven feet tall, you’re already starting to show. not much, but a little bump peeks out underneath the oversized tee you had on.
you have a soft glow to your face that makeup couldn’t replicate, an aura that he wants nothing more than to bask in for as long as you’d let him. which apparently doesn’t seem like it’ll be long just based on the glare you’re shooting him.
“well?” you prompt, foot tapping against the hardwood floor. right, you wanted to know what he was doing here. sukuna swallowed dryly, holding the door open with his foot before you shut it in front of face. c’mon idiot, speak.
his grip on the bouquet of flowers in hand tightens, knuckles a shade of ghostly white. the flowers pathetically droop to one side, almost as pathetic as he feels standing in front of you again. he extends them out to you, watching as you take them with a wary gaze.
you don’t thank him—sukuna expects that much already, but you don’t throw them away. you simply set them aside like you’re still considering what to do with them. sukuna hopes you’ll give him that same amount of consideration.
he clears his throat, “our last conversation didn’t go well.” that earns a sharp scoff from you, seconds ticking down on an imaginary clock. still, he manages to continue, “i know i said i didn’t wanna be a dad. but i want to be a part of the baby’s life now. go to appointments with you and all the shit you’re doing with gojo.”
“so you’re only doing this because you’re jealous of gojo.” it’s not a question, it’s a simple observation. grass is green. the sky isn’t blue but rather a reflection of the sun’s rays on the earth’s atmosphere. and ryomen sukuna is fucking jealous of satoru gojo.
“yes, i am jealous,” the words come out like they’re being forced out of him, each syllable strained as it leaves his tongue. sukuna’s brows furrow, shaking his head before begrudgingly continuing, “i’m jealous that he’s getting everything i’m not.”
even if it’s well deserved, a little voice in his head spoke. he immediately shut that one down.
“and who’s fault is that?” you don’t miss the chance to respond, about to say more when your phone buzzes in your pocket. gojo.
five minutes away :3 i brought kikifuku don’t tell shoko
a small, involuntary smile forms on your face at the sight.
it’s become routine at this point—having him take you to your appointments and go out to eat after. maybe study for an upcoming exam, play a round of digimon until you had to keel over the toilet. it hasn’t been easy, by any means, even if you were just starting your first trimester, but shoko and gojo had been a great help through it all.
this month, gojo’s research had informed him that the embryo would start to turn into a fetus. that it would start to move around, grow nails and hair, that it would start to resemble, well, a baby.
“just tell him to fuck off,” sukuna speaks up, glaring at your phone like it personally offended him, “spend the day with me, mama. i’ll take you out and buy some baby clothes or whatever you want.”
you would’ve swooned to hear him say that two months ago. instead, you just feel a throbbing headache pounding at the back of your skull. and a strong urge to just punch him in the mouth.
and now you’re painfully aware that while the man in front of you has been absent and self centered, gojo had taken it upon himself to be someone that you could grow to depend on. offering a ride without so much as you needing to say a word, holding your hand throughout your appointments.
you couldn’t just bring yourself to tell him to turn around just because the big oaf feels threatened. feels entitled to come back into your life whenever he pleases, whenever he decides it’s not so much of a shame to be around you.
“i’m not going to say no to gojo just because you want to be a part of the baby’s life now,” you respond calmly, measured to a fault, “but if you’re really serious about trying to make this work, come to the baby shower in two weeks.”
not much, but an olive branch. a peace offering to help him prove himself.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋮ Sukuna's an angel. Or at least, that's what he used to be before he was cast out for his disobedience. He's dragging himself— torn and bloody through whatever godforsaken forest he had crashed in. Everything looks bleak for Sukuna until he spots your little cabin on the muddy riverbank. Perhaps you, the clumsy witch residing within its wooden walls, can grant him salvation.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋮ wc : 7.7k, a little self-indulgent whoops, angst (idk Sukuna gets kicked out of heaven), idk how coherent this plot is either pretend it happens in a span of months, religious themes, slight fluff, eventual smut, true form sukuna x fem!reader, descriptions of injuries, blood, two cocks (only one is used), oral (fem recieving), fingering, piv sex, slightly ooc
𝐚𝐧 ⋮ here is my own addition to my colour theory event. It took a while to get out and I'm still getting used to writing long oneshots. But I hope you like it, thanks for reading :)
(also idk who made that third image, I've tried looking everywhere but found nothing. If anyone knows, please lmk!!)
Angels were made not to feel arrogance, fury, pain — all those emotions that made us human.
Sukuna knew that was a lie the second he was cast out, the heavens above tearing his white wings straight from his back and leaving two gaping wounds in the process. The sky split as he fell, shaking the core of Earth itself with a blinding light surging through the gap left behind. It was the sort of light that burned through the fallen angel, all the way down to his very bones and set him alight from the inside.
Divinity unravelled into sin.
Sukuna's back throbbed in agony, a pained howl ripping through his throat as he continued to fall.
And fall.
And fall.
Wind lashed against his defiled body. The experts called this spectacle another shooting star, a meteor streaking its way through the night sky. Onlookers gasped in awe as he disappeared into the black horizon. They couldn't be further from the truth.
Sukuna kept falling — all the way until the taste of betrayal in his mouth turned into mud and dirt. He had crash landed into a forest in the death of night, a shell of what he once was. A crater had bloomed where he had landed, the forest ricocheting like shrapnel over him — yet Sukuna refused to succumb to the pain.
An unbridled rage gripped him as he lay there, twitching as the blood ran down his back.
How dare they?
He was made out of light, fire, and yet the heavens stripped him of his glory — all because he refused to submit to a lesser being made of clay. Sukuna's arrogance had resulted in him getting cast out, and to that he spat on the ground. What he had left was defiance as he pushed himself up, muscles rippling as his chest rose and fell shakily. His breath was ragged as his four red eyes scanned the dark surroundings.
Beneath him, the soil soaked in the red of his blood, the precious liquid having dripped out of his wounds where his wings should've been and down the curve of his spine. Dying alone here wasn't an option for Sukuna, however. He wasn't about to give the heavens a reason to rejoice. He wasn't about to prove their judgement of him as final.
That was why he grunted low, forcing himself to move despite the way his back screamed in protest. The effort was truly ugly — all the grace he had in his former body having evaporated out of him the second he was ousted.
Two of Sukuna's four palms skidded momentarily against the mud before he mustered up the energy to stand tall. He swayed once, then twice.
Sukuna did not fall.
Spite won over anything else, allowing the forest to part before him as he moved through it. The branches thwacked against Sukuna, until they gradually thinned and the stubborn roots began to lose their grip on the earth below. Moonlight washed over his body, baptising his nudity that he was so painfully aware of. He wasn't ashamed, not at all. Sukuna was irritated at this indignity bestowed upon him.
He pushed on, feeling the ground slope beneath his bare feet until the air grew clearer around him. It felt cooler, damp, and the odd sound of running water met Sukuna's ear. It was clear that the source came from a river now that he was face to face with it.
Water.
A pang of thirst hit him — something that he had never felt before his exile. Sukuna's body moved towards the source of life without thinking, until he had sank onto his knees and gulped until the liquid threatened to bubble back up. Only then did he rise once more, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand.
When he scanned the area once more, nothing in particular stood out. But then Sukuna's eyes widened, trying to make out the shape in the darkness that resembled something akin to shelter squatting by the riverbed. A faint glow bled through what must've been the windowpanes. Above sat a chimney from which light smoke curled out in thin tendrils that dissolved into nothingness.
It wasn't anything grand by any means, but it was enough. It felt alive, something Sukuna wasn't accustomed to yet. He stared after it for longer than he meant to, his scarred skin tense and prickling with something he couldn't name.
Each step grew heavier than the last as Sukuna set his target on the hut. He was still bleeding, still clinging onto survival — shaking violently as defiance mixed with exhaustion. Yet he dragged himself on, all the way until his knees finally gave out from exhaustion.
