A long exhale leaves your lips as you drape yourself over your boyfriend — head lying on his shoulder and cheek smeared against his neck, breathing in deeply.
Damian doesn't say anything, doesn't break the silence and doesn't move an inch. He stays seated in the bed, back still leaning against the headrest while his eyes follow the lines alongside the book.
His expression remains solemn, almost cold in a sense that makes you shudder. "I love you." you murmur, so quietly as if you were afraid of something. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck, already lying halfway across his body.
Silence settles — unsettling and uncomfortable for you. The night was breathing, the curtains fluttered, the soft thud of his book closing. The silence comes back, this time louder.
"I must use the restroom." he whispers back.
His poise feels sharp. But his silence to your affection lays somewhere deeper, unanswered and uncertain that makes your skin itch.
As if he cared enough to open your soul yet leaves it untouched. And before you realise, you are already sitting on the edge of the bed — the door closing behind him as he vanishes into the bathroom.
The frown tugs deeper on your face, corner of your lips weighing heavier than any burden. "You are supposed to say I love you too." you whisper under your breath, "am I being too needy?"
Your gaze drifts towards his desk. The fine details of a clean and composed order, everything in place and boring. You rise from the mattress and make your way to the table.
"I shouldn't..." you trail off, hands hovering above the papers. You still do — fingers brushing against the book to let it fall open in front of you, bare for your eyes only, “woops…”
But you halt at the very page already, gaze glued to the lines stretched across the paper — the contour and the shape so perfect that it steals your breath. The shading seems impeccable, the contrast perfect.
This cannot be.
You continue flipping through the papers, fingers grazing the edges softly, eyes attentively drifting to every curve and every line. You suck in a sharp breath, too intrigued to stop.
Until you reach the very last page. This time, a painting. With expressive colours and beautiful lighting. It makes you glow. As if he has memorised every single detail of you.
"Oh." you let out, seeing his signature etched into the fabrics and your name right beside his as if it belonged.
Every drawing and painting — it's perfect. It's beautiful. But for him, you are. The very definition of perfect.
You, you, you.
The heat crawls up to your head. Embarrassment fused with fluster. He loves you in his own way.
summary basically just texts + instagram stories with your ex boyfriend!sukuna… who finally admits how much he wants you back
warnings nothing much really, suggestiveness, mentions of sex, highkey mischaracterization/ooc sukuna, sukuna’s like an actual asshole (but that’s what we love abt him, he grovels a lil (hot), prob typos
⌞synopsis⌝ it’s nerdjo’s birthday and all he wants is… a calculator?
⌞warnings + pairings⌝ nerdjo x reader, pure fluff, none tbh, there's like ONE suggestive sentence.
⌞word count⌝ 1.8k
you’d been waiting for the day to roll around. december 7th. your lovely boyfriend’s birthday.
satoru was by no means normal. cocky and arrogant, walking around campus like he was better than everyone with his straight posture and freshly ironed polo shirts, all while maintaining the title of your university’s valedictorian.
however, when it came to you, he was as sweet as sugar.
correcting your homework in a polite manner, tutoring you in subjects you were struggling in, and even writing the occasional essay for you while you were passed out naked beside him from riding him a bit too hard.
he was your dream guy– well with one tiny issue.
“i’m serious, satoru!” you exclaimed, your impatience growing by the second. “what do you want for your birthday?”
satoru chuckled from where he sat at his desk, putting his pencil down and reaching up to grab your hands as you stood next to him.
“i’m serious, too. i just want a new calculator.”
you frowned, your body slumping as you stared at him disappointedly. “y’know, this is worse than when people say they don’t want anything.”
he kissed your hands as he laughed, standing up and guiding you to lay on his bed. he got comfy beside you, letting you rest your head on his toned chest that he hid under stupid graphic t-shirts and hoodies.
you both lied there as you listened to his heartbeat, calm and steady. satoru let out a heavy breath as his thumb slid back and forth on the skin of your thigh.
“mine's just really busted and some of the buttons are coming loose.” he admitted quietly after a second. “but if you think it’s stupid, you can get me something else.”
you tilted your head up, meeting his crystal blue eyes.
“do you seriously just want a calculator?” you mumbled shyly, suddenly feeling guilty for berating him for his request.
“yeah,” satoru smiled softly, nodding as his cheeks flushed slightly. “but any gift from you is already perfect.”
you pouted, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly, further deepening that faint pink shade on his pale skin.
---
you’d woken up early to decorate his dorm– thankful yet again that he didn’t have a roommate. he was currently finishing up his presentation in his advanced calculus class, and knowing him, he’d be heading straight back to his room after it was over.
therefore, you had approximately forty-five minutes to finish.
you started with the obnoxiously large ‘happy birthday, toru!” banner above his window curtain, trusting his spinny chair not to fail you as you stuck it up with tape.
next, you lined up the bags of gifts suguru and kento had dropped off before they left to the store to pick up the custom cake you had ordered a month in advance.
you frowned at the thought of shoko missing out, something about having a chemistry lab that was worth half her grade, but you knew she’d just cheat her way through it and still find a way to make it for at least the end of the little celebration you’d planned.
satoru wasn’t a big party person– you knew that– but still, you knew there was nothing he loved more than the company of his friends.
after the bags were arranged to your liking, you set your small wrapped box down along with an enveloped letter you’d ask him not to read until everyone was gone.
by the time you had the streamers hanging and balloons inflated and scattered all over, suguru and kento entered the room.
“five minutes to spare! i told you we’d make it in time.” suguru chuckled, setting down the cake on satoru’s desk next to the neatly arranged gifts.
kento shut the door, immediately draping himself on the small couch as he shut his eyes that were undoubtedly sore from rolling them at suguru’s annoyance.
“you were starting to worry me.” you smiled, pulling out your phone to check satoru’s location, his little blue dot showing he wasn’t too far from his building.
suguru’s pat your shoulder, his eyes doing a double take at the gifts.
“did you not get him anything?” he asked, genuine. “i guess you have been with him since freshman year…”
“what?” your eyes widened in confusion as you pointed to the neatly wrapped box and envelope. “his gift is right there!”
suguru’s eyebrows knit, darting back and forth to see if you were joking. “oh.”
before you could question him further, a ping from your phone made your attention go elsewhere.
toru <3: Heading up to my room now. I’ll get ready and we can go out?
toru <3: It’s my birthday so you can’t really say no. :)
“he’s here!” you exclaimed quietly, already hearing his approaching footsteps.
the boys shot up, smiling widely as you handed them tiny confetti poppers and waited for the door to open. shortly enough, you all watched as the key unlocked the door, slowly opening to reveal the birthday boy.
“surprise!” you all exclaimed excitedly, simultaneously pulling the thin string and sending confetti towards satoru who stood at the door with the second biggest smile you’ve ever seen from him.
he laughed as suguru hugged him, chuckling out thank you’s while kento pat his shoulder. his eyes looked straight at you when the boys pulled away, your arms extending as you smiled at him.
satoru lifted you up as his arms wrapped around your waist, pressing his face into your neck and pressing soft, hidden kisses to the delicate skin.
“happy birthday, toru!” you smiled, holding him close.
you could feel his lips curl on your neck before he pulled back to peck your lips. “thank you, sweetheart.”
“okay, wrap it up lovebirds, i’ve been eyeing that cake since we picked it up.” suguru complained, handing satoru the plastic knife and pushing him towards the container.
though it wasn’t a big celebration like most people have on their birthday’s, this was exactly satoru’s scene. a small thing with the most important people in his life.
the boys sat on the couch while you made yourself comfortable on satoru’s bed, eating your slice of cake quietly while listening to their strange conversations.
your phone pinged, a message from shoko.
“oh! shoko’s on her way!” you exclaimed, swinging your feet off the ledge of the bedframe.
“sweet!” satoru smiled, standing and walking over to his gift table. “think she’d mind if i opened these before she got here?”
you shook your head with a smile, kento filling the gap for you.
“she’d prefer if you did that without her here.”
the three of you gathered around him as he opened the first bag, a smile instantly appearing on his face as he pulled out the first gift, a Digimon game for his computer and a stupid t-shirt that read, “I paused my game to be here”.
suguru cackled as satoru thanked him, the two guys dapping each other up before moving on to the next bag.
kento had gifted him a new watch, something he noticed satoru needed an upgrade on seeing as he’d been wearing the same one since middle school– the leather threading and the time being slightly off.
“aw, thanks dude! now i won’t have to check my phone every time to make sure it’s right!” satoru exclaimed, hugging kento obnoxiously.
“you’re welcome.” kento answered, a rare smile on his face as he pulled away.
lastly, your small box.
even though he’d asked for it, you couldn’t help the anxious feeling that brewed in your stomach. your palms had grown slightly sweaty at the thought of him hating it. he’d never been good at hiding his reactions.
you watched nervously as he slid the card to the side, neatly unwrapping the gift. the room fell quiet as the boys stared at the box in his hand, their faces falling in confusion.
you swallowed worriedly, chewing at the tip of your nail as satoru said nothing, lips slightly parted as he blinked, processing what he was holding in his hand.
“is it the wrong one?” you asked quietly, feeling the embarrassment creep through every fibre of your body. “i did some research and–”
your worries were cut off as satoru turned to you and lifted you up, swinging you side-to-side in excitement.
“oh my god!” he shouted repeatedly before setting you down, running a hand through his snowy hair while staring at the calculator with wide eyes.
“a calculator?” they both mumbled, looking towards you then back at satoru who seemed like he was about to explode.
he turned to his friends, “it’s not just any calculator! it's the TI-Nspire CX II CAS!”
it sounded like gibberish to everyone else but satoru, but the guys just went along, joining him in his excitement despite their confusion.
satoru littered your face with kisses as he thanked you repeatedly, your giggles uncontrollable as you tried to push him away.
“yikes, glad i missed out on whatever this is.” shoko mumbled as she entered the room to chaos.
