Sum: Rindou had his normal day at hide out when a mystery girl came into elevator
Warning:age gap(reader is 19, Rindou is 39), reader is Kakucho’s younger sister, teasing
It was just like any other day at Bonten’s hideout, Rindou came into elevator tired from all meetings he did for bonten, as doors were closing cute voice rang through
“WAIT!!”
he stopped door and saw a girl around 19 coming in. He looked at her up and down with his violet eyes . He looked at her beautiful long hair, than her big tirs that were covered by crop top, her beautiful cubby thighs and little skirt, knee socks, boots with heels, he teddy bear backpack. She screamed innocence.
“What floor, sweetheart?”
“6th please”
He nodded and pressed 6th floor. The first thoughts that run though his mind are that she's so young. so small and so damn beautiful. she's so different from him on all accounts, he's rough and she's soft..he's tall and she's small, just than he realized that sixed floor was only for Bonten’s high members
“What’s your business there?”
Girl turned to him and smiled.
“im going to my brother”
“Brother? Who might that be?”
As far as Rindou knew Ran and him along Takeomi nad Sanzu were only siblings that bonten high members had.
“Kakucho, im his younger sister. My name is [name]”
"ah.."
now it made sense why he's never seen her before. she's kakucho's younger sister, that makes sense on why she's so small and adorable.
"so why are you here?"
"Kakucho told me to come so he can give me money, for my birthday"
"oh..did he now?"
Rindou's mind is once again starting to think up all type of excuses to keep her around. she's so small, soft, sweet, and so damn easy on the eyes.
"and when is your birthday love?"
"Today, im 19 now"
"Happy birthday"
god the age gap is absolutely massive, but he doesn't care. seeing her look at him with that sweet smile of hers is only going to make him act on every dark thought that comes to mind
"Thanks"
[name] chuckled, hearing her little chuckle has his heart skipping a damn beat. how can someone like her be related to kakucho? he's a large and intimidating man who could tear someone apart with his teeth and here she is, looking like a small and beautiful doll. how can someone be adorable but terrifying at the same damn time?he glances up at the rapidly changing floor numbers before returning his full attention back to her. He wasn't sure how to continue this conversation but he knew one thing for sure, she will be his. his eyes rake over her little body, taking in every curve and detail she has to offer. he's never found anyone like her so captivating before, she's so damn adorable and soft and he can feel the need to protect her and claim her growing stronger with every passing second
"do you have boyfriend love?"
"no"
he can't help but flash a smirk. she's not attached to anyone and he can't help but feel thrilled that she isn't. he wants her to only have eyes for him and he wants to claim her before someone else does. his mind is spinning with the thoughts of owning her and protecting her
"good"
elevator opened and Ran, Rindou’s older brother, was there. [name] smiled
"Oh im getting off here. Byeee"
"Hii", she told Ran and went to Kakucho’s office
Ran came into elevator looking at his brother
rindou watched as she got off and walked down the hall to kakucho's office. his eyes followed her until she was out of sight before he turned his attention back to his brother. his expression is completely different now that she's out of eyesight. he looked almost cold and distant as he looks up at ran
"don't say a word.."
Ran chuckled and didn't even look at his dear brother
"Wasn't gonna"
with that elevator doors closed leaving two brothers there
Synopsis ❧ Idol!reader and Ushijima secret relationship faces a viral "soft launch" when he accidentally wanders shirtless into her live vlog.
It was supposed to be a simple "Get Ready With Me" vlog for the group’s official channel. You had your ring light set up on the vanity of your shared apartment, the camera angled perfectly to show your skincare routine while keeping the rest of the room a blur.
"And then, for the final step, I use this rosewater mist," you chirped at the lens, holding the bottle up. "It’s super refreshing after a long dance practice—"
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The rhythmic, heavy sound of footsteps approached. You froze. You had forgotten that today was Ushijima’s "active recovery" day.
The door swung open. Ushijima strode into the frame, shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck and a gallon-sized water bottle in one hand. He didn't look at the camera. He didn't even look at you. He walked straight to the closet behind you, reached for a fresh training shirt on the top shelf revealing every rippling muscle in his back to your 5 million subscribers and then paused.
He finally noticed the glowing ring light.
The silence lasted for five very long, very high-definition seconds.