The night went on, swallowing the pitiful fallen angel's body. His nails dug into the dirt, and just for one hopeful second, Sukuna thinks he could pull himself back up like he has done before.
But he couldn't.
His eyes shut, and consciousness flickered away. The very last thing Sukuna was aware of was a feminine hum followed by a sharp gasp, a figure looming in front of him as he passed out.
For the first time since Sukuna fell, he didn't rise — not for a while.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"Why I outta— ah. You're awake, it seems."
Was he?
Sukuna's head swam, nausea hitting him as consciousness came floating back in small fragments. He found himself unable to breathe, body shooting upwards as a terrible cough wracked his lungs. The scent invading his body was herbal, bitter and left him gasping for air as you watched — clearly unimpressed.
"You can stop that, y'know," you muttered, cracking open a window and letting daylight in. "My precious herbs aren't that bad."
When the worst of the dry heaving had subsided, Sukuna grimaced, looking down to see his upper body bandaged and lower half covered with a blanket of some sorts. He then raised his head, taking in the wooden beams of what was presumably your hut. Oddities were strewn around everywhere in the small space, cluttering your living area with metal trinkets and hanging ropes of garlic amongst other things.
And then he registers something soft underneath his hulking body — a narrow bed that was almost folding in half because of his weight. Honestly, it was a miracle to you that it was still intact.
Above all else, one realisation had hit Sukuna — you had touched him.
His gaze snapped at you as you stood a few steps away by a cluttered table packed to the brim with various bottles.
"Woah, what's with the look?"
Sukuna's jaw tightened, and then he tried speaking. He cleared his throat, testing out the words on his tongue.
"I assume that you were the one to have . . . moved me."
You swallowed, choosing not to lie. There was no need to — you two were the only ones there for miles around. "That I did."
"That is rather bold of you to touch something that was once of pure divinity," Sukuna pointed out, shifting so that he was seated upright. The searing pain in his back had gone, replaced by a deep but manageable ache that seemed to resonate inside of him.
"Whatever you were, that doesn't matter now," you pointed out, unaware of his circumstances. "You landed on my property, all bloody and battered and you probably should take it easy for a while."
Sukuna's eyes narrowed at you as he attempted to stand. Immediately, a hiss left his throat.
"Don't move like that, you'll tear something." Your voice was firm as you stepped closer without thinking. Above his shoulder, your hand hovered in uncertainty — had you upset the man?
Sukuna sat back down begrudgingly, slightly stung at the dismissal of his status. The bed creaked once more in protest, and you swore you heard wood splintering somewhere. The sound made you grimace, yet your voice took on a more gentle tone. Something was clearly wrong with whoever this man is, and something in you said that he was capable of far more than he let on.
"Well . . . you can stay here as long as you like. Just be careful, please. I made this furniture myself and it took quite a while."
That got a different sort of reaction out of Sukuna. His mouth twitched — barely.
"You house a fallen angel," he mused, looking up at you, "and your flimsy chairs are your main concern?"
Your eyes widened, the pieces of the puzzle slowly connecting together in your mind. Fallen angel? Well, that would have explained the two large gashes on his back. "Is that what you really are, Mr . . . ?"
"Sukuna, and yes. That I am."
You mumbled out your own name, suddenly falling quiet as you took in this new revelation. Sukuna cocked his head, studying you curiously. "Your silence intrigues me. Tell me — should you not be scared, little one?"
"Of what?"
"Of what I am."
You thought for a second. It wasn't like you were completely unafraid of what Sukuna was — finding him in such a vulnerable state was more than a sure sign that danger lurked not too far away. But if you thought deeper . . .
"I'm well acquainted with things that are out of the ordinary," you explained, choosing your words carefully. "A fallen angel is bound to be another addition to that."
"And what makes you so special?"
"I didn't say I was special," you blurted, trying to preserve your image. "I'm just a witch— or, well, a practising one."
Sukuna hummed low, the sound rumbling in his chest.
"That explains the wards you have hung around this hut."
He wasn't wrong — for the sake of your safety, you had cast a ward many moons ago to keep out any negative energy away from you. Sukuna wasn't at all surprised that he had bypassed that. You had let him in willingly, after all. Whether that was a good choice on your end, well, time would have to tell.
"I didn't know you could see them."
"I can see many things the human eye cannot," he replied simply.
And then your mouth ran faster than your mind could, a sceptical look shooting Sukuna's way. "Doesn't seem that way to me, considering the fact that you crashed face first into the ground."
Silence.
You grimaced — it appeared that your horribly timed attempt at a joke didn't land well. No pun intended.
But unexpectedly, a rush of air left Sukuna's nose. It was short and sharp, more out of disbelief than anything else. It even startled him, making him adjust the mildly amused look on his face into one of irritation.
"Your mouth runs carelessly, little one," he said.
"Seems as though I'm not the only careless one around here." You were really testing the waters now.
Sukuna stared at you, so you stared back.
Really stared.
You thought he would retaliate, but he didn't. An awkward cough from you filled the silence. Then, some shuffling as you moved in place.
"Anyway," you said, "I've tended to your back as you can see.
"I can indeed," Sukuna said flatly. "I'm not quite fond of the . . . smell."
Figures.
A sigh left you as he watched you wander off, the sound of clinking meeting his pierced ears. When you came back, bottles of various liquids occupied the space in your hands — ranging from the deepest yellows to creamy whites. "These are just some home remedies I used after washing your back. I'll need to apply these again when I change your bandages."
"And when will you be doing that?"
"Now. Because as you can see, you're bleeding through the old—"
"Absolutely not."
A pause.
"Absolutely yes," you argued. "You may be of higher power but that doesn't mean you're invincible to infection, especially now that you're on my turf."
Sukuna simmered in his seat, refusing to look your way.
"I suppose you'd like to reopen all your wounds then?"
. . .
That got him to turn, just enough for you to carefully roll the bloodied bandages off his torso. You could ignore the four arms for now as you set the bottles of ointment to the side, face to face with the large gashes running down Sukuna's shoulder blades. The skin had split, making you wince as you tried not to focus too much on the injuries in front of you.
As you worked, your mind raced yet again — what atrocities had he committed to be deserving of such treatment?"
A grunt dragged you out of your thoughts. The ointment was slippery between your fingers and Sukuna's wounds stung terribly so as you applied it onto his skin. "If you could handle that fall, you can handle this, Sukuna."
"That does not mean I want to," he bit back as curtly as he could. It was all too much for the fallen angel, having wound up in some witches hut and being tended to like a stray dog. But what could he do except take it? That was why Sukuna stayed in his seat, body tense as he chose to restrain himself.
"There we go, nice and calm," you squinted, drying your hands clean and fetching a fresh roll of gauze to wrap around Sukuna.
"I am choosing patience," Sukuna gritted out, lifting up his arms one by one as you manoeuvred around him. You nodded, making sure he was securely patched up whilst the river outside continued to splash against the bank. The world around you both continued to move, and the heavens above remained a silent witness to what was going on with their fallen angel.
Sukuna — the being who had sworn not to kneel to anyone, remained in his seat on top of the creaking bed beneath your wandering hands.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Sukuna was making better progress than you had initially expected. Time trudged on, creeping in through the small things — like the light beams across your wooden floorboards shifting across your rooms. The river outside, too. It ebbed and flowed with each pass of the moon.
His bandages needed changing less often, slowly but surely. With the passing of time and somewhere between medicinal care to boiling weeds, living with Sukuna felt like less of a pressing matter and more of a routine.
A much welcome one, too.
It was far from a miracle the way Sukuna healed, but he was able to ignore the faint burn of the muscles of his back as he followed you around your hut. The skin had closed unevenly, causing it to scar and raise. That was a better outcome than infection, at least.