---
later that night, after everyone had gone home and satoru had ordered a real meal for the two of you that wasn’t straight sugar, you found yourself cuddled up with him on his bed yet again, the weight of you above him grounding him like nothing else in the world.
“did you have a good birthday?” you asked quietly, littering innocent little kisses across his neck and bare chest.
his face was flushed pink as he relaxed under you, a smile creeping back onto his face. “yeah. probably my favorite one yet.”
your lips curled, kissing his cheek before pulling back just enough to see his face. his eyes were downturned and semi-open as he leaned forward to kiss you before settling back onto his pillow.
“thank you,” he sighed. “for listening to me. i know it seems like a bit of a ridiculous thing to ask for.”
“i’m just happy to see you happy.” you shook your head, trying your best not to squeal at how adorable he looked like this. “i love you.”
the words were soft as they left your lips, your fingers pushing stray hairs off his forehead.
“i love you too.” he admitted, tightening his hold on your waist.
his room was quiet yet again as you rested your head on his shoulder, biting back the uncontrollable happiness you felt.
you could feel your body relax, eyes fluttering shut before you heard him reach over beside him, holding up the calculator like it was his most prized possession.
“hey,” he whispered as if not to startle you. “do you wanna hear all the different functions?”
you snorted, smiling widely as you nuzzled your face further into him, opening your eyes to watch his fingers glide across all the different buttons.
the atmosphere was calm, well as calm as it could be with sukuna there.
you sat curled up in his lap while he yelled at toji through his headset for the nth time. you shifted slightly before slowly sliding out of sukuna's lap, he muttered a quick
“where ya goin?” his eyes shifted towards you, now fully out of his grasp.
“bathroom.”
he let out a low hum and returned his hard gaze back to his monitor.
-
“holy shit ryomen, yer washed.” toji snickered through the mic.
“easy to talk when you pick OKC every fucking round.” sukuna snarled back.
“aye back to back dubs speaks for itself.”
“its been two rounds already?” sukuna checked his phone, its been almost 2 hours since you left his lap.
“two rounds of belt? yea bro.” a snort came out from sukunas headphones.
“im hoppin off anyway to go out with my girl. cus i got other shit to do, like my girl. get it? cus i have a girlfriend.” sukuna teased.
“blah blah blah we get it asshat.”
sukuna chuckled to himself before logging off and heading over to barge on you in the bathroom, which was locked? he lifted a heavy knuckle and tapped on the door twice.
“babe, you takin’ a shit?”
a small snort escaped from the other side of the door, “yea ryo ive been shitting for two hours.”
his crimson eyes fluttered into a roll before he twisted the knob again, “okay brat then why is the door locked, let me in.”
needy bastard. “kuna you can wait for like two minutes, im almost done.” you added the final touches to your face before adjusting your dress again. kinda short. eh its fine.
he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed “almost done what? I can smell your body wash, did you wanna go on a date ton-”
the door swung open, revealing your finished look. hair done and neat, makeup on point, gold jewelry layered all over your body, and your new brown mini dress that hugged your body perfectly.
sukuna paused, looked you up and down, eyes immediately turning hungry.
“black shoes or brown shoes?” you cocked a brow at him.
“fuck, you look gorgeous baby.” he answered completely ignoring your question, “where we goin’?”
you puckered your lips and smiled back at him, “thank you. okay so black or brown?”
“brown. and give me like fifteen minutes, I'll be ready.” he bee-lined straight to the bathroom before your manicured hand pressed against his chest, stopping him right in his tracks.
“ryo you can’t come to girls night. I've told you this like a thousand times.”
girls night? It was like someone shot him in the chest right then and there. not only were you looking absolutely beautiful on a night the both of you had off, you were going out with your friends. instead of sukuna. not to mention how much they hated sukuna. the burly mans shoulders tensed,
“nonono, the hell you mean girls night? I thought WE were going out tonight.” it was almost pathetic how whiney his voice sounded. to anyone else it would've been a once in a blue moon sight, unfortunately for you it wasn’t.
“ryo I told you last night that I was going out with them.”
“did not.”
“did too.”
“did not.”
“ryomen i literally told you before we went to bed and you said ‘okay ill drive you.” you pushed past him and slipped on your brown kitten heels, before admiring your full look in the mirror.
“There's no way I said that, I was out cold before you even shut off the light.” he followed your trail like a sulking puppy`. a large six foot something sulking puppy.
“sukuna i promise you i’m not lying.” you paused with your purse and keys in hand.
“fine. but if i get handsy in the car, you cannot blame me. you look so hot.” he grabbed the keys from your hands and opened the front door.
you tsked, “mhm mhm no touching while my girls are in the car.”
“what.”
“we’re picking them up, remember?”
“you’re shittin’ me.”
-
after thirty minutes of being interrogated, looped into gossip, and asked the ‘you’re a guy what do you think?’ question approximately fifteen times, sukuna finally got to the restaurant.
your girls murmured a bunch of rushed thank yous before quickly hopping out of the car and heading into the restaurant. sukunas hand still gripped the wheel,
“thank you for dropping us off kuna.” you leaned over the center console and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to turn his head.
“call me if anything.” he responded in a low mumble.
“i know i know.” you smiled before turning to open your door.
“wait.” you paused and turned to look back at your boyfriend who was already outside of the car, he made his way around to your side and opened your door. He held your hand in his large gruff one before pulling you into another kiss, he pulled away just an inch from your mouth, his breath still on yours,
“i’m fucking the shit out of you when you get home.”
you felt the warmth pooling in your cheeks, you bit back a smile and mumbled back
“promise?”
sukunas hands gripped at your waist, before dropping to his sides, a slow huff escaped his nose, “pinky.”
you snorted before walking off, feeling the sting of sukunas hand slapping your ass as you did so.
-
sukuna knew as soon as you called three hours later, slurring every other word, that he would be eating his words that night.
after dropping off your equally drunk friends, he carried you into bed, taking his time removing your make up because he knew you would yell at him if he didn’t, then taking off your heels and dress, changing you into one of his shirts.
“ryo.”
“hm.”
“my friendsss saidd they loveeyou.”
“really?” shocking. considering they mean mugged him all night. didn’t even bother to say his name properly.
you nodded slowly under the sheets.
“why’s that?”
a hiccup escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut “they said… youmake mee glow.”
“they’re idiots.”
you snorted, “loveeyouu.”
“i love you too brat.”
he couldn’t even be mad at you for blue balling him all night.
summary: in which you forget to tell the lads boys that you love them.
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus & caleb
notes: suggestive comments so MDNI / NSFW, xavier is pathetic again, zayne is kinda evil (lovingly), rafayel is stupid, sylus is lovely, caleb is strange…no explicit mentions of gender (!!!), a few suggestive comments but that’s it (i think)
p.s. i’m like genuinely knocking tf out whenever i hit post so if something is grammatically incorrect or i accidentally post my entire life on here…look away until i wake up maybe!
a/n: this is kinda bad i’m SORRY…i’m sleep-posting this i’m so tired…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
꒰ summary ꒱; you play the chapstick challenge with your boyfriend, sukuna .ᐟ (basically just ends up with you ragebaiting him) (if you're unsure of what it is, search it on tiktok ^.^)
꒰ content ꒱; crack, lots n lots of kissing, sukuna has a strong hatred for flavoured lip balm..
you and sukuna had been hanging out in his car, ranting about whatever came to mind.
eventually, to break some awkward silence, you brought up an idea.
"kuna, let's play the chapstick challenge!"
"the what challenge?"
you pulled a multi-pack of flavoured lip smackers out of god knows where before he could refuse or question further, propping your phone on the dashboard to record.
he scrutinized the colourful packet, eyeing it like it grew a mouth and cussed at him.
"okay, we're gonna take turns putting some on and either one of us will guess what flavour it is."
"this game sounds like it sucks."
you saw the face he was making through the phone screen, a chuckle slipping past your lips, his expression akin to a disgusted cat.
"so i'll put a random one on, then you're gonna kiss me." his face lit up and he turned instantly upon hearing kissing was involved, ready to let you start.
"kuna, you've still gotta see what flavours there are," you reminded, giggling at his eagerness.
"don't need to."
the moment you asked him to turn back around, he leaned over the center console, kissing you far longer than necessary.
you pushed sukuna back slightly, earning a soft grunt from him.
"you've still gotta guess, silly."
you watched excitedly, the suspense growing, ready to hear his guess.
only for you to realize he had an expression of pure obliviousness on.
you knew that face.
you sighed, hoping he didn't completely fail at his one and only task. "you didn't even remember to guess, did you?"
"...no."
you huffed, forcing him to turn around again to reapply it.
"okay, now guess."
his lips found yours easily again, making sure to bite down on your bottom lip, savouring the taste. (of you, not the chapstick)
"cherry."
"it's actually cherry soda."
"that's literally the same thing."
"nope," you insisted, stifling a laugh at how riled up he looked already.
"my turn," you declared, turning around, covering your eyes.
he applied the product, grimacing at the strong artificial scent.
"turn around," he ordered.
you initiated the kiss this time, pulling away far too fast for sukuna's liking.
"hmm.. strawberry twist?"
"how'd you-"
"yay! okay, your turn."
he grumbled at your enthusiasm, complying either way.
when he kissed you a second time, he was determined to get it correct this time around.
"blue raspberry."
"wrong, it's blue raspberry sour tangy explosion," you corrected with a completely straight face.
"that cannot be true."
he took the little cylinder balm from you, narrowing his eyes as he read the label and realized you weren't kidding.
"how the hell was i meant to guess that?"
"should've read the labels," you pointed out, snickering.
"whatever."
after a couple more makeout sessions and multiple failed attempts from sukuna, he'd given up.
"this game is fuckin' rigged."
"you're just bad at it."
it was taking everything in you to hold back another giggle. "okay, juustt one more-"
he cut you off, kissing you silent before you could continue speaking.