Ushijima turned his head slowly, squinting at the camera lens as if it were a particularly difficult blocker at the net. You sat there, misting bottle paralyzed in mid-air.
"Are you recording a video?" he asked, his voice a deep, morning gravel.
"Toshi," you whispered, your face turning a shade of red that matched your group’s official fandom color. "I'm live-recording. To the internet. Right now."
He looked at the camera again. Most people would have ducked or dived out of the way. Ushijima Wakatoshi simply adjusted his posture.
"I see," he said. He stepped closer, his massive shoulder completely obscuring your face from the frame. He leaned down until his nose was inches from the lens. "Hello. Please ensure she eats the breakfast I left on the counter. She often forgets when she is focused on her choreography."
"Toshi! Get out!" you squealed, pushing his solid bicep. It was like trying to move a redwood tree.
"I am leaving," he said, unfazed. He looked back at the lens one last time. "Also, our next home game is on Saturday. Tickets are available on the V-League website. Goodbye."
He walked out, shutting the door with a firm, decisive click.
You sat in stunned silence for a moment before looking at the recording monitor. The comments section of the "preview" clip was already moving so fast it was a blur of gibberish.
Y/Nbunny: IS THAT SCHWEIDEN ADLERS USHIJIMA?!
hugs4Y/N: DID HE JUST PLUG HIS VOLLEYBALL GAME ON A BEAUTY VLOG??
foreverY/N: THE BACK MUSCLES. I AM GOING FERAL.
loveY/N: 'Please ensure she eats’ I'm crine he's so blunt but so sweet??
You sighed, burying your face in your hands. Your manager was going to have a heart attack, but your engagement metrics were about to hit an all time high.
wc: 6.5k of 28k || art creds: @/thatsallitcheif || 18+ || part 1 ! part 2 ! part 3 !
summary! frat boy satoru spots the most adorable girl he’s never seen on campus before and just has to have her, suguru throws in a bet and it gets crazy when your ex sukuna gets involved. (fluff, angst/comfort/ smut)
“yo, toru. whatcha lookin at?”
standing so sweetly in line at jujutsu university’s student cafe, stood the most adorably breathtaking girl satoru swears he’d ever laid eyes on. looking up at the variety board of drinks with one pretty manicured nail tapping your chin, you shyly made your way up to the counter.
you we’re what he was staring at.
suguru nudged the white haired boys shoulder as they sat back on a bench, not far from the café’s store front. they lounged back with widespread legs, still dressed in their sweaty basketball jerseys.
“hey man, i’m talkin' to you.”
shaking his head trying to regather his thoughts, satoru half heartedly responded.
“yeah man that sounds good. whatever you wanna do.”
the purple eyed man let out an annoyed huff, “that’s not even- you know what? forget it.” he was used to his best friends frequent ditzy zone-outs, suguru knew it was best to just drop it and try his luck asking about what had him so enamoured later.
satoru paid no mind to it, still trailing his eyes over your frame as you seemed to stumble over your words when ordering whatever cute little drink he’s sure a sweet thing like you enjoyed. he wasn’t sure what had his eyes suddenly so drawn to you, a random campus girl he’d never seen in his life.
maybe it was the fact you had the whole, ‘girl next door’ thing down pat, or maybe how you looked like you owned fifty vintage hollister sweaters, the real tight ones that showed off your body in that innocent kind of way. you were clad in just that, a grey one, paired with a cute skirt, some stockings and those leg warmers he always saw the cute girls on instagram wear.
very attractive, in his very correct opinion.
he let out a deep breath through his lips as he watched you sip the straw of what looked to be an iced latte, your subtle lip gloss slightly staining the white paper. how could he see from so far away? no one really knew, satoru gojo was known for having some real good eyes.
he was known for a alot actually. his trust fund worth more than what it cost to build the prestigious university and then some, or his effortless charm that never failed to nudge pretty sorority girls into his bed.
but most of all satoru gojo was most renowned throughout jujutsu for his insane ragers. the ones where the cops get called one way or another, and hundreds of drunken collage kids scramble in all directions out of his notorious frat, alpha phi. (yeah i use this one everytime shuddup)
and sure, he was at uni for basketball like his buddy suguru, but satoru could ace any course this school had to offer, and that was the scariest thing about him, his sheer unfathomable wit.