Soon enough, Sukuna picked up on your habits. Being cooped up with you made that easy, but not once did Sukuna intend for that to happen. He noticed that you woke up at precisely 5 a.m without fail, shuffling in and out of the bedroom you had so kindly given him as you went about your day.
You also had the tendency to speak to inanimate objects, banging pots and pans out of frustration when your spell casting didn't go right. Sometimes, you'd even practise in front of him — the former angel sitting there unimpressed as you tried potion-making.
His mouth would twitch without fail, every damn time when a plume of smoke would erupt in your face.
There were things about Sukuna you noticed as well. First of all, he hated wearing shirts. It took a lot of bribery on your end for him to let you fashion up a pair of loose pants for him to wear so that you didn't accidentally see them again. By them, you meant his twin pair of cocks. The imagery made you shudder, and it was one you would like to forget.
To compromise, he wore the baggy pants in exchange for being allowed to walk around topless. It was more 'freeing' for his four arms, which you supposed made sense. He sported quite a few tattoos he would rather not have explained, but at least they were nice to look at.
You also noticed how he liked to push your limits — doing nothing when you tripped over thin air or snagged your clothes against a stray hook in your usual fashion. He'd sit there, face passive and wondering how it was possible for you to be this unintentionally clumsy.
Oh, and he'd also push his body beyond the limits of what was acceptable, sending you into a panic whenever he feigned a grimace on his face.
"Don't push it, Ryomen," you warned, brows knitted as Sukuna tried walking the length of your hut without having to use your walls for support. He managed, but that didn't mean you couldn't see the sway in his step.
He scoffed, turning his head to look at you. "I am merely standing, little witch."
"You look like you're about to bolt out of my front door," you shot back, waving your favourite wooden stick at the man. "Sit."
Sukuna sat down without even realising, and when the realisation did hit — it was already too late.
You scurried off to make food, feeling a pang of hunger hit you, and Sukuna was also the perfect test subject for new recipes. He stayed rooted to the spot, bristling as a pang of annoyance hit him. He stayed quiet, staring into the wall and pretending not to notice how obedient he was around you.
Sometimes, silence was something you learned Sukuna needed. He'd have his off days, where his shoulders would hunch and the searing pain in his back would bring back spiteful memories of what had got him cast out of heaven. You would listen to Sukuna shift around until you found him in the morning sleeping upright.
His gaze would drift off, latch onto nothing as something ugly and scornful swirled beneath the red.
You never pried, no matter how much you wanted to.
Sukuna knew you wanted to as well, but you knew your limits. Those dark periods would pass, much like the rain over your hut, and everything was okay again — momentarily, but it was enough.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Sukuna was making better progress than you had initially expected. Time trudged on, creeping in through the small things — like the light beams across your wooden floorboards shifting across your rooms. The river outside, too. It ebbed and flowed with each pass of the moon.
His bandages needed changing less often, slowly but surely. With the passing of time and somewhere between medicinal care to boiling weeds, living with Sukuna felt like less of a pressing matter and more of a routine.
A much welcome one, too.
It was far from a miracle the way Sukuna healed, but he was able to ignore the faint burn of the muscles of his back as he followed you around your hut. The skin had closed unevenly, causing it to scar and raise. That was a better outcome than infection, at least.
Soon enough, Sukuna picked up on your habits. Being cooped up with you made that easy, but not once did Sukuna intend for that to happen. He noticed that you woke up at precisely 5 a.m without fail, shuffling in and out of the bedroom you had so kindly given him as you went about your day.
You also had the tendency to speak to inanimate objects, banging pots and pans out of frustration when your spell casting didn't go right. Sometimes, you'd even practise in front of him — the former angel sitting there unimpressed as you tried potion-making.
His mouth would twitch without fail, every damn time when a plume of smoke would erupt in your face.
There were things about Sukuna you noticed as well. First of all, he hated wearing shirts. It took a lot of bribery on your end for him to let you fashion up a pair of loose pants for him to wear so that you didn't accidentally see them again. By them, you meant his twin pair of cocks. The imagery made you shudder, and it was one you would like to forget.
To compromise, he wore the baggy pants in exchange for being allowed to walk around topless. It was more 'freeing' for his four arms, which you supposed made sense. He sported quite a few tattoos he would rather not have explained, but at least they were nice to look at.
You also noticed how he liked to push your limits — doing nothing when you tripped over thin air or snagged your clothes against a stray hook in your usual fashion. He'd sit there, face passive and wondering how it was possible for you to be this unintentionally clumsy.
Oh, and he'd also push his body beyond the limits of what was acceptable, sending you into a panic whenever he feigned a grimace on his face.
"Don't push it, Ryomen," you warned, brows knitted as Sukuna tried walking the length of your hut without having to use your walls for support. He managed, but that didn't mean you couldn't see the sway in his step.
He scoffed, turning his head to look at you. "I am merely standing, little witch."
"You look like you're about to bolt out of my front door," you shot back, waving your favourite wooden stick at the man. "Sit."
Sukuna sat down without even realising, and when the realisation did hit — it was already too late.
You scurried off to make food, feeling a pang of hunger hit you, and Sukuna was also the perfect test subject for new recipes. He stayed rooted to the spot, bristling as a pang of annoyance hit him. He stayed quiet, staring into the wall and pretending not to notice how obedient he was around you.
Sometimes, silence was something you learned Sukuna needed. He'd have his off days, where his shoulders would hunch and the searing pain in his back would bring back spiteful memories of what had got him cast out of heaven. You would listen to Sukuna shift around until you found him in the morning sleeping upright.
His gaze would drift off, latch onto nothing as something ugly and scornful swirled beneath the red.
You never pried, no matter how much you wanted to.
Sukuna knew you wanted to as well, but you knew your limits. Those dark periods would pass, much like the rain over your hut, and everything was okay again — momentarily, but it was enough.
"I just fixed that, Ryo," you complained, the nickname slipping out from between your lips like second nature. Perhaps it had been a couple of weeks since you had first begun to nurse Sukuna back to health. There had been no talks of sending him off elsewhere now that his condition had improved rapidly. Quite frankly, you didn't want him to go anywhere either. You told yourself he was quite good with the handiwork.
Except for now, that is.
A rake stood between you both, the wooden handle having splintered after Sukuna had taken it from your grasp. He had intended to rake up the leaves, but his grip was far too powerful. He patted the splinters off of his hand, staring down at the useless tool.
". . . I can fix it.
You let out a snort, shaking your head incredulously. "Not even my magic can turn that heap of firewood back into what it once was."
"Allow me to."
Sukuna's words made you cock a brow. "Do you really want to? I don't see any point—"
"This was my doing, so I will fix it," he said simply, as if he was telling you about his day. There wasn't any sort of challenge in his tone, which you could appreciate. It was simply just a matter of fact statement from Sukuna, to which you hesitated for only a second and nodded.
"Go ahead, then. But I'm putting you on time out if you break anything again."
Fair enough.
Sukuna was only gone momentarily as he returned with a branch. Without skipping a beat, he carefully fashioned a makeshift handle with his black nails and handed it to you before you could even process what he had done. You blinked then shifted out of neutral, wrenching the old splintered handle out of the rake and replacing it.
Lo and behold, it was completely functional.
"Well, would you look at that," you chuckled in disbelief, inspecting the rake from all angles. Sukuna reached out, intending to take the rake from you so that he could try out raking again — but then he stopped.
"Show me."
You gawked up at Sukuna, evidently startled.
"What do you mean 'show me'?"
"How you wish for me to rake your garden," he lifted up all four of his eyes off of the ground to meet yours, clarifying what he meant. "I do not wish to make the same mistake as before."