"no more," he urged, pressing you further against the door panel with ease, his large hands encircling your waist.
he smashed his lips against yours once hastily, this time with a different sort of need. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, sloppily tangling with yours.
he paused for a moment, his breathing ragged.
he entwined his fingers in yours to grab the chapstick out of your hand, dropping it in the glove compartment.
"besides, you taste sweeter without it, yeah?"
well, you knew without a doubt the camera would capture whatever happens next !
──── ❝ 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓’𝐒 (𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘) 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ! . . . starring you falling asleep on facetime with 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 while he’s away. seems pretty harmless, right? :: gn!reader + implied to be a sorcerer as well :: fluff, crack :: cursing :: satoru changes reader’s clothes but it’s not sexual/suggestive :: yeah he’s a menace to the society LMAO :: wc, 1K ::
you hadn’t actually meant to fall asleep on call.
it just sorta. . happened. between prowling about your unfinished, raging reports and wishing for even one of the lords above to spare you a glance, you’d forgotten about basic human anatomy. or maybe one specific part. y’know? the one that says that a typical human brain needs sleep to function.
but of course, what were you if not a stuck up rebel walking around sluggishly with the word ‘insufferable’ plastered to your forehead?
and so, when the sleep had dared to tiptoe at the cracks of your caffeinated fingertips— you’d pressed satoru’s contact on your phone without a second thought. or no thought whatsoever, given how blank your mind seemed to be— totally ignoring the fact that he was in another city, taking care of a special grade curse.
and of course he’d picked it up on the first ring (seriously, though, how does this guy have such an obnoxious amount of free time?) all lazy grins and half opened eyes whilst he wriggled his eyebrows at you through the lens— a dirty concrete wall behind him.
oh.
you hadn’t even realised that you’d pressed the video call button rather than the voice one.
eeeeh, whatever. it’s not like the world would end if you facetimed.
(loud incorrect buzzer.)
the world did, in fact, end during that call. your world, that is. your sunshiney and rainbowey world— full of red strings that were free from any coils or cocoons whatsoever, unravelled at the seams the moment someone else’s digital gaze caught you lacking on camera.
and god forbid is that someone turns out to be your disaster of a boyfriend.
you were aaaall sleepy eyed and small voiced, barely keeping up with satoru’s ramblings about his day, the curse whose ass he was currently whooping, how much he loved you, the mochi he had on the way, one of the higher ups’ scandalously cheap yukata, how much he loved you, the weather of hokkaido, how much he loved you— you get the gist.
the tiredness had made your brain crawl through your leftover sanity, totally numbing out the oh so very concerning details— like the random flashes of blue and red emanating from satoru’s free hand whilst he talked about how simply boring it was without you. a distorted scream erupted from the other side of whatever place he was in— but he barely paid attention, and so did you.
satoru, because he didn’t really give a fuck about a curse disintegrating right infront of him. you, because you’d finally succumbed to your weary bones against the half done reports— cheek squished against the thin paper, eyes squeezed shut.
“anyway, sweetheart, think i’m gonna be back after a day or so since these old farts want me to check out kushiro as wel—” he’d paused, then, eyes narrowing behind his blindfold at the seemingly still image of you. “. . uh, baby? you there?”
no response.
except your sweet, sweet sleeping face— the lines around your eyes softened like liquid clouds, a hushed sort of tranquility lacing the edges of your skin, even through the static that seperated you two. you looked. . peaceful. unbearably so. satoru’s chest had done a weird little flip, and before he could help it— he tucks away the moment beneath his ribs before it could fade away into the digital nothingness.
you’d think the mortification would end right with the screenshot of you asleep that he’d made his homescreen wallpaper.
(loud incorrect buzzer.)
“. . sa—. . satoru?” you rub your eyes profusely, trying to make sense of whatever the hell is going on. the first thing you knew— that you’d been talking to satoru on call to keep yourself awake. and the next thing?
he’s standing right at the edge of your fucking bed.
not just standing. looming. like he can’t decide whether holding you would heal him or burn him. eyes wide in that thousand yard stare— except, that it’s focused onto just one destination in the distance— you. one hand gripping the phone by his sides in a phantom grip, the other holding a uniform.
your uniform.
your eyes trail towards yourself. somehow, just somehow— you’ve miraculously magical girlified yourself into one of his tshirts.
(or maybe it isn’t you.)
you narrow your eyes. “did you change me out of my uniform?”
he’s (not so) quick to perk up at the sound of your voice— blinking like he just snapped out of a daze. “oh,” a smile, that same damned smile again, “look who’s awake. my silly little overworked corporate employee.”
“satoru gojo.”
“pulling out the government name after i gave you such a sweet nickname?” satoru pouts, flopping down onto the bed to take your foot into his hands— thumbs absent mindedly working the tense muscles. “you’re no fair.”
“wha— nevermind,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, before heaving in a sigh that satoru relishes. “how did you even get in here?”
“i teleported,” he shrugs. too easily for your— or his own— liking.
“from sapporo?” your voice cracks the slightest bit— in disbelief or fondness, you can’t quite tell.
satoru looks at you like you’ve declared war over expired digimon cards. “you fell asleep,” he says, slowly, as if explaining things to a petulant child. “on call. on your desk. with no blanket. with your uniform on. and—” his voice drops to a conspirational whisper, “— with no satoru.”
(a pause.)
“you’re an idiot, y’know that?” you snort, not before letting out an oof! as he launches all six feet and three inches of himself at you— all muffled laughs and barely there kisses against your collarbone. you roll your eyes but relent— threading your hands through his snowy locks, and he eats up the offering like it’s his last meal.
“says the one who snored on facetime.”
“excuse me, i do not snore—”
“seriously, though,” satoru drawls against your skin, raising his head only for a moment to look at you straight in the eye with an equally insufferable glint, “if you wanted me to come home that badly, you could’ve just asked. no need to blackmail me by cuteness aggression.”
let’s just say, you make sure to never facetime satoru again.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ surpriseeee — this is 3 parts now hehe. satoru is still our lovingly annoying sweetheart here, but this part does have a bit more angst than the last. nothing too wild though… just a whole lot of yearning and our poor reader being very committed to denial. i hope you enjoy! part 3 will be the last one. (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
<<< part 1 - main masterlist - part 3 >>>
part 2
“Ma’am, may I interest you in our menu?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in with a practiced smile.
"Oh—um. Yes... thank you."
The thick, cream-colored menu lands in your hands a second later, and you settle into your seat just as she disappears down the aisle. A seat that is far too comfortable for the current state of your life. But that’s the thing about first class — it makes it very hard to be appropriately miserable, and you are trying to be miserable right now. You are committed to it.
“If you need recommendations… I recommend the wagyu.” Satoru leans in, close enough that his breath feathers warm against the side of your neck. “It’s to die for.”
He grins, blue eyes glinting behind snowy lashes. And unfortunately, the wagyu isn’t the thing currently putting your life at risk. Because a shiver moves through you before you can stop it.
“O-Oh…” your head jerks away, quickly. “Uh-huh… sure.”
Refusing to turn, you keep your eyes stubbornly on the cabin — denying him the satisfaction of seeing what his closeness does to the treacherous, backstabbing organ inside your chest. But you catch him in your periphery — leaning back, entirely unbothered, reaching for his own menu with that pleased little hum that means, of course, he notices.
Ugh.
This is going to be a long-ass ten-hour flight. And first class, as it turns out, is only roomy when you aren’t seated beside the exact person currently making your pulse act deeply unprofessional.
…
Wait. When did your pulse start doing that?!
Miserable, you remind yourself. Yeah. Miserable.
With a sigh, you click your seatbelt into place and flip open the menu, genuinely trying to build a case for why this is the worst decision you’ve ever made. Unfortunately, it is hard to maintain righteous regret when the menu has no prices on it. Not one. Just elegant font, artful descriptions, and ingredients arranged like poetry.
…you’d booked economy.
Economy.
But then he’d upgraded your tickets last minute like that was a normal thing a person did — insisting you fly with him. Like swapping someone’s middle seat for a first-class cocoon with a duvet and a champagne flute was just… hospitality.
“Um… Satoru?” Your brow arches as you take in the absurdly extravagant menu. “How much does this cost, exactly…?” He doesn’t even glance up. “Mm? Oh.” Flipping a page, his hand waves lazily. “Don’t worry about it.”
…
Don’t worry about it?
You are very much worrying about it. Because how the hell does an intern afford this?! You know how much interns make at your company; you’ve worked with HR, signed off on the numbers — and it is categorically not this.
But fine. Whatever. That is, somehow, the least of your problems right now. And your mind was already veering back toward the more immediate catastrophe currently taxiing toward the runway.
Your family.
“Right… well. Anyways, Satoru,” you say, setting the menu down. “We should probably establish the basics before we get to Japan and—”
“—what do you like to eat?”
You blink, lips parting.
“I—sorry…what?”
“I like sweets,” he says, turning toward you. A toothy grin spreads across his face, dimples peeking. “Let’s see… cake, cream buns, mochi…” he muses. “Oh! Especially kikifuku mochi, it’s the best.” He nods solemnly. “Honestly, I think it’s the whipped cream inside that really makes the difference.”
Your brow furrows as you stare at him.
…when did this become a TED talk about sugar? You were trying to discuss a plan, and he is out here curating a dessert menu like the most pressing crisis of the next ten hours is pastry selection.
“Okay…? That’s nice. But we should talk about—”
“Food,” he states, picking up the menu you just set down. He flips it open and angles it back toward you like that is the only sensible conversation available. “C’mon. What do you like? Not what you’ll settle for… what you’ll actually like. Ten hours is a long time, sweetheart.”
Brow knitting, you frown.
He cannot be serious. That is not the priority right now.