“suguru, d’you know that girl sitting over there, at the cafe? the one with the cute sweater.”
his friend raised his head from looking down at his phone to meet where satoru was pointing.
“ah, so that’s what you were looking at. glad i got my answer ten minutes fucking later, tsk.” suguru pocketed his phone and sat back against the bench, continuing.
“yeah i know her, her names y/n. she’s in my ethics class, a real cute one, huh? really quiet, always fiddling with her hair and shit, classical doll faced nerd.” he said pulling out a cigarette.
satoru nodded and let out a hmm in response, still watching you from afar as you tapped at your phone, shyly tucked away at a table outside the cafe and under a big brown oak tree.
‘y/n…’
“what, you wanna talk to her or something? the whole shy and prude thing isn’t really your type. i’m almost certain a sweet thing like that doesn’t need a frat boy ruining her life, don’t cha think?” suguru chuckled with a now lit cigarette between his lips.
yeah, he was right.
sure satoru had pretty much pictured your adorable little self in a long white wedding dress already, not really sure why, since he never entertained the idea of getting married; especially not anytime soon. but the way you carried yourself, the way your sparkly little nails traced the lid of your cup as you looked down through your long, pretty lashes at whatever was on your phone had him completely entranced.
“jesus christ satoru. you look like a dog in heat staring through her head like that.” the black haired man took a puff before continuing. “if you really want to, just go over and sweet talk her, get her number, fuck ‘er real good and get it outta your system.” suguru said nonchalantly.
satoru shivered a bit at the thought, like for once, just fucking someone and dipping was suddenly disgusting and not what he did almost on the daily. for once he looked at someone he found attractive and instead of feeling the urge to rut inside and fulfil his desires, he felt a compulsion to care for and protect them. god what was he? a fucking dog? reluctantly, satoru sighed and stood up infront of the other male.
“nah man… you’re right, she’s just a bit too… ‘nice’ looking for someone like me. let’s get outta here, i needa drink.”
suguru chuckled as he clasped hands with his friend, satoru pulling him up from his seated position. “cute girls like that deserve better than us, toru.” he only let out a breathy chuckle, knowing deep down he was very, very right, that he should just ignore the deep feeling of warmth inside his gut from when he was staring at you earlier.
~
later that night, now dressed in a tight black shirt and white baggy sweats (get my reference) paired with the classic fuck boy silver chain and jordan’s, satoru was sat on his frats couch, sipping the jungle juice him and nanami made earlier for tonight’s party.
on any normal night, satoru would be in the middle of it all, dancing and making out with whatever sorority chick he chose for the evening, but now? he was moping alone at the edges of the crowd his mind was hazy with a distant feeling of… dread? was he seriously feeling anxious in the one place he thrived the most?
he let out a sigh and stood up, downing his drink, trying to revoke some sort of ‘party satoru’ he knew was swimming somewhere inside him. but with each faked smile he plastered on his pretty face when greeting his fellow frat brothers with claps on the back, he felt himself growing more and more uneasy.
each thought swimming around in his head was full of one thing, and that was the cutie he saw at the cafe earlier today, ‘y/n.’
he repeated the name over and over again in his head. it was an adorable name, one fit for someone as sweet looking as you. what would she be doing right now? sleeping? studying? showering? his thoughts were interrupted when he heard the name he was just singing in his mind come from the familiar mouth of his friend, choso.
“y/n? who the hell is that?” suguru, choso, and yuuji were all standing around in a small semi cirlcle, drinks in hands as suguru was letting the alcohol talk for him.
“just this girl satoru couldn’t stop eye-fucking today.” he said slightly slurring his words.
satoru rolled his eyes and turned to join them. “what’s new? he’s always doing that.” said yuuji, earning a chuckle from choso. suguru also laughed before continuing.
“yeah, but this girl was different. she’s the sweet type, y’know? the ones that look so cute and untouched you feel bad for even lookin at em in that kinda way. ain’t that right satoru? poor guy didn’t even go up to her..”
the blue eyed man rolled his eyes. “tsk, so what i was staring? she was cute. and i didn’t want to sleep with her alright. just eye candy, that’s all.”
all three guys were inwardly confused. their party animal of a friend, the most confident ladies man they knew was getting all hung up over a quiet, shy girl he saw at a damn cafe? what the fuck?
choso tried to choke back a laugh. “you’re telling me you saw a girl you liked and didn’t fuck her? what’s wrong with you man, are you sick?” the small group laughed, and so did he. because they were right, not once had he not gotten what he wanted from a girl, but this time he held back majorly.
why? why the hell didn’t he just go up to you and ask for your number? now he was stuck at this party he didn’t want to be at anymore getting harassed by his stupid moron friends. he was sucked out of his self pity when choso nudged his arm.