A smile broke out on your face then before you pursed your lips, not wanting to annoy the man. You demonstrated, opening your fist then closing it gently around the rake handle. Sukuna watched attentively before you handed the tool back to him. Your fingers brushed against his — and he went very, very still.
"Ah, ah. Gently. You don't need to flex your hand so hard."
Your fingers carefully adjusted his, until you could no longer see the wood threatening to bend under his grip again. Somewhere under your conscious, you noticed how Sukuna's breathing had deepened, but you were more focused on the way he mimicked your prior movements with utmost care.
The rake held in his grip.
"There you go! I told you not everything needs brute force."
Sukuna regarded the rake with thinly-veiled interest and turned his nose up. "Control, little witch," he murmured softly, "is incredibly difficult."
"Yes, but you're learning. Within time, you'll be able to handle anything with utmost care."
An odd look passed over Sukuna's face at that. He seemed almost pleased at your praise. That was why he went back to raking in silence as you supervised. His biceps flexed and relaxed with each almost reverent pull of his arms over the leaves. Something akin to affection settled in your chest, to which you swept away much like Sukuna was doing with the leaves.
When he had finished, he carefully propped the rake against the wall of your hut and turned in your direction.
"Is this acceptable?"
You nodded, quite pleased with how it had all turned out. "Of course. You did a great job, Ryo."
At the nickname, something in Sukuna stirred. He felt as if he had a purpose once more, and the feeling was addicting. A thoughtful yet dark look passed over his eyes before he turned his head away and nodded. "Then I will remember for next time," he said quietly.
He really did — having been caught by you several times testing out his grip on various items in your home. And each time without fail, your pulse picked up at the sight.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Church bells.
The sound was wrong in Sukuna's head.
It started off quiet at first — just a simple, distant toll that echoed all the way until the sound weaved its way through the forest. It hit your hut, making your head perk up one lazy morning whilst Sukuna picked berries off a nearby shrub. You frowned, trying to put a finger on what could possibly be going on.
"You hear that, right?"
Of course he did. How could he not?
The second ring of the bell resonated back into Sukuna, the sound too sharp as it pressed against his skull and branded him in a way that made his vision spark out at the edges. Before he knew it, Sukuna was shaking — his body having reacted before his mind could.
The air around him grew hot, until sweat beaded at his temple and rolled off in slick streams.
The third toll of the bell would prove to be Sukuna's unravelling, the ground under his feet cracking with a dry, splintering sound. His muscles spasmed painfully — causing a low snarl to claw its way out of his throat before he could swallow it back.
"Sukuna—?"
You were visibly startled at what was going on, looking at the increasingly hateful look on the former angel's face. The bell tolled once more, striking through flesh and bone and reigniting old pain on the scars on his back.
As if heaven itself was reminding him of his cursed status once more.
Your face paled, reminded of the wards that were around your hut. The air seemed to hold its breath, reacting to the unholy presence Sukuna was bleeding out onto your land.
"Sukuna," you called out firmer this time. Despite your common sense screaming at you not to approach him, you did. "What is that? What— are you okay?"
Before you could blink, he turned to face you. For the duration of a heartbeat, you could see something feral in Sukuna's eyes — something that was ancient and powerful and most likely forged from the depths of hell itself.
"Do not dare come close to me."
You flinched — wondering what on earth had come over you.
And then the bells rang again, the realisation hitting you like a bucket of cold water. In between your wards and what was most likely wedding bells, Sukuna fought the innate urge to kneel — pummelled by the weight of reminder of exile once more.
Sukuna didn't look at you when he spoke once more, his words landing heavily between you. He didn't speak out of anger this time — but out of finality.
"I should not have stayed this long around you. The heavens have noticed, and you are not safe with me."
You opened your mouth to speak, blood rushing to your head as you tried making sense of Sukuna's sudden collapse. Then, he cut you off.
"I should not have stayed this long," he repeated, getting off of his knees with his shoulders squared. You stared after him, in utter disbelief as he walked towards the forest and let it swallow him whole. And whilst the bell kept ringing in the distance, a sickening feeling bubbled up in your gut — making you follow shortly after.
Perhaps your inability to think rationally was the sole reason why you were able to follow Sukuna. He had made incredible progress, light almost invisible the deeper you went. But the claw marks on the bark of the trees served as your guide as the bell chimed once more. The sound may have been muffled now, but it was no less potent — dragging out noises so visceral from Sukuna's chest.
"Sukuna?" You called out, frustrated grunts leaving you as you nearly tripped over a tangle of branches.
Not once did Sukuna stop.
He was in your line of sight now, which had to count as something. It was a marvel that he was still moving, all the way up until he reached a crater in the ground.
Sukuna then staggered in his step. You almost slipped in mud, yet pushed on.
The man dropped onto one knee, exhaling sharply and wincing like it hurt for him to do so. Sukuna's nails tore through the dirt, like it'd anchor him — but to no avail.
This happened all whilst the bells echoed over and over, but this time? Sukuna openly let his body shake as you came closer yet again.
"Do not—," he croaked, cursing your stubbornness. "I am warning you again. Do not come any closer if you value your life."
You did slow, yes. But did you stop?
No.
"You can't even stand, Ryo," you stammered, trying your hardest to keep your voice steady. As always, Sukuna shook his head, attempting to hide his evident weakness.
"And since when has that ever been your concern?"
"Since you landed in front of my hut all those moons ago," you vented, throwing your hands up in the air. How ridiculous.
Another toll interrupted you, causing Sukuna to grind his teeth down until something in his jaw cracked. All four arms braced against the forest floor, back bowing almost violently. It hurt to watch.
"You do not understand. You will never understand," Sukuna snarled, teeth digging into his tongue. His anguish was evident, rendering you speechless in its intensity. "This-this darned sound. It kills me."
"So let it. I'll figure out the rest."
Your words, incredibly foolish, got his attention. He looked up, red eyes bloodshot as disbelief crossed the pained lines on his face.
"Stupid witch. You are nothing short of reckless."
"I know, but I'd rather you let me try something instead of trying to deal with it all alone."
Ring.
Whatever little control Sukuna had left had vanished into nothingness — causing his entire body to give out. You were positive he could hear your heart beating erratically in your chest as you cursed and tried dragging him to a nearby tree. It didn't work — Sukuna's body was nothing short of dead weight.
"Fuck—," you gritted out, choosing the second best option. You propped him up against you, letting him slump against your front — his forehead on your shoulder. A low sound left Sukuna then — broken and agonised.
"Sukuna," you whispered, not exactly expecting a response.
He didn't.
Without hesitation, you gently pressed your warm palms over Sukuna's ears after ridding them of any mud. He stiffened in your hold as you both sat there in the forest, taking in the way the sound of the bell dulled considerably — enough to give him some relief. What once was laboured breathing that rattled him to the core, turned into something uneven yet steady at long last.
"We can just stay here until the bell stops," you murmured, eyes honed in on Sukuna. For a long, heavy minute, he didn't move.
But then more of his weight shifted onto you. You grunted, deciding to just let him be. You didn't know how much time had passed, but when you finally were able to remove your hands?
Sukuna didn't move.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Days passed.
Sukuna was okay again, but there was one thing nagging in his mind. He brought it up one evening as you tapped away at one of the loose floorboards with a hammer.
"You have removed the wards," he mentioned casually.
. . .
"Yeah, of course," you said without looking up. The hammer continued to strike the nail, digging it further in place as Sukuna watched intently.
"And you did so knowing of what I'm capable of. What other dangers linger outside of your door."
Sukuna was right — by removing those very wards that had kept you safe for so long, you were inviting all sorts of dangers in. But none of that seemed to matter. Not anymore.
"Well, they hurt you," you shrugged, setting the hammer down once you were done. "I didn't want to keep something like that around."
Sukuna's eyes dropped to your hands, the same ones that took care of him without hesitation, without expecting anything back in return.