“That—that can wait. We need to—”
“—establish the basics, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and tips his head back against the seat, like your resistance is personally exhausting him. But then his gaze flicks back, amused. “And I’m just saying food is a basic necessity. Because you skip lunch when you’re busy, forget breakfast when you’re anxious, and then act shocked when you feel like shit three hours later. So, eat.” He places the menu back in your hands. “Preferably something that isn’t stale pretzels, yeah?”
Something hot and startled climbs your neck so fast it’s almost impressive. Your mouth opens, but whatever rebuttal is forming never makes it. Because before you can recover—
“Honestly, I gotta say… the soba is pretty good too, actually.” His face is suddenly just over your shoulder, murmuring close enough that you feel the heat of him against your ear. “If you don’t want the wagyu, that is. Wait—scratch that. Maybe ramen…?” His finger traces a line on the menu, pale lashes lowering, tongue clinking gently. “Mm… never mind. Too much broth and there could be turbulence.”
Your whole body stiffens. Because his closeness does not feel unwelcome. Which is exactly the problem.
…when did he get so comfortable?!
“…stop doing that,” you mutter, pulling back. He looks over, the picture of innocence. “Doing what?”
Your lips purse.
“I dunno. Being…” But the word dissolves, and you're reaching for your water, needing something to do with your hands. “So… comfortable. So—” You cut yourself off with a small huff. “Like this.”
His grin is unbearable, lazy and crooked.
“Oh?” he reclines. “Like what, baby?”
You sputter into your water.
“Baby?”
You’re choking on your drink, and Satoru looks entirely too pleased with himself. He's chuckling, leaning over without a second thought, one hand settling warm between your shoulder blades.
“Awwh… what’s this? Don’t be shy now,” he hums, the picture of helpfulness, rubbing slow circles with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to get way cozier than this if I’m playing boyfriend. Just establishing the basics, yeah?”
As you straighten with a glare, you can tell without a doubt he is openly enjoying himself. That grin hasn’t moved a goddamn inch.
…asshole.
Huffing, you settle back into your seat. And it isn’t long before the plane shudders gently away from the gate, inching out onto the runway with that slow, terrible sense of inevitability that only air travel is capable of producing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened… flight attendants, prepare for departure.”
The overhead announcement crackles through the cabin, too polished to be comforting. While beneath you, the whole plane seems to draw tight, a low hum building through the floor, climbing up through your seat.
You exhale, letting your eyes fall shut. Just long enough to pretend you weren’t here. Just long enough to avoid the window, the runway, and the deeply unhelpful fact that your brain liked to save all its worst thoughts for takeoff.
…like how first class wasn’t exactly known for improving your odds. Like how takeoff and landing were statistically the worst parts. Like how the engine sounded different now, probably… maybe, and—
“Hey.”
Satoru’s voice came quieter this time; enough to pull your eyes back open. When you look over, that vibrant blue is already watching you — steady, unhurried, like he has been waiting for you to surface.
“Are you… nervous?”
“What? N-No…” you lie, huffing. His brow arches, sensing your bullshit. “Okay… then why are you doing that with your hands?”
Following his gaze, your fingers had folded into fists without even noticing, in that particular way they always do when you’re trying to physically hold yourself together.
Fuck.
It’s ridiculous, really. You knew flying was statistically safe! Knew it the way you knew balance sheets and quarterly projections and the exact percentage margins that kept departments alive. And yet, takeoff had always felt like the part where logic starts losing altitude.
“Oh…” A small, awkward laugh slips out, just as the engine begins to roar. You smooth your palms over your trembling thighs, shouting over it. “It’s fine! Really! I just… um—I guess I don’t particularly like takeoff, is all!”
His expression softens in a way you weren’t braced for. But before he can answer, the plane surges forward and your eyes squeeze shut. A massive force presses you back into the seat while vibrations climb through the floor and up your spine.
It’s terrible. Completely terrible. But somewhere in the middle of it, a warm hand slides against yours. It takes you a second to register his fingers lacing between your own, and the moment his thumb brushes the back of your hand, you instinctively grip him tighter.
Your eyes stay shut, but you feel the plane lift hard and fast into the sky. And somewhere between the roar of the engines and that awful pull in your stomach, the slow circles his thumb traces against your skin become the only thing your body seems willing to trust.
By the time the pressure eases and the plane finally levels out, your lungs have only just remembered how to work. For a second, neither of you moves until—
“…better?”
His voice brushes the quiet between you. You blink your eyes open.
“Yeah…” you whisper. “Um… thanks.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
That thumb brushes one last time against the back of your hand before finally pulling away, dropping back into his lap with a simple nod like it had been nothing. And the loss of that warmth was immediate enough to sting.
Oh…
He’s… annoyingly good at taking care of you. And worse, your body had recognized it before your brain could file the proper objection — clinging first, thinking later, like comfort was something you could afford to trust.
Maybe the altitude was messing with your head…
Ten hours was a long time.
Long enough to work out the safest parts of the lie. How long you’ve been together. Where you met. Which version of the truth felt neat enough to survive one wedding weekend without collapsing under the weight of follow-up questions.
It was just… not long enough, apparently, for the parts that actually mattered.
“Soooo… question…” Satoru had stretched lazily, turning his glass between two fingers as he glanced over. “What exactly should I expect when we land?”
You kept your attention on the blanket across your lap, flattening a wrinkle. “Probably… jet lag?” you mutter sarcastically, avoiding his gaze, fussing with the fabric. “And a long enough drive to regret everything in peace.”
He snorts. “Well, yeah. Obviously.” Ice clicked softly as he tipped his glass, shifting toward you. “Not what I meant, though. I meant with your family.”
And when the warmth of his attention settled against the side of your face — you hesitated. Because it was patient in a way that only made it harder to meet. Patient in the way of someone who’s learned that pushing doesn’t work on you. Which you’re unsure is better, or worse. Because waiting means he’s paying attention, and paying attention means he’ll notice when you crack.
“We’ll just… talk about that later,” you huffed, tugging the blanket a little higher before turning toward the window. “I’m tired. Gonna try to sleep.”
Later… yeah. Later.
But by baggage claim, you were running out of runway. You had to do it soon. Get it over with. Preferably somewhere between the airport and your hotel, where you could spit it out quickly and not have to watch his face too closely while you did.
So now, Satoru yawns beside the conveyor belt, tired blue eyes skimming the slow parade of suitcases rounding the carousel. Hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, posture easy in a way that only makes you more tense. You stand there staring at the back of him, fingers hooked tight in the seam of your shirt.
Now.
“Hey… Satoru?” you mumble. “Hm?” His gaze lands on your luggage and he’s already stepping forward to grab it. “Um, well…” You hesitate. “About my family… I—"
“—oh! Look—look! There they are!”
The moment her voice rings through the terminal, everything inside you locks. You turn, and for one wild second, you genuinely wonder if it’s too late to get back on that godforsaken plane.
Satoru hauls your suitcase off the belt.
“What about them?” he asks, turning when you stop short. Then he sees your face. “…sweetheart?” His brows furrow, following your line of sight — and there is your mother, cutting through the crowd with Trish beside her, moving with the kind of delighted urgency you aren’t prepared to see for at least another twelve hours.
No.
No, no, no.
“—oh my god, there he is!” Your mother walks straight past you — past you — and both hands are wrapping around Satoru’s like he’s who she came for. "Oh, he's handsome. Trish, look—"
It’s no surprise, really, that you’re a second thought. You’ve been a second thought since before you could name it. But that isn’t the wound that matters at this particular moment. The bigger problem is that she’s here.
…why the hell is she here?!
You were supposed to have more time—
“—oh my god,” Trish breathes to you. “Damn. girl. He’s, like… stupid handsome.” And Satoru’s grin went smug, drawling. “Oh, please, ladies. Keep the compliments coming. I’m feeling very welcomed~”
Your mother giggles. “Handsome and funny. Oh, he’s a charmer,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully. Though the laugh lands bitter. “God. Why on earth would she keep you from me?! I mean… wow. I was beginning to think she’d die alone.”
The words hit like a slap dressed as a joke.
Satoru blinks, the smile faltering for half a second, head tilting imperceptibly.
…great.
Of fucking course she’d say something like that within the first thirty seconds.
“Mother… what—” your voice wavers, eyes falling shut with a swallow. “Sorry. I just—what are you both doing here?”
She did a tiny double take, like she’d only just remembered you were standing there. “Oh, honey…” A hand waves, scoffing. “Don’t be silly—of course we’re here to pick you up! God. I wouldn’t leave you stranded at the airport,” she snorts.
Oh, right.
So she wouldn’t abandon you at an airport. Just in another country.
…good to know there's a line somewhere.
“Besides, why don’t you both just stay with us instead?” she’s already reaching for Satoru’s hand again, bright with the idea. “We’ve got a guest room ready, and I’d love for the chance to talk to you.”
Your body goes rigid.
Oh no. Fuck no.
Anything but that.
Satoru must have seen it written across your face — that particular shade of panic —because his eyes cut to you for only half a second before he slips his hand free, turning back to your mother with a smile already in place.
“That’s incredibly kind, ma’am,” he says, tugging you into his side with an ease that shouldn’t have felt as steadying as it did. “But we’re staying pretty close to my family’s place, and I should probably swing by tomorrow morning.” He rubs the back of his neck with a theatrical groan. “It’s been a few months since I’ve seen my father, and trust me, I’ll regret it if he finds out I came to Tokyo and didn’t stop by, y’know?”
Apparently, ten hours isn’t long enough for the parts that actually matter, because…
“Oh? Your family’s place?” your mother repeats, brows lifting. “So, are they here in Tokyo too, then?” He nods. “Mm, yeah. Pretty much all the Gojos are—at least on my dad’s side. My mom’s in Kyoto.”
…
Wait.
Did he just say Gojo?
As in—
Your boss’s family?!
No. Absolutely not. Between the jet lag, the shock, and your mother still glowing beside you, your brain simply does not have the bandwidth for this. Your lips part, blinking like that might somehow rearrange what he just said into something less insane.
Nothing comes out.