“gojo, five hundred dollars says you can’t fuck her by the end of june.” the brunette man said, taking a swig of his drink. before satoru could outright refuse, suguru jumped in. “raise that to one thousand. this guys not doing it.”
they were winding him up, and it was working. “you fuckers are so lost. but fuck it, whatever. two thousand dollars says that i can fuck her by the end of may.” it was currently march, so that meant two months to woo you.
god, he shouldn’t of shortened it. he shouldn't of said that at all! but what else could you do when your fuckass friends try brusing your ego?
suguru and satoru shook on it.
~
the first time you had ever seen satoru gojo was late one afternoon on campus, he had his tounge down a very pretty girls throat, one from your chemistry course. the girl was a tad bit bitchy but she never bothered you, so you just assumed it was her boyfriend and didn't think much of it.
oh were you wrong.
from then on out you had managed to catch the white haired male flirting, touching up on, and kissing four different girls on four different occasions throughout the collage grounds.
'oh, so he's a slut.'
you didn't have the brain space to think too much about the stupid frat guys that ran the school like teenagers with too much testosterone, so you never once thought of the guy again, chalking him up to just another fuck boy.
his friend suguru however? you weren't gonna lie, totally your type. he was in your ethics class and he knew his shit. he was tall, dark and handsome and god he looked like some guy out of a punk rock band. he was your little hallway crush, but you knew of his frisky behaviour being apart of a frat and all, so you only really payed attention to him when you needed something quiet and pretty to look at.
like right now, as suguru and the white haired guy you were yet to know the name of sat together squeezing water into their mouths from their water bottles after a basketball training session. they were both pretty guys.
you were walking from your physiology class to the library, shyly taking glances at the black haired male when he suddenly caught your eye. you quickly turned away and walked abit faster to your class, missing the way suguru nudged satoru's elbow with a grin.
"look, it's that girl we made bets on last week."
satorus head flew up to trace your retreating figure. 'god even from this far away she looks stunning.'
he had been searching for you around campus for almost a week straight, under the guides of 'scoping out some fresh meat.' he stood up almost as fast as his head rose and started jogging to catch up to you. god you were adorable, you were dressed in the cutesy style you always stuck to, walking so prettily as your shoes pitter pattered against the concrete. what the hell was he even gonna say when he got to you? he had no fucking idea.
once he had caught up, not even slightly out of breath and still in his gross sweaty basket ball uniform. he slowed down and walked around beside you, clearing his throat as he stood off to the side but infront of you. he looked down to meet your eyes, and to say he was flabbergasted was an understatement.
shit, you looked even cuter up close. your big eyes and those fluttery lashes had him really choked up, the way your hair framed your pretty face, how your long sleeved shirt hugged your figure in all the right ways. he was speechless in your presence.
you were startled when the 6'4 jocked up guy you knew to be a notorious player suddenly approached you. he was towering over you, so much so that you caught a whiff of his heavenly cologne mixed with abit of his sweat.
gross? sure. hot? absolutely.
you assumed he was just trying to pass by so you also cleared your throat gently and picked up your pace, nodding politely in apology as you walked past him completely.
this made satoru panic. he stammered a bit before choking out an awkward "hey! uh- wait up!"
you turned on your heel to see him still standing where he was, bashfully rubbing his neck as he looked away almost... shyly? what the hell?
you nervously played with the sleeves of your shirt that covered the better parts of your wrists, slowly rubbing your lips together as you looked up at him through long lashes. seriously this was getting weird, what did he want? this overly confident guy who was known for being rowdy and tuff was almost shying into himself as he stood infront of you.
"...hello?.." your voice caught him a little off guard, it was silky smooth yet shy and anbit unsure.
'very feminine', he thought.