"You touched me back then," he continued. "I explicitly told you not to come near me, yet you did anyway."
You gnawed on your lower lip, shaking your head. Did he seriously expect you to just leave him there?
"You were in pain. What else did you want me to do?"
"That is no excuse, little witch," Sukuna pressed on — but there wasn't any ounce of hostility in his voice. "I do not recall you asking for permission to touch me like that."
That got you to stand up and truly look at Sukuna in the eyes. "And if I did ask for permission that day, would you have said no to me?"
He didn't answer, not right away. The river outside seemed to grow louder, overtaking the silence as you waited for a response. And a response he gave, even if it was far from what you had expected him to say.
"No. Not at all."
The words settled over you both, solidifying whatever odd bond was between you.
"Then don't expect an apology from me," you grinned slightly. Sukuna only stared back, a fond look crossing his face. "You won't get one."
"I cannot help but question why you are not afraid."
"I was, actually," you corrected gently. "But that wasn't enough for me to leave you in that state."
"And so you stayed." Sukuna's voice dropped into a quiet murmur. "You covered my ears in that forest when you could have simply left me, and you stayed."
"Of course I did, and I'd do it again. You needed someone back there, Ryo."
Silence.
"And what about now, little witch?"
A dangerously loaded question indeed, but you were not one to shy away from anything that much was clear.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"I find myself liking your touch more than I should. Why is that?" Sukuna teased one evening. You were sitting with him, legs against his as you stitched up a tear in his pants. You didn't want to answer that — solely because you didn't trust your mouth to say anything rational.
Sukuna let out a whistle of air through his noise out of amusement. "Your silence says more than any words you give me the pleasure of hearing."
"Can you just go back to disliking idle chatter? You talk too much," you huffed, tugging the needle through the fabric and ignoring the heat flooding onto your face.
"Ah, but look who remains seated by my side," Sukuna remarked coyly. He shifted ever so slightly, causing your thigh to rest against his bulky one.
It's just an accident, that's all, you told yourself — but neither of you corrected your direct physical contact. You pulled the thread a tad too strongly, movements faltering because of him. You cursed, adjusting your grip on the needle.
"Careful," Sukuna warned. "You will end up hurting yourself."
"Well, then stop distracting me," you scoffed, shooting a half-hearted glare his way.
"Oh? Am I distracting you?" Sukuna tilted his head to look down at you, all four of his eyes studying you with an intensity that made your stomach twist almost pleasurably. "I am simply sitting still. You are the one shaking, little witch."
"Excuse me? I am not shaking—"
"You most definitely are shaking."
You exhaled shakily, finishing off the last stitch before packing your needle and thread way in the cookie tin you kept them in. "You should stop staring at me like that, then."
"Like how?"
"Like you're a pervert who's about to touch me."
That elicited a throaty chuckle from the former angel next to you, which was the happiest he's ever sounded. "I would not have called it perverse. I thought I was becoming rather acquainted with what you humans call 'intimacy'."
Sukuna's words had your pulse quickening almost drastically. It was difficult to navigate this entire situation with a being as unstable as him, but the thrill was like no other. You dared to glance his way, eyes meeting red.
"Since when did you care about intimacy?"
"Since I met you."
Sukuna leaned back, one arm thrown over the back of your patchwork couch behind you. You willed your mouth to move, finding that it had suddenly run dry. "You sound almost sincere, y'know. I could almost believe that you're not joking."
"When have I ever been one to crack jokes like this around you?"
In your silence, Sukuna pressed on.
"I crave your touch more than I have ever craved the validation of the so-called God that cast me aside like nothing. You quietened the burn in me, little witch, and I find myself reluctant to be anywhere but here."
When you refused to look at him, Sukuna had to take matters into his own hands. He had spent many nights contemplating your dynamic, knowing that you were just what he needed to tether himself to earth. Yes, it was selfish, but Sukuna was also a risk taker — and he'd do anything to prove himself worthy of your affection.
With that, Sukuna removed himself off of his couch and kneeled between your legs. You spluttered, accidentally kicking out of shock. This prompted him to gently grab your foot with a practised softness, two of his four hands kneading at your calf. "You can't possibly be serious—"
"I am. And I intend on showing you my devotion."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
"I find myself liking your touch more than I should. Why is that?" Sukuna teased one evening. You were sitting with him, legs against his as you stitched up a tear in his pants. You didn't want to answer that — solely because you didn't trust your mouth to say anything rational.
Sukuna let out a whistle of air through his noise out of amusement. "Your silence says more than any words you give me the pleasure of hearing."
"Can you just go back to disliking idle chatter? You talk too much," you huffed, tugging the needle through the fabric and ignoring the heat flooding onto your face.
"Ah, but look who remains seated by my side," Sukuna remarked coyly. He shifted ever so slightly, causing your thigh to rest against his bulky one.
It's just an accident, that's all, you told yourself — but neither of you corrected your direct physical contact. You pulled the thread a tad too strongly, movements faltering because of him. You cursed, adjusting your grip on the needle.
"Careful," Sukuna warned. "You will end up hurting yourself."
"Well, then stop distracting me," you scoffed, shooting a half-hearted glare his way.
"Oh? Am I distracting you?" Sukuna tilted his head to look down at you, all four of his eyes studying you with an intensity that made your stomach twist almost pleasurably. "I am simply sitting still. You are the one shaking, little witch."
"Excuse me? I am not shaking—"
"You most definitely are shaking."
You exhaled shakily, finishing off the last stitch before packing your needle and thread way in the cookie tin you kept them in. "You should stop staring at me like that, then."
"Like how?"
"Like you're a pervert who's about to touch me."
That elicited a throaty chuckle from the former angel next to you, which was the happiest he's ever sounded. "I would not have called it perverse. I thought I was becoming rather acquainted with what you humans call 'intimacy'."
Sukuna's words had your pulse quickening almost drastically. It was difficult to navigate this entire situation with a being as unstable as him, but the thrill was like no other. You dared to glance his way, eyes meeting red.
"Since when did you care about intimacy?"
"Since I met you."
Sukuna leaned back, one arm thrown over the back of your patchwork couch behind you. You willed your mouth to move, finding that it had suddenly run dry. "You sound almost sincere, y'know. I could almost believe that you're not joking."
"When have I ever been one to crack jokes like this around you?"
In your silence, Sukuna pressed on.
"I crave your touch more than I have ever craved the validation of the so-called God that cast me aside like nothing. You quietened the burn in me, little witch, and I find myself reluctant to be anywhere but here."
When you refused to look at him, Sukuna had to take matters into his own hands. He had spent many nights contemplating your dynamic, knowing that you were just what he needed to tether himself to earth. Yes, it was selfish, but Sukuna was also a risk taker — and he'd do anything to prove himself worthy of your affection.
With that, Sukuna removed himself off of his couch and kneeled between your legs. You spluttered, accidentally kicking out of shock. This prompted him to gently grab your foot with a practised softness, two of his four hands kneading at your calf. "You can't possibly be serious—"
"I am. And I intend on showing you my devotion."
Sukuna stayed true to his word.
Curiosity won over, melting with the innate urge to love you the way he deemed fit. Of course there was a more romantic way to go about it, but having his mouth on your cunt was heavenly — pardon my language.
He stayed on his knees as if he was in worship, hands having settled on your waist after dragging you off the very edge of your couch. The springs groaned, inaudible as Sukuna's mouth latched onto your pussy after spreading your lips open with two thick thumbs. His tongue was nothing short of thorough, exploring each and every fold despite inexperience rendering his movements sloppy.
But that was how you liked it — it was raw, sincere. You cried out, one hand bullying its way into Sukuna's hair and tugging as his lips found your clit. "So eager for me already. I must be doing something right."