“Gojo…” your mother repeats, brows knitting. “Why does that sound familiar?” Trish blinks. "Wait—like… Gojo Corporation Gojo?!"
Satoru’s grin widens. “Yep. That’d be us.”
“Ah!” Your mother snaps her fingers. “Gojo Corporation. Yes—of course! Silly me. I thought that name seemed familiar…”
And now, the hurt arrives before the shock finishes landing — ugly and precise and aimed at the exact spot that never heals right. Five years of your work, your career, your life inside that building. But she only knows it because a handsome man says it in a terminal.
You stare. “Mom… you can't be serious?” and the hurt in your own voice catches you off guard. “I’ve… I've literally been working at Gojo Corporation for the last five years.”
Fuck...
Get it together.
Out of the corner of your eye, Satoru watches you. But your mother moves on like you’re invisible.
“Oh Satoru Gojo, you just keep getting better and better.” You feel him hesitating as she tugs eagerly. “Come—come! At least let us drive you both to the hotel, hm? There’s so much I need to hear and—”
“—sorry ma’am, no.”
Satoru’s pulling you into him like the decision has already been made. And you blink while his fingers smooth gently through your hair, tipping your chin up with a long finger.
“Honestly, I’m beat…” His thumb brushes your cheek, gaze searching your face. “…aren’t you, love?”
There’s a hitch in your breath
Oh.
So… you’re not invisible?
As it leaves you in a quiet shudder, for one suspended second, there is nothing but that soft blue of his eyes and the way they’ve gone gentle for you. All you can do is nod — and a single tear slips free before you can stop it.
He tucks you against his chest, hiding your face, and flashes a grin back at your mother.
“Ugh… I appreciate you coming to get us, but we’ve been up for way too long and—” Glancing down at his phone, he lets out a small laugh. “Ah. Perfect timing! Would ya look at that—my driver’s here.” A tug of your hand. “But we’ll catch up tomorrow, yeah? Bye, ladies~”
Your legs are moving on their own, and you don’t even catch the expression on your mother’s face. Can’t. Not when your pulse is still tripping over itself. Not when his hand wraps around yours like letting go isn’t even a question.
The suitcase rolled behind you, with the airport crowd bustling. While those bright eyes flicked back, making sure you were still there every few steps.
“C’mon, pretty girl… we’re almost there,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, okay? Eyes on me, yeah?”
And… you weren’t sure why he lowered his voice. Not when they were already well out of earshot. You only know that… it nearly undoes you all over again.
By the time the limo pulls away from the curb, Satoru had already figured out two things: your mother was awful, and somehow, he’d gotten you out of there only to realize he hadn’t fully brought you back with him.
It’s the furrow in your brow that gets him first… then the wobble in your lip — the one you think you’re hiding, the one you always think you’re hiding. You haven’t said a word since climbing into the backseat. Haven’t looked at him either. Instead, you stay toward the window, watching Tokyo slip by in blurred ribbons of light, glowing against the glass in streaks of neon. A city that has no business being that beautiful when you look that broken.
…shit. Should he crack a joke? No. Maybe not.
But asking if you’re okay feels useless. You obviously aren’t. And worse, saying it out loud feels like the fastest way to make you disappear even further behind that window — to watch you pull the shutters down the way you always do.
“Well, then…” A hand drags through his hair as he lets his head fall back against the seat. “Um… gotta say—your family really believes in making an entrance, huh? Talk about—”
“—I thought your name was Satoru Geto.”
He blinks.
“Huh?”
Your gaze finally pulls from the window, landing on him, and the hurt in it is so carefully contained it almost looks like composure. Almost. Except he’s spent four months learning to read you, and composure doesn’t tremble at the edges like that.
“…Satoru Geto,” you mutter carefully. “That’s the name on your employee record, no?”
Oh...
Right. That.
“…is it?” His gaze slips away, fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… um. About that. Geto’s actually my best friend. I just used his last name because the initials matched.” He’s flopping back against the seat with a small shrug, one arm slinging across the top. “Made it easier to sign off on stuff that way. Gotta work smarter, not harder, right?”
And tilting his head, a crooked grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Yours doesn’t move.
“Right,” you deadpan, turning back toward the window. “So your plan was to just let me keep calling you that.”
You don’t say it like a question.
…is it a question?
Satoru’s brow furrows at the hurt threaded beneath the words. “No… I—” he huffs, hands dropping into his lap. “Obviously I had to hide it while I was working with you, but my legal name was on the boarding pass I gave you, so it’s not like I was actively hiding it, sweetheart.”
You scoff under your breath. “Oh. Cool. So I was just supposed to… what—figure that out on my own?” And suddenly, your voice is doing this awful thing now — losing its clean, controlled shape, slipping into something thinner. Hotter.
He hears it immediately, sighing. “Sorry… but why is this the problem?” he asks, more confused than anything now. “Help me out here. I mean… I thought your mom was what had you upset back there.”
Your eyes roll. “Your name is literally on my paycheck, Gojo. How is that not a problem?”
He stares. Genuinely stares. Because for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with that. To him, his name was just a name. The company was just a company. Status had always felt like something other people got weird about first. Not him.
So, like an idiot, he goes for the joke.
“Well… technically, I think my name is on a lot of paychecks, so—"
“—Jesus Christ, am I a fucking joke to you?”
And the humor drops out of him so fast it almost startles you. Shit. That backfired tremendously. “Whoa—what? No!” He straightens, brow furrowing. “No, no, no. God, no—sweetheart, of course not. Why would you think that?”
You’re looking away before he can see what that does to your face, because you hate how quickly his voice goes from careless to cracked. Hate yourself for making it do that.
Damnit.
You know that wasn’t fair. He had just gotten you out of there. Seen you unraveling in that airport and stepped in without making it worse. Without making you ask. And still — somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, the whole world had shifted under your feet. Him, your mother, that last name. This damn… wedding.
…why does everything feel so hard to sort through right now?
“Just…” You swallow, shifting towards the window, blinking back tears. “Sorry. Don’t talk to me right now.”
His expression softens. “C’mon… no,” he murmurs. “Please… please don’t be like that. I’m sorry you found out this way. I should’ve told you sooner.”
The crack in his voice makes everything unbearable, and outside, Tokyo keeps sliding past in fractured light. So, you look at the window because it’s easier than looking at him. Easier than trying to untangle the mess that is your life. Easier than naming what specifically hurts so much.
And easier than asking yourself what, exactly, had been real and what had only ever been off the record.
Clearly, the universe looked at the absolute clusterfuck of this trip and decided it wasn't finished with you yet.
Because apparently, your fake boyfriend had a limo. Your fake boyfriend, who can upgrade your tickets to first class like it’s nothing. Your fake boyfriend who is also, apparently, your boss — and decided to book you at a luxurious five-star hotel in Tokyo while somehow neglecting to mention that part too.
Whatever. Either way, you're too tired to care. Or maybe just too tired to forgive him — despite the way the marble floors and soft gold light whisper luxury around you like an apology you didn’t ask for.
All you know, is that by the time the two of you make it upstairs, your silence was beyond awkward and hardened into something heavier. More deliberate. So, the moment the suite door clicks open, you’re beelining to the bedroom.
“Goodnight.”
You mutter it under your breath, shutting yourself into the bathroom before he can answer you. And when you change into your pajamas, you try not to linger in the mirror — because your whole face feels tight from holding yourself together, from trying not to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. And as if that weren't enough, the wedding is tomorrow.
…how the fuck are you supposed to get through that too?!
With an exhausted sigh, you push open the bedroom door, reach back to kill the light, and—
“…what are you doing?” you deadpan, stopping cold in the entryway. Because at the foot of the bed, you find Satoru in sweats, crouched on the floor, carefully spreading a blanket across it. He smooths the corner flat and those blue eyes flick up, then drop back down.
“Making myself comfortable?”
…
That explains absolutely nothing.
Your brows pull together. “Okaaay…? Clearly. But—why?” Rolling your eyes, your arms cross. “Don’t tell me you fucked up the reservation. I mean, you’re the one who booked this place. Don’t you have your own suite?”
“Yup. I do.”
He says it so easily it almost irritates you more. You watch him fluff the pillow and set it on the floor like this is perfectly normal behavior for a man who can apparently summon private drivers and spend obscene amounts of money at the drop of a hat.
Your teeth grit. “Great. So go lay in your bed.”
Exhaling through his nose, he lowers himself onto the marble like it’s no different than a mattress. One arm tucks behind his head, the other rests over his stomach, all lazy limbs and impossible calm.
“Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll sleep here. Promised you wouldn’t be alone this trip.”
And the universe, apparently, hadn't taken quite enough from your dignity yet. Because you find yourself genuinely speechless.
For a moment, you just stand there looking at him — at the ridiculous length of him stretched out across the floor, at the fact that he has a whole bed somewhere else and was still choosing this — and at how he somehow managed to make the gesture feel casual enough not to embarrass you and sincere enough that it did anyway.
“…suit yourself,” you grumble, stomping over to your bed.
You yank the covers back and climb in with an irritated sweep, reaching over to find the light. Darkness folds over the room in one soft rush, and for a while, there’s only the low hum of air conditioning and the distant glow of Tokyo bleeding dimly through the curtains. Somewhere beneath it all, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric from the floor, the small settling sound of him getting comfortable.
…
Or trying to.
You lie stiffly on your side, facing away from the edge of the bed that he lays, staring into the dark like you can force your mind to shut up if you just do it hard enough.
Ugh…
Despite how tired you are, sleep feels impossible.
Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pillow and shift to the other side of the bed with an annoyed little huff. And there’s the broad line of his back in the dark. One arm folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over the blanket, like this is all perfectly normal. Like sleeping on the marble floor in a five-star hotel is not objectively unhinged behavior.
“…you’re actually gonna sleep down there?” you mutter into the dark.
“Mm.” His voice comes easy, amused. “You should be sleeping, missy.”
“So should you,” you huff. “In a bed.”
Chuckling, he shifts onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. He hums. “Nahhh,” and an exaggerated exhale breathes out of him, tired. “The floor’s fine. I’m reconnecting with the earth. Re-centering. Some might say it’s very… grounding.”
You can hear that pleased little smirk of his, even in the dark, and it pulls a snort out of you before you can stop it. “…wow, seriously?” Biting back a grin. “You’re so stupid.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah… maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. Probably won’t be the last, either. But…” With a tired sigh, he drapes his arm over his face, half-hiding in the dark. “…guess I’d rather be stupid than leave you alone, though.”
The words slip out, and the room goes strangely quiet. Something tender and awful pulling tight in your throat as you stare down at him for a second too long.
…what are you even supposed to do with that? With him?
He’s down there on the floor, keeping a promise you never asked him to make.
Swallowing, your fingers tighten on the blanket. “…hey, Satoru?” That low hum answers, and you hesitate, staring at the dark shape of him on the floor, your heart doing something stupid and uncomfortable against your ribs.
“Come up here,” you blurt.
…
Silence.
“Wait… huh?”
Your eyes squeeze shut.
As if saying it once wasn’t bad enough.
“I-I mean…” you’re shifting onto your back, staring hard at the ceiling because looking at him suddenly feels impossible. “I just… there’s plenty of room, so just—come up.”
…
He’s quiet just long enough to make your face burn hotter. And when he’s pushing himself onto one elbow, even in the dark, you can feel the disbelief radiating off of him like heat.
“Uh… right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I think the jet lag’s getting to me, because there’s no way I heard that right unless you’re fucking with me.”
You cover your face with a groan.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Christ, stop making this harder—” you snap, voice rising. “I’m serious you idiot! Because you’re not making me feel worse tonight by sleeping on the goddamn floor—so hurry and get your ass up here before—”
“—yes ma’am.”
He’s moving before you can rethink the entire thing, despite how your pulse is suddenly loud in your own ears. You scoot over, clutching the blanket to your chest, and the mattress dips beneath his weight — the sheets rustle. His body shifts. And then everything goes still.
…too still.
All you can do is lie there. Stiff. Acutely, helplessly aware of him. But it’s dark — mercifully dark — and thank god for that, because you don’t think you could survive seeing his face right now. Not this close. Not after that. Not with your own invitation still echoing back at you like something you’d like to physically retrieve out of thin air.
“Soooo…” he mumbles, fingers tapping the mattress. “Um… for the record, this is like… significantly nicer than my original arrangement. Way less marble.”
Despite the nerves, his words loosen a laugh from your chest. “…yeah? Well, good,” you mutter, tugging the blanket a little higher. “Because honestly, the level of commitment you were showing that floor was a little concerning.”
He chuckles. “True, true.” And suddenly, you can hear the lazy stretch of a grin in his voice. “Buuuut I mean… I wasn’t about to lose our first fight—not as your boyfriend.”
Your breath catches. “W-Wow…” You huff like that’ll cover it. “You—um… got real comfortable with that word fast,” you mutter, trying for dry and missing by a mile.
A low hum. “I'm a committed man. What can I say?” and his voice is all smug velvet and sleep-rough warmth. “Mmm… I kinda like the sound of it, actually.”
The words land lower than they should. Because that should not sound as good as it does.
“D-Don’t… don’t say it like that,” you stammer.
The mattress dips.
“Mm?” he whispers. “…well, how else should I say it, princess?”
…
Fake.
Fake boyfriend.
The word lands somewhere quiet and ugly under your ribs, and all at once the warmth of the bed feels strange against your skin. Because that's what this is. What it has to be. A role. A weekend. A lie with soft edges and an expiration date. And…
“Just—nevermind…” you mutter, shoving it down, repositioning your pillow. “Laying in a bed with my boss was not really on my bingo card for this trip. Or finding out halfway through it, apparently.”
He scoffs. “I’m not your boss. My dad’s your boss.” A humorless breath leaves you. “Yeah? Well, that is not as comforting a distinction as you think it is, Gojo, when your name is still on my—”
“—Satoru,” he corrects softly.
You blink into the dark.
“Wait. Sorry… what?”
A small huff leaves him, almost annoyed, almost something softer. “It’s just…” he grumbles, shifting against the sheets, “I like it a lot better when you call me Satoru…” And even without seeing him, you can hear it.
Is he… pouting?
The fabric rustles again as he shifts. “Look…” he says after a beat, and the teasing has gone out of his voice now. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…” He exhales through his nose. “I didn’t think hearing my last name would make you start acting like I was suddenly somebody else...?”
Your lashes flutter as he scoots closer, and this time, your breath catches. Because a thin line of moonlight slips through the curtains, cutting across the bed just enough to catch him there. The loose fall of white hair over his forehead, the softened line of his mouth, the pale blue of his eyes gone dim and almost silver in the dark.
“And…” His voice lowers, softer now. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I liked just being Satoru to you..." Those blue eyes dip to your lips, just for a second, before lifting back to yours. His breath hitches.
“Y’know I’m still me… right?” He whispers.
As his breath fans across your face, you feel fingers slipping over yours, careful enough to feel like a question, and your pulse does something wild. Because for one suspended second, he doesn’t look real. He looks like something half-dreamed.
Beautiful.
“Right…” you breathe, the word thin. “I know that, and… I-I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. I just… I wasn’t expecting any of this, and then everything at the airport and—and god—and then my mom and—"
The words are tumbling out now, too fast, too loose, and even in the dark you feel laid open by them. Bare in a way that makes you want to snatch every one back. Because there he is, looking at you with that same unbearable patience, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, absent strokes, his mouth tipped in a smile so soft it almost feels private.
…yours.
And that’s what’s terrifying. He feels like something you could lean into. Like warmth can be simple. Unconditional. Real.
But…
Nothing in your life has ever taught you how to lean into warmth without waiting for the condition beneath it. Without turning it over, looking for the fine print. So, perhaps that’s why, when his thumb brushes over your hand again, you pull away.
And his frown is instant.
“I-I…” Your eyes squeeze shut as you clear your throat. “Sorry.” The word comes out frayed. “I want you to know I appreciate you doing this. Genuinely. But…” You swallow hard around the ache pressing at the base of your throat. “Tomorrow is it.”
The room goes so quiet you can hear the air conditioning hum.
His brow furrows, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Um… what are you saying?” He scoffs, lips pulling into a disbelieving grin. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like everything—”
“—after this is over,” you blurt, chest rising. “You can just—forget all this happened, okay?” And your voice thins. Blinking back tears, your eyes flick away. “That’s it. You’ll forget about me. You go back to your life. I go back to mine. Just like we agreed and—”
“—I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Your eyes glance back from the hurt in his voice, and somehow that only makes it worse. Because...
Why?
Why does he have to look at you like that?
You exhale shakily. “I think we both need sleep more than we need this conversation, so…” The blanket is already up at your chin by the time the words leave you. “Let’s… leave it at that. Okay? I’m exhausted," you whisper. "Goodnight, Satoru.”
Shifting away, you roll onto your side before he can say anything else, before he can make this harder than it already is. The bed gives with a quiet creak behind you.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
And you lie there, holding yourself rigid, as if that could undo the part of you that almost turned back.
Still. Despite how tired you are… sleep feels impossible.
a/n. oof. sorry for leaving you on the angst 😭 but this felt like the right place to split it so part 3 can be fully wedding-focused. tysm for reading! i'm blown away by all your support. he's literally so patient and attentive, whaaa. i wanna eat him up 😭
art credits to @/kcokaine on tumblr, line divider by @/cursed-carmine, first gif divider by @/anitalenia, second gif divider by @/cafekitsune, pics from pinterest!
Sukuna and his possessive girl cat. She's always vying for his attention and never letting anyone come too close to him. That is, until she met you. Maybe, just maybe, you can be the one to win her over.
cw: SFW, fuff, girl cat Sukuna, domestic life with reader, reader is implied to be a PhD student, gender neutral reader, modern AU, established relationship, all characters are 18+, proofread, 1.3k wc!
a/n: I wanted to try something different, so here damn, take it LMFAO.... also fun fact! the thesis mentioned is a project I did for my bio class during my 2nd year! this was supposed to be a short fic.. it's longer than I wanted it to be but I couldn't stop writing </3 anyways enjoy!
a/n 2: I forgot to mention, but reader refers to the cat as "pip"; however, I decided against naming the cat after spending an hour trying to find a good name on reddit….
It was late at night when Sukuna found her.
A damp cardboard box next to the trash compactor of his apartment complex, and inside was a ball of fur, curled into itself. Shivering from the cold, while the thin blankets barely did anything to keep her warm. The lamppost over his head flickered on and off, lighting up the pathway leading to the dark, filthy alleyway where she was.
The sound of his footsteps had her curious head peeking from under the blankets, and before he knew it, he was staring back at a pair of green feline eyes. Her brown fur was matted and wet, and her ears stood tall. His hands reached forward slowly, hesitantly—only to be followed by a hiss. However, the smell of his sandalwood perfume and his calm patience comforted her. With his hand open and welcoming, she nuzzled her face into his warm palm.
Soon enough, huddled beneath the warmth of his hoodie, she found her home. And Sukuna, who couldn't even take care of a rock, found himself becoming a cat dad overnight.
It took some time for her to ease up to him, to trust him, but little by little, with each treat and each scratch behind the ear, Sukuna won her over. She was one spoiled cat; that much was sure. After all, Sukuna could never find it in himself to say no to his pretty girl—whether it was an extra treat, a new toy, or even a sparkly collar that caught her eye at the pet store.
She was a feisty cat, and a possessive one too. Ever since the day Sukuna took her in, she never left his side. Constantly vying for his attention with soft meows and her big eyes.
That is until you came into the picture.
With messy hair, clothes stained with coffee and a voice that brought a smile to his face.