And he was — languidly sucking your clit into his mouth and grazing it with his sharp teeth. "Oh, God," you keened out, back arching off the couch. Your whines melted into a sharp squeal when Sukuna slapped the side of your thigh.
"Language."
"My bad— ahhh," you choked out, feeling one thick finger slide deep into your cunt. It appeared that Sukuna's nails had retracted, leaving you to writhe and clench around his digits as they explored your gummy walls.
Sukuna hadn't felt a heat like this before, and quite frankly — he was addicted. He was inexperienced when it came to the subject of sex, but gazing down on humanity for as long as he used to had given him enough of an idea of what to do.
Sukuna stood up, hands now gripping your ass as he folded you in half and plunged his tongue in. He loomed over, drinking each and every drop of moisture your pussy had to give him. Your legs twitched, hooking over his shoulders and around his neck to lock him in place. The fallen angel couldn't breathe — but he had never felt so alive in his cursed existence.
"Th-that's so filthy Ryo . . ."
Your voice cracked at the nickname, eyes lidded at the way he parted from you with a wet pwah. Sukuna had pulled back enough, revealing his wet, tattooed chin and glossy strands of your slick connecting his face to your mound.
"Filthy," he mocked, licking a fat stripe up the expanse of your aching pussy. "I am worshipping you, my dear witch — and not even the heavens above can drag me away from you."
He was serious, too, drawing out shrill cries that sounded more divine than any choir he had ever heard. Sukuna was dead set on drawing one orgasm out of you with his tongue first before even beginning to think about his own stirring of his loins.
And that he did — curling his tongue deep within as your first orgasm washed over you. It was so incredibly hot, the way the sensation seemed to clutch at your womb before spreading throughout the rest of your body. Sukuna's mouth didn't stop, not until you were sobbing out weakly from overstimulation. It was only then he set you back down on the couch, casting his eyes down on the prominent tent both cocks had formed.
You noticed too — mustering up enough energy to sit up and tug at the drawstrings.
"Come here," you rasped. "Please."
Sukuna swallowed, nodding as the feeling of instability cascaded over him for the first time in weeks. But when he lowered himself down once more, forehead against yours as he freed both cocks — he felt anchored to you once more. His lips found yours, slow but steady in its movement, and you kissed back.
The sound of your lips on his, smacking and tugging eagerly filled the room, accompanied by a surprised yet pleased moan at the way you could taste yourself on his tongue. "You're shaking, Ryo."
"I know, I know," Sukuna whispered, drawing your lower lip into his mouth. "You have that effect on me, my dear."
His kisses resumed, all whilst a hand tangled in your hair before settling around your throat like a rosary. Sukuna didn't squeeze — he simply let his hand stay there, feeling the way your pulse felt so alive under his hand. He revelled in the way that he was the one making you feel like this.
When he finally pulled off of you with a final kiss to your temple, Sukuna's weeping tip smooched the entrance of where he so desperately wanted to be inside of. It caught against the rim of your hole, popping in ever so slightly before he backed off. It was too much for the man, his hips beginning to move on their own.
"You want this, right? Please tell me you do," he begged through gritted teeth. You clenched around Sukuna, trying your hardest to suck him back into your warmth.
"If you do not fuck me right now, I swear—"
Again, that was all the confirmation Sukuna needed. He only needed to use one cock, the upper one having been jerked off by one of his free hands.
A brief panic flooded you when he pushed in, pussy convulsing as you tried adjusting to his inhuman size. But you could handle it — Sukuna knew you could as his fourth hand travelled down to grope at a breast. He rolled a taut nipple under his palm while you clawed at his bare forearms, relishing in the mild pain before his fingers found your clit. The relief that flooded him was almost unbearable as your mild discomfort ebbed away into growing pleasure.
That was when Sukuna finally let go.
His name left your mouth half garbled as he bottomed out into you, your pussy stretching in ways it never had before.
"F-fuck, Ryo—"
Sukuna had to still, the two of you panting in near unison as you processed the feeling of his blunt head almost kissing against your cervix. Each plump vein adorning his cock had you fluttering around Sukuna, making him drop down and press his forehead to yours once more. His breathing came out ragged, four eyes having squeezed shut as he processed the feeling of being inside someone for the first time.
"You are so-so warm," he uttered. "You feel so alive."
You didn't have a chance to respond, hips bucking as Sukuna withdrew his hips. The dragging pull out of you felt like an eternity before he fucked back inside — making you feel each aching inch that he reserved for you alone. Sukuna watched the way your pussy clung onto him, etching the way it sucked him back into his memory.
Then, he saw the way your eyes threatened to shut on him, a blissed-out look crossing your face as his thrusts grew in tempo. Sukuna rolled your clit between his fingers, making you gasp sharply and come back to reality.
"Eyes on me," he drawled, hips not stopping for even a second. "I want to be the one you look at when— fuck, I make you fall apart on my cock."
You don't know where he had learned to talk like that, but it wasn't like you minded. After all, Sukuna had noticed you get increasingly more wet, making the glide all that more delicious as he rutted into you. The slick sounds of skin meeting skin filled the hut, obscene in all its glory. It felt primal, and Sukuna had truly never felt better.
At one point, Sukuna had lost himself so deep within the throes of pleasure, and his mouth had started to run. "Tell me, I need to hear it," he asked greedily, desperately. "Would you damn yourself for this? For me?"
A laugh left you, shaky and delirious as you nodded. "Yesyesyes, mmh. D-don't stop please," you gasped out, clutching onto Sukuna like he was your lifeline. "Heaven is right here with me, Ryo—"
That was all it took for Sukuna's entire pace to change. He fucked you like a man possessed, driven by the carnal need to mould your pussy to the shape of his thrusts. His upper cock leaked profusely, smearing the bulge in your belly with pearly white.
Heaven, heaven, absolute. Fucking. Heaven.
You had spoken the truth — it was right there with you both. Sukuna buried his flushed face in the crook of your neck, biting down with as much restraint as he could manage and littering your neck with a scattering of marks. "My salvation."
One hand splayed over your stomach, pressing down as you cried out for the nth time. Orgasms had bled into each other, until your nails had raked down the healed scars on Sukuna's back. It was that sensation alone that elicited a full body shudder from the former angel.
A warmth filled you up from the inside, your vision blacking out as you came alongside Sukuna. He stayed buried deep, having slotted his lips against yours but not moving. You were cocooned within his safe arms, your head cradled in one of his hands. You both twitched against each other, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm and taking in the way Sukuna's cock continued to leak steady roped of cum.
Neither of you moved right away either. Sukuna stayed where he was, half kneeling and half slumped over you.
Then he slid out of you, gently hushing you when you grimaced at the floods of cum that seeped out of your hole and leaked into the couch. Well, it was due time for it to be replaced anyway.
Despite having pulled out, Sukuna didn't stray too far away from you — taking a long moment to catch his breath with you seated firmly on his lap. Aftercare was a concept foreign to him, but he'd figure something out — somehow.
"You're very . . . quiet right now," you mumbled hoarsely, prodding fun at the man.
He did that thing again instead of laughing outright — exhaling through his nostrils in fond amusement. "I am listening to your heartbeat, my dear witch. Do not interrupt me now."
You grabbed one of his hands, placing it atop of your bare chest and letting him feel your pulse properly.
"Like this," you coaxed, looking up at him. The river outside continued to ebb and flow, the water curling against the riverbank the way your fingers did around Sukuna's tattooed wrist. He closed his eyes and hummed, relishing in calm after the storm.
For the very first time since his fall, Sukuna felt no pain in the silence that followed.
King Sukuna may be promised to marry the most perfect match - a princess from another country - but how can he think of that when his thick, veiny cock is buried inside his cute little servant?
The way you clench him as he pounds you into his elegant bed, the skin smacking and squelching wetness echoing in his chambers. He's pussy drunk every time he sinks into you, every glide of his length in the gummy walls of your cute little cunt.