You met on a gloomy day. The soft pitter-patter of rain against the windows became your company inside the quaint little cafe. The soft yellow lights highlighted your features, and your attention remained undivided as you stared attentively at the laptop in front of you.
The pull was magnetic—at least for him. Even as he was giving his order, he couldn't help but keep his eyes on you, throwing a look over his shoulder every five seconds—a small, hopeful part of him waiting to catch your attention.
His gaze wandered across the room, and in a cafe that was hardly crowded, he chose to take the seat right in front of you. The scrap of chair legs against the floor had you looking up, only to be met with, most possibly, the hottest man your eyes have ever laid upon.
Standing before you, Sukuna looked like a man of sin.
His leather jacket hugged each built muscle of his arms, his hair tousled and swept back, as if he'd been running his fingers through it all day. Silver hooped earrings decorating his ears glinted under the soft lighting of the cafe. His lips curved up into a smirk, peering down at you with piercing eyes, catching the way your eyes trailed across the pretty tattoos on his sharp features, until they met his—making heat rush to your cheeks from being caught.
It took your brain a moment to process what was transpairing, and once you did, your face warmed with embarrassment. Not only did he catch you staring, but your own attire left you feeling embarrassed. Clothes dishevelled and hair a mess from sitting in this quiet corner for hours, working tirelessly on the last few pages of your thesis on the role of engineered microbial enzymes for plastic biodegradation.
"Hey."
Dear god, his voice was equally as hot as him.
"Hi."
And eventually, you found a home with him too.
You still remember the first time you came over to his place, his arm wrapped around your waist as he guided you through the doors of his apartment. The second the door creaked open, you were greeted by a dash of brown fur, and the sound of excited paws against wood flooring filled the quiet atmosphere. Your heart warmed at the sight, watching her tail curl around his calf as she welcomed him back home.
Reaching forward to pet her, you were met with a hiss, turning her back towards you in rejection. A frown crossed your face, while the man towering behind you laughed as if he was having the time of his life.
"What..." You were left dumbfounded, disappointed by her hostility. Sukuna merely chuckled, his arm pulling you to him, planting a kiss to your hairline.
"Don't worry about her," he reassures, while the her in question left the room long ago, preferring to spend her time with a toy mouse and not with you. "It'll take some time for her to warm up to you," his hands reach for the collar of your jacket, helping you slide your arms out and hooking it to the coat hanger, "or to anyone," he said under his breath.
Your ears, however, did not miss his whispered words.
Since then, you found yourself competing for his attention with a cat, of all things. Every kiss shared was interpreted with a meow, every attempt to cuddle on the couch met with her sliding herself between you two, and every lingering touch of his trailing further was met with a paw smacking away at his eager hands.
It wasn't until that one night when everything changed.
Pulling up to the parking lot of his apartment, you slammed the door to your car shut, locking it while your hands juggled between your purse and car keys.
Your phone, on the other hand, was caught between your right ear and shoulder as you stayed on call with him. Sukuna was stuck at work, held back in a meeting, while you were already waiting outside of his door. Digging through the purse, you find the spare keys to his place.
"Kay, don't worry," you reply, twisting the doorknob and stepping inside. On his end, all he hears is shuffling, and then the sound of your keys placed onto the counter as you take off your coat. "I can take care of her, Sukuna." You roll your eyes at the thorough instructions he was throwing your way.
With a sigh, you hang up the call, making your way further into his place, your feet leading you straight to the living room where she was perched up on the beige couch, cuddled into herself like a loaf of bread.
"Looks like it's just you and me today, pip," you say, placing a hand on your hip, receiving a dejected meow in response from her.
It was going to be a long night.
Your attempts all felt fruitless, throwing a toy or treat, only for her passive attitude to dismiss you. Even following her dinner down to the last scoop, mixing her dry and wet food as instructed, you were met with a flick of her tail in disinterest.
By the time you gave up, the day had already passed—tirelessly at that. It wasn’t until you let your guard down, giving up with a defeated sigh and plopping yourself down onto the couch, that she moved. Slowly by slowly, through the periphery of your eyesight, she was inching toward you on the couch, while you mindlessly scrolled through Netflix.
Until she finally reached out, pawing at your hands. Your heart swelled at the sight of her big eyes and the soft meows, letting go of your frustration from the day you finally gave her a pet—nails scratching behind her ears as her eyes closed in contentment.
And when Sukuna finally came home that night, exhaustion on his face from the day wearing him down, he was met with the sight of you two lying on the couch—her small form cuddled into your chest underneath the throw blanket.
꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
Grand Duke!Zayne and you are so loud during sex that there is an unofficial consensus among the staff to avoid your wing at night completely, and most of the times during day after finishing essential housekeeping💀;
The heavy oak door to your chambers had barely clicked shut before Zayne's lips found your neck, his large hands already working at the laces of your nightgown.
"You're impatient tonight, Your Grace," you breathed, though you made no move to stop him.
"Hush." His voice was a low rumble against your skin. "I've been in council meetings for six hours listening to the old baron droning about grain taxes. Let me have this."
It doesn't take long till both your moans shadow the ominous creaking of the bed and the rattling of various ornaments in the room.
...
Your two handmaidens, Elara and Mina, look up as they hear the noise, before facing each other and shaking their heads, scurrying out before they traumatise their poor ears.
"I swear by the gods," Mina whispered, her cheeks flushed crimson even as she pressed a hand to her chest, "last week I went up to fetch my embroidery scissors. I forgot he'd returned from the border. The things I heard..."
Elara winced. "How long did it take you to recover?"
"Three days. I walked past the door at the wrong moment." Mina's voice dropped to a horrified hush.
They rounded the corner into the servants' stairwell, where the stone walls offered blessed, deadened silence.
"The new stable boy asked me yesterday why no one goes to the east wing after supper," Elara said, adjusting her wimple. "I told him it was being renovated."
"Renovated." Mina let out a choked laugh. "That's one word for it."
...
Down in the kitchen, the cook had taken to serving late-night tea with a knowing look and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder for any servant who emerged from the upper floors looking particularly haunted. The head housekeeper had a rotation schedule that mysteriously exempted the entire eastern corridor from evening duties. Even the guards had been known to draw straws for who had to walk the night patrol past the Grand Duke's chambers.
"The chandelier," one guard had whispered to another just last week, his face pale. "I watched it swaying. And no windows were open."
...
Upstairs, oblivious to the quiet terror they had inspired among the staff, Zayne's hand braced against the headboard as the bed (solid oak, reinforced twice by a skeptical carpenter) protested loudly beneath you two.
"Ah...Zayne...the bed..." He drove deeper, hooked his hips just so, and your warning dissolved into a sound that would have made a nun blush to the tip of her toes.
"Don't worry about the bed, my duchess," Zayne growls against your throat. "It's not more valuable than your pleasure."
He hikes your leg up higher over his shoulder and thrusts deeper, dissolving whatever you were about to say into a loud moan.
...
There is a thud and a sprinkle of plaster and ash, and a porcelain vase wobbling dangerously close to the edge of its console table, and your handmaidens, chef and two of the night guards stare at each other awkwardly.
"Do you think," whispered Elara, "they realize we can hear them from the kitchen?"
Mina finishes her tea, and produces a pack of earplugs "Not if I can help it. Take some, and goodnight." she stuffs two into her own and walks back to her quarters.
In which sukuna gets shy and forgets how to speak when you fix his chain in front of his frat brothers
A reference to this series
It’s a friday night.
You had come over to the frat house after class, by now it was normal for you to randomly show up. It was the end of the week, with your body and mind both sore and tired from all the work you’ve done all week , eyes heavy, you went straight to sukuna’s room, plopped on his bed, and drifted to sleep.
How many hours had passed since you fell asleep , Three? Four? You don’t even know , you sit up , rubbing the sleep out of your eyes , with no signs of sukuna around, your throat is so dry it feels like thorns are pricking at it.
Now you were downstairs looking for water.
Unbeknownst to you, everyone’s already there ,
The second you stepped into the kitchen, Shoko noticed you first.
Then Sukuna.
And just like always, something in him changed immediately.
He’d been leaning against the counter beside Toji and Geto, lazily picking apart some story Gojo was telling while half the room listened in amusement. Tattoos stretched beneath the sleeves of his black shirt, rings catching against the fluorescent kitchen light every time he gestured.
He looked Confident and Sharp-edged. Like he always did.
Then his eyes landed on you and as soon as they did,His posture straightened subtly.
The tension in his jaw eased.
Like his entire nervous system recalibrated.
You walked over quietly, still sleepy enough that you barely noticed everyone watching. Sukuna’s gaze followed you the entire way until you stopped in front of him.
“You okay?” he asked immediately.
“Mhm.” Your voice came out soft from exhaustion. Then your eyes caught on the silver chain hanging crooked beneath the collar of his shirt. “Your chain’s twisted.”
“Huh?”
Without thinking much of it, you stepped closer.
Conversation around the kitchen slowly faded.
Your fingers brushed lightly against the cool metal resting against his throat as you fixed the clasp, carefully straightening where it had turned sideways against his skin.
And Sukuna went completely still and no,
Not in a dramatic way.
But the kind where someone forgets how to function entirely.
His hand tightened slightly around the cup he was holding while he stared down at you, breathing quieter ,shoulders stiff beneath your touch.
Gojo blinked. Then blinked again.
“No fucking way.”
You didn’t even notice.
You were too focused on fixing the chain properly, fingers brushing against the warm skin of his neck every few seconds.
“There,” you murmured finally. “Better.”
Silence.
You looked up confused.
Every single person in the kitchen was staring.
Toji looked moments away from losing consciousness laughing. Geto had physically covered his mouth trying to hide a grin while Shoko watched like she’d just witnessed a rare astronomical event.
Gojo pointed directly at Sukuna.
“HE’S BLUSHING.”
Your eyes snapped back upward instantly And there it was.