How you pull away just a bit when he hits that puffy cervix, earning his chuckle. He's laying prone over you, long fingers entwine with yours. "Ah ah, don't run away from it, brat, can't you take me? Thought you wanted me to break you, fuck you dumb?"
Of course you did - how could you not want to forget the fact that soon you couldn't be with your King? That you wouldn't have his heavy weight over you, his fingers wrapping your throat, the impossibly huge cock breaking you in half? How could you not want the one or two little kisses he bestows, as he lays prone on you, brushing aside your hair?
Some would say he did it almost sweetly, reverently kissing the back of your neck for just a moment before moaning, reaching around to slip a hand over your stomach, trailing to your neglected clit.
A king's hands shouldn't be so rough - but this was Ryomen Sukuna.
"You're gonna miss me, huh? Hah - you're such a desperate, needy slut, my slut. All mine. Mine, huh?" He acts in control, like every stroke of his cock in your quivering, slick hole wasn't ruining him. "Say it."
"M'not yours though," he slams harder, your head falls back against his tattooed chest. "Not after the ceremony. Not... nghh!"
He rolls the rough pad of his fingertips on your clit which twitches against him, cunt drooling, his other hand wrapping your delicate neck - just one squeeze and the King could surely snap it. You're so full of him you gasp, losing oxygen as he takes you over.
"No one will fuck you like this, not that butler, not the stable boy, not anyone. No one will fill your needy cunt like your king," he's desperate to forget, fucking you harder now, choking you with his red lips against your ear. "Mine, fuck you're all mine."
You wish you were
You wish you didn't love King Sukuna wrecking your cunt like he does, wish one order of - 'come' - wouldn't ruin you the way it does. Wish his little pet name of princess would be true - but how could it be?
You're just a maid after all.
"Come now, fuck lemme feel it one more time,"
There are times when Sukuna let's go, needy and desperate, a whimper that will escape even while almost all seven feet of this man is taking you over. He's hard to take, the way you black out and it's only him, how you shatter and milk his cock, the pleasure rushing through your body.
"That's it, fuck, perfect cunt... my princess milks me like that?"
He shouldn't say that - even mid stroke and screaming out under the heavy, muscled body you could almost believe it. A fairy tale where you're really his.
Sukuna makes sure you come twice, he's never not let you, rolling familiar patterns on your clit as he fucks you deeper into that soft matress in his bed chambers. His pink locks brush your skin, ruby eyes shut as he holds everything back.
He pulls out of your messy hole, dripping down on his dark purple sheets, arching your ass up that's marked with raised hand prints. He murmurs your name as he jerks his thick, veiny cock, that reddened tip just pouring cum in pretty patterns across your back.
Sukuna exhales, pleasure washing over him with his release. Then reality hits.
Not being able to stuff you full of heirs and knowing he cannot is a cruel fucking joke.
Tonight he's sweeter than usual, cleaning you up carefully with a wet washcloth, he's quiet when he dresses you up - wishing you were wearing a beautiful gown and not a simple black maid dress. When you lean up to kiss him on your tip toes, he drags you close, giving you a rare kiss that you so desperately need, swallowing nervously when you back away.
"I will be leaving soon, I cannot take seeing..." You trail off, his jaw sets, eyes widening, the ruby depths glinting as you drop his hand, turning. "Farewell my king."
He says your name and you almost stay - looking at the man you love sadly, kmowing you were lucky to have had any of it. "Don't... you can't just... I order you-"
"Your majesty," you turn and curtsey, he laughs without humor, hands clenched into fists, as tears streak down your pretty face. "It was an honor to have served you, truly. I shall not forget you, my King."
You walk out.
How can Sukuna let you go, let you leave!? He can't.
Sukuna destroys everything in his room as you choke on your sobs. You fall asleep eventually in your tiny little bed in the servant's quarters, him on the floor, after he'd broken everything in his damn room. All you can hope is you get out of this palace before you have to see it - the love of your life marrying a beautiful princess from a far off land, while you clean their floors.
****
Future story ideas of mine - sry for the angst i'm in a mood 😭😅
the soft glow of your bedside lamp painted the room in warm, honeyed tones. you were curled up against megumi’s side, his arm a comforting weight around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.
for months, this had been your sanctuary. you’d explored every inch of each other with hands and mouths, learned every secret, every sensitive spot that made each other gasp.
but there was one final line you hadn’t crossed, a threshold that both terrified and exhilarated you.
he knew, of course. megumi knew everything about you. he never pushed, never pressured. he was a steady, patient presence, waiting for you to be ready.
tonight felt different.
a current of anticipation hummed beneath the comfortable silence. he turned his head, his dark eyes finding yours in the dim light. he didn't say anything, just leaned in and captured your lips.
this kiss was different from the usual soft, sweet presses. it was deeper, more demanding.
his tongue traced the seam of your lips, a silent question that you answered by parting them.
he slid into your mouth, hot and heavy, and a soft sigh escaped you. he kissed you slowly, thoroughly, his tongue stroking against yours in a way that was both possessive and tender.
it was a deep, wet, heavy-tongued exploration that left you breathless and aching for more.
when he finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected you for a moment before breaking. you were both panting slightly, your lips swollen and tingling.
“y/n can i ask you something?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, roughened by the kiss.
you hummed in response, still dazed, nuzzling into the warmth of his neck.
“i was thinking, maybe we could try something,” he said, his tone careful, measured. “if you want to. we don’t have to.”
you lifted your head to look at him, your heart starting to beat a little faster. his dark eyes were soft, full of a gentle warmth that always made you feel safe.
“what kind of something?”
he hesitated, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
“i could, yk like teach you. how to be in control. that way, you set the pace. you decide what feels good, how fast, how deep. it would all be you.”
the idea sent a jolt of heat through you. being in charge, with him as your guide? it was both terrifying and incredibly tempting.
to be the one to take your own virginity, with him there to catch you.
“okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
a slow, relieved smile spread across his face. he leaned in and kissed you again, a soft, lingering press of his lips that was full of unspoken promises. “okay,” he echoed. “just tell me if you want to stop at any point. anytime.”
he shifted, laying back against the pillows and pulling you to straddle his lap. the position felt intimate, powerful. you were hovering over him, his hands resting gently on your hips, grounding you.
he was already hard, a firm pressure against your core, and you could feel the heat of him even through your clothes.
“just relax pretty baby,” he coaxed, his thumbs stroking your skin. “we’ll go slow, i promise.”
he helped you shed your clothes, his touch reverent, his gaze never leaving yours. when you were both bare, he reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom and rolling it on with practiced ease.
his movements sure and steady.
“alright,” he said, his voice soft. “whenever youre ready. just lower yourself down. nice and slow okay?”
you took a shaky breath, positioning yourself above him. you could feel the blunt head of him pressing against your entrance. your body tensed instinctively.
“hey,” he said gently, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek. “look at me—just me. breathe with me.”
you met his gaze, and the nervousness began to ebb away, replaced by a wave of affection. you took a deep breath, mirroring the one he took, and began to lower yourself.
it was a strange, stretching sensation. a dull ache that bloomed as you took him in, inch by agonizing inch. megumi’s hands tightened on your hips, not to guide you, but to steady you.
his jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with a mixture of pleasure and intense concentration.
“youre doing so good baby,” he breathed, his voice strained. “just like that.”
you sank down the final few inches, a gasp escaping your lips as u fully enveloped him. you were completely still, adjusting to the foreign, full feeling.
you were connected to him in a way you never had been, a deep, intimate joining that made your head spin.
“you ok?” he asked, his thumb stroking ur hipbone.
you nodded, unable to speak. you felt shy, exposed, but also powerful.