Faint pink dusting across Sukuna’s ears and creeping slowly over the bridge of his nose while he looked at you like his brain had short-circuited.
Your lips parted slightly to say something,
“…wait.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered towards Gojo without taking his eyes off you once.
That only made everyone laugh harder.
“Oh this is BAD,” Geto said through laughter. “He’s gone.”
“To think,” Shoko sighed dramatically, “the campus plague finally domesticated.”
“Fuck off.” He told them.
But there was no bite in it.
Not really.
Because you were still standing close enough for him to feel the warmth coming off your body, your fingers lightly resting against his chest after fixing the chain.
And Sukuna looked wrecked by it.
You smiled , you just couldn’t hold it in.
“Aww,” you teased softly. “You’re embarrassed?”
His eyes narrowed immediately, but it lacked its usual sharpness.
“Don’t start.”
“You’re literally red.”
“I am not.”
“You kinda are,” Toji interrupted giddily.
Gojo looked ready to pass away from excitement. “I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MAN EXPERIENCE HUMAN EMOTION.”
Before you could say anything else, Sukuna suddenly grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you against his chest.
A small startled sound left you as his arm settled around your waist instinctively, keeping you tucked against his side like proximity itself calmed him down.
“Enough,” he muttered lowly.
But when you tilted your head up at him, smiling still lingering on your lips, the blush deepened anyway.
And the kitchen absolutely lost its mind.
“HE GOT SHY.”
“THIS IS INSANE.”
“Somebody take a picture.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” Gojo announced dramatically.
Sukuna flipped everyone off immediately.
Yet even while doing it, his thumb rubbed absentminded circles against your waist beneath the hoodie.
Like touching you had already become second nature to him.
He had learnt to be gentle with you at all times, which was kinda shocking for someone like him, but he did.
And when you reached up one more time to flatten the collar of his shirt, Sukuna leaned down automatically without even realizing he’d done it.
The room erupted so loudly someone from upstairs yelled asking if a fight broke out.
Everyone was enjoying this way to much.
Meanwhile Sukuna buried his face briefly against the top of your head, muttering,
“You’re never coming downstairs with me again.”
You could only laugh a little because you know that’s far from the truth.
ೃ࿔*:･ Bringing your best friend Satoru to a wedding to make your ex jealous! | Gojo x reader fluff
ೃ࿔*:･
Your best friend Satoru happily agreed when you asked him to be your plus one to a friend's wedding.
Your shitty ex was on the guest list and you couldn't bear the thought of showing up alone. Better yet, you asked Satoru to help make him jealous, batting your pretty lashes at him while you asked so sweetly. How could he possibly say no?
Your best friend Satoru, who you dragged along with you to shop for a dress. He pretended to be inconvenienced, of course, but in reality watching you light up over shoes you "had to have" and blush when you tried on a revealing dress might've been the highlight of his life.
He wasn't much help when it came to actually choosing a dress, considering that he thought you looked beautiful in everything you tried on. But when you found the dress, Satoru was at a loss for words—unsettling behavior from someone who was well known for never shutting up.
"You're quiet," you frowned, silky blue fabric twirling as you spun away from the mirror to face him. "You don't like it?"
Black swallowed blue as his pupils dilated, eyes looking you over from head to toe slowly, cataloguing every divine detail.
"Just speechless is all," he said finally, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. "It's like it was made for you."
Your best friend Satoru, who insisted on finding a tie that perfectly matched your dress. He was committed to the task, dragging you along to store after store. "Payback" he'd called it, for generously buying your dress, although he'd do it again 10 times over for only the smile on your face in return.
Your best friend Satoru, who nodded eagerly when you offered to put his tie on him, struggling to form coherent thoughts with your pretty face just inches from his. He shuddered when your fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of his neck and silently hoped you didn't notice.
Your best friend Satoru, who drove to the wedding so you wouldn't have to worry about drinking. Plus, he pointed out, you'd look "hot and mysterious" showing up in his expensive sports car. He was right if the look your ex shot you as the two of you pulled up was any indication.
As he opened the door and helped you out, his large hand found its way to the small of your back. It stayed there for most of the evening.
Your best friend Satoru, who held you close, always touching you somewhere; your hips, your waist, your face. He had to be convincing after all, especially with the man who fumbled you watching.
Your best friend Satoru, who grew bolder as the night went on. His touch grew more possessive with every glance your undeserving ex stole, and his hands began to wander when you leaned approvingly into his touch. His fingertips traced lazy circles over the silky fabric that concealed your thigh, and Satoru couldn't suppress a grin when you hummed approvingly, satisfied with his touch.
Your best friend Satoru, who led you by the hand to the dance floor when a slow song came on. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces as he held you close, dancing with a calm confidence that quietly urged you to follow his lead.
Your best friend Satoru, who kissed you under the twinkling fairy lights of the dimly lit venue as the music concluded. Maybe your ex was watching, but he was long forgotten, especially with the way you kissed him back.
♯ really need to step up my writing skills.. please never get bored of my domestic choso
Dating Choso for a few months had been surprisingly normal.
At first, he was quiet, respectful of your space, and very careful with every touch.
Honestly, you thought he'd always be that shy. How can you not? He'd hold your hands gently, sitting closely but not too close, and ask before kissing you.
Then somewhere along the way, something changed.
Maybe he was getting comfortable. But whatever the reason was, your boyfriend slowly transformed into the clingiest man alive.
"Choso."
"Hm?"
You turned your head to look at him, letting out a small laugh. "Why are you standing there?"
He blinked once. "I missed you."
You tilted your head. "I was gone for five minutes, to the bathroom."
"It felt longer," He frowned slightly.
You laughed under your breath, turning back toward the kitchen counter. "You're getting clingy."
Quiet footsteps approached behind you.
Then, you felt his warmth behind you. His arms slipped around your waist with his chin settled on top of your head, like this had become a second nature to him.
"Choso," you sighed fondly. "I'm trying to cook here."
"You can still do that," he murmured.
"Not when my boyfriend is attached to me."
"I like being close to you."
Over time, he grew clingier in small ways.
Hand resting on your thigh whenever you sat next to each other, quietly following you around the apartment, pulling you back into bed whenever you tried getting up.
Today was no different.
You had almost escaped, almost.
Your foot was already on the floor, ready to start the day.
Then the mattress dipped behind you. A sleepy groan echoed through the room before something warm enveloped your waist.
"Mm, stay," he grumbles.
You laughed quietly. "Good morning to you too," you whispered.
You glanced over your shoulder to look at him. His hair was a mess, eyes barely open as he clung to you.
"Too early," he mumbled as he buried his face deeper against your back.
"It's almost ten."
"So?"
"So.. it's not early?" You said, rubbing his hair.
His arms tightened slightly around your waist as you tried to move again.
"Just stay."
You sighed. "I need to get up."
Suddenly, you were pulled backward onto the mattress with a surprised laugh. Choso immediately curled around you again.
"Hey!" You tried to push him, playfully, but he won't move.
You turned slightly in his hold, only to find him already staring at you with those sleepy eyes.
"Let's make a deal, Cho," you said suddenly.
Choso blinked once before propping his head with his hand.
"What deal?"
"You let me get out of bed," you added. "And when i come back, we can cuddle all day. Maybe we can have lunch in bed?"
Choso went quiet immediately.
Slowly, his grip on your waits loosened.
"Lunch in bed?"
"Mhm."
"Together, right?"
You laughed softly. "Of course."
Choso hummed thoughtfully, still unconvinced. But after a moment, he finally let his arm fall away from your waist.
"Fine," he mumbled. "But make it quick."
You smiled triumphantly, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "Deal."
The second you pulled away, Choso caught your wrist again.
"Can you bring me with you?"
You tilted your head. "To.. where?"
"Wherever you're going."
"Wherever i'm going," you repeated, trying not to smile. "Even when i'm brushing my teeth?"
"Mhm," Choso nodded against the pillow. "I'll wait."
You stared at him for a moment before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.
"You're actually attached to me now."
Choso leaned in to the kiss, looking completely unashamed. "I don't see a problem."
Caleb walks around like an absolute slut—not an ounce of shame in his body—when he’s covered in love bites. He loves them.
Claw marks across his back and shoulders, lipstick stains along his abs, hickeys covering his neck, teeth indents around his nipples—
His late night activities were apparent to anyone.
“Are you sure you wanna go out like…that?” you almost cringed as Caleb exits the hotel bathroom dressed for the hot springs. Duh, he looked sexy as hell, but it wasn’t unreasonable to think he looked like he got mauled by a beast.
His pride multiplied at the—in his eyes—praise from you, yet he played dumb as he approached you, his grip finding your waist. “Hm? What’s wrong with it?”
When you explained your concerns over the markings littering his skin, he only hummed, head bowing so his lips could graze the curve of your ear.
“Now, after all this time…” he rasped, placing an open kiss below your ear, “after how long I waited to have you…” another kiss to your collarbone, “why would I possibly…” a final kiss, as he straightened, to your lips.
“…want to hide that I’m yours?”
So, when he returned to work the following week, of course he made no effort to conceal the hickeys along his jaw or Adam’s apple that his uniform couldn’t quite cover. Unasked questions prompted by prying eyes were silenced from a single glance from Colonel Caleb, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of the bruises.
“Had a nice vacation, colonel?” Liam asked as the duo stood juxtaposed within a Farspace cruiser’s elevator.
“I suppose you could say that,” Caleb replied in a curt manner. However, his mind was racing.
A nice vacation? Any mention of it, any kind of reminder had lewd images of you flashing through his mind… it was the best vacation of his goddamn life. All he wanted to do was fly home and get marked up and fu—
‘Shit,’ he mentally cursed.
…Now with an uncomfortable ‘situation’ in his pants, he briskly hopped off the elevator, sped to his office, and locked the door before scrambling to call you.
Caleb fucking loves love bites.
a/n: the hot spring cards are actual insanity. infold, you have my soul. thank you.
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