“try moving,” he encouraged softly. “just a little, rock your hips.”
you did as he said, a slow, experimental roll of your hips. a spark of pleasure shot through you, surprising you with its intensity. you did it again, a little more confident this time, and the spark grew into a warm, spreading heat.
“yeah,” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “just like that, fuck—u feel so good baby.”
his praise was like fuel. you started to find a rhythm, a slow rise and fall that had you both breathing heavily.
megumi’s hands roamed over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they were pebbled and sensitive.
he was letting you lead, letting you explore, but he was still there, his touch a constant, grounding presence.
the pleasure built steadily, a tightening coil in your stomach. you could feel megumi getting closer, too, his breathing growing ragged, his hips starting to twitch up to meet yours.
“gumi,” you whimpered, your rhythm starting to falter as the pleasure overwhelmed you.
“its okay baby, i got you,” he panted, his hands gripping your hips. he began to guide you, helping you move faster, deeper.
the coil in your stomach snapped, and you cried out his name as your orgasm washed over you, a powerful, all-consuming wave of pleasure.
your body clenched around him, and with a hoarse groan, he followed you over the edge. you felt him pulse inside you, his body shuddering beneath you as he came.
he held you tight, his face buried in your chest as you both rode out the aftershocks.
you collapsed against him, your limbs feeling like jelly. he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both struggled to catch your breath.
he was the first to move, gently easing you off of him and disposing of the condom. he pulled you back into his arms, tucking the blanket around you. you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
“you okay?” he asked, his voice soft as he stroked your hair.
you nodded, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “im more than okay.”
he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “good,” he murmured. “you were perfect.”
you lay in comfortable silence for a while, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your first time.
you felt cherished, safe, and utterly boneless. but then, you felt a shift. megumi’s hand, which had been stroking your hair, began to trail down your spine, his touch sending a new wave of warmth through you.
he gently shifted you, rolling you onto your back. he propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with an expression that was both tender and intensely hungry.
“gumi?” you asked, your voice shy.
he didn’t answer with words. he just leaned down and kissed you, a soft, reassuring kiss that tasted of you and him.
then, he started to move, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, and down your stomach. his movements were deliberate, purposeful.
you realized what he was doing a moment before he settled between your legs. your breath hitched, a fresh wave of shyness washing over you.
“i—um, you don’t have to—”
he looked up at you from between your thighs, his dark eyes serious. “i want to,” he said, his voice firm. “i want to taste all of you.”
and then he lowered his head.
the first touch of his tongue was a shock. you were still sensitive, still swollen from ur first orgasm, and the feeling was almost too much.
but then he licked a broad, flat stripe up your folds, and a choked moan escaped your lips.
he was cleaning you, tasting the mixture of your release and his own, and the sheer intimacy of it made your head spin.
he groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you.
“u taste so good,” he murmured, his voice muffled by your flesh.
he settled in, his hands gripping ur thighs to hold you open for him. he wasn't in a hurry. he explored you with his tongue, lapping at your entrance before moving up to circle your clit.
he was thorough, meticulous, as if he were memorizing your taste. the initial shyness melted away, replaced by a rising tide of pleasure that was sharper, more intense than before.
he slid two fingers inside you, his mouth never leaving your clit.
he curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot inside you that made your vision go white.
your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you ground your hips against his face.
the sounds in the room were obscene—the wet, slick noises of his mouth and fingers working you, your breathless moans, and his low, encouraging groans.
“fuck—,” you gasped, your back arching off the bed.
“i can’t, it’s too much.”
“not too much,” he growled against you, his voice a dark, possessive rumble. “you can give me one, more cmom pretty baby—i know you can.”
his words were your undoing. he doubled his efforts, his tongue flicking against your clit in a relentless rhythm while his fingers pumped into you, stroking, curling, hitting that spot over and over again.
the pressure built again, faster this time, a frantic, desperate climb to the edge.
“please,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling. “please gumi.”
he hummed in response, the vibration sending you flying. your second orgasm tore through you, more powerful than the first. it was a blinding, explosive wave of pleasure that left you screaming his name, your body convulsing as you flooded his mouth.
he didn’t stop. he drank u down, his tongue lapping at your release as if he couldn’t get enough.
he worked you through every tremor, every aftershock, until you were a limp, boneless puddle on the bed, completely spent.
finally, he pulled away, pressing one last, soft kiss to your overly sensitive clit before crawling back up your body. he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. you were too tired to move, too tired to speak.
you just snuggled into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
you could feel the dampness on his chin and cheeks, and the thought made a fresh, faint blush rise on your own skin. he tilted your face up, his eyes soft and full of a deep, sated affection.
he leaned in and kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips, a heady, intimate reminder of everything you had just shared.
“rest y/n,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “ive got you.”
you would just be another notch in Suguru Geto's bedpost - but he'd only be another one in yours
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna
content: MDNI, band AU, rivals, multiple endings (happy ofc!!), angst and fluff and smut, friends with benefits, jealousy, pining, oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, piv sex, toxic relationships, falling in love, Jin + Sukuna are twins, baby Yuji lol, Sukuna is terrible at feelings, threesome, sex tapes, soft dom Geto, sukuna is YEARNING and suffering, more tags to be found in individual chaps <3
setlist
track one: happiness is a butterfly
track two: burning desire
track three: is it wrong?
track four: in my feelings
interlude: million dollar man
track five: get free
track six: thunder
track seven: love song
interlude(ii): back to the basics
track eight: let it happen
track nine: lover, you should've come over
track ten: swing, swing
track eleven: some protector
track twelve: all I wanted
track thirteen: let down
interlude(iii): separate and ever deadly
track fourteen: big empty
track fifteen: hanging by a moment
track sixteen: everybody here wants you
track seventeen: the only exception
track eighteen: it's not over
???'s version
track nineteen: right here
interlude(iv): figured you out
track twenty: comedown
track twenty-one: lonely is the muse
track twenty-two: fences
track twenty-three: if you're gone
track twenty-four: parachute
track twenty-five: the air that I breathe
bonus track: dream girl (in shibuya)
???'s version
track twenty-six: I walk alone
track twenty-seven: mirtazapine
track twenty-eight: scotty (suguru) doesn't know
still loading...
???'s version
still loading...
bonus track: my own worst enemy
bonus track: hating you for christmas (to be released soon)
you would just be another notch in Suguru Geto's bedpost - but he'd only be another one in yours
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna
content: MDNI, band AU, rivals, multiple endings (happy ofc!!), angst and fluff and smut, friends with benefits, jealousy, pining, oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, piv sex, toxic relationships, falling in love, Jin + Sukuna are twins, baby Yuji lol, Sukuna is terrible at feelings, threesome, sex tapes, soft dom Geto, sukuna is YEARNING and suffering, more tags to be found in individual chaps <3
setlist
track one: happiness is a butterfly
track two: burning desire
track three: is it wrong?
track four: in my feelings
interlude: million dollar man
track five: get free
track six: thunder
track seven: love song
interlude(ii): back to the basics
track eight: let it happen
track nine: lover, you should've come over
track ten: swing, swing
track eleven: some protector
track twelve: all I wanted
track thirteen: let down
interlude(iii): separate and ever deadly
track fourteen: big empty
track fifteen: hanging by a moment
track sixteen: everybody here wants you
track seventeen: the only exception
track eighteen: it's not over
???'s version
track nineteen: right here
interlude(iv): figured you out
track twenty: comedown
track twenty-one: lonely is the muse
track twenty-two: fences
track twenty-three: if you're gone
track twenty-four: parachute
track twenty-five: the air that I breathe
bonus track: dream girl (in shibuya)
???'s version
track twenty-six: I walk alone
track twenty-seven: mirtazapine
track twenty-eight: scotty (suguru) doesn't know
still loading...
???'s version
still loading...
bonus track: my own worst enemy
bonus track: hating you for christmas (to be released soon)