'what the hell are you doing man... she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but here standing next to someone like you.' he sighed and tried to push away his self deprecating thoughts. with a deep breath he stared back into your pretty little eyes and finally opened his big mouth.
"you're uhm... your hair clip, it's pretty cool."
'her fucking hair clip? really satoru? the prettiest girl you've ever seen in your life is standing right infront of you and you chose to compliment her hair clip of all things?!'
he inwardly groaned, feeling more than embarrassed.
he was shoved out of his own head when he saw your cheeks dust an enticing pink as you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. you looked so fucking good right now.
"oh, uhm. thank you so much." you said with a small smile, trying to stay polite despite your immense discomfort at the moment. he nodded and coughed into a closed fist awkwardly.
'now what?!' since when did talking to pretty girls become this hard for him?! the two of you stood their staring at eachother stiffly, none of you sure what to say next. you were beyond confused, you were sure this was some stupid frat thing where they went up to random girls and tried poking fun at them.
"so uhm... your name is what? i mean- what's your name?" he mentally facepalmed at his idiocy, biting his lip as to not let anymore corny word vomit hurl out.
you brushed a strand of hair out of your face and blinked up at him, now noticing how ripped he was. each and every muscle on his visiable forearms were perfectly sculpted along with his sharp facial features and piercing eyes.
"it's y/n... and you?"
of course a sweet closeted thing like you didn't know his name. he was more-so famous around the greek scene, but nethertheless he felt his ego take a hit at the lack of knowledge. he looked you once over, trying his best to surprise the noise of appreciation for your absolute perfection from humming out of his throat.
"satoru. satoru gojo."
"uh, awesome. did you... need something? from me?-"
"your number." he blurted it out almost a little too loud, immediately covering his mouth and flushing abit red. he cleared his throat and said it again. "could i have your number, uhm, please?" he readjusted himself, trying to regain abit of his confidence and act like he knew what he was doing, because he did, he'd done the whole flirting thing a million times for god sake! you were just making it a tad difficult with that adorable confused look on your face.
you didn't fully process what he was saying, just that a guy way out of your social circle was trying to get your number, and you were gonna give it to him because you had absolutely no confidence to say no.
so, pulling out your phone encased in its cute pink cover and tons of dangly charms, you pulled up your number and showed it to him to copy down.
satoru, now composed and feeling abit more like his usual self, smiled at your shy gesture. he too took out his phone and quickly jotted down the number into a new contact, you watched him save it under 'n/n 💗' .
gosh, he made a nickname for you! still flushed, you timidly watched as he pocketed his phone, turning his head to look back at where suguru was sat at the bench not too far away.
"thanks, sweetheart. i'll text you later, yeah?"
he said it with more calm in his voice, a stark difference from how he first approached you. you nodded awkwardly and turned around to finally walk away. once you were a good distance away from satoru, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. did that really happen? why the hell did he of all people want your number? you were getting a tiny bit scared he'd use his frat boy charm to get you into bed and then ditch you like it was any regular friday.
you tried pushing it away, opting to forget about the entire interaction. it would be better on your psyche.
satoru on the other hand, he was estatic. he practically skipped back to suguru with a big goofy smile on his face.
"i got it! man aren't i awesome!"
suguru just smirked and patted his back like a proud father.
"good job, man. now all you gotta do is actually get close enough to her that she'll let you in her pants. an easy 2000 dollars, right?" suguru said a tad condescending.
satoru sucked in a breath, oh yeah, the bet.
~
later that evening, you found yourself studying quietly in your cozy dormitory. it was clad with plushies of all shapes and sizes, a pink plush bed full of fluffy blankets and pillows, and a beautiful vintage style vanity off to one side. your books lay scatters over the soft rug beneath you, you sat beside your bed re-reading the notes taken today in chemistry. with your major being in the science feild, you had frequent nights like this; cramming knowledge inside your pretty little head like there was no tommorow.
you were distracted from the comfort of your blanket pile on the floor by a buzzing on your phone, situated on the vanity across the room.
sighing and standing up with a small groan, you grabbed it and plopped onto your comfy bed. opening up messages, you saw an unknown number pop up the top with another notification.
xxx xxx xxx xx : hey pretty girl
xxx xxx xxx xx : it's gojo
xxx xxx xxx xx : hope i didn't scare you off too badly today 😅
you found yourself getting flustered at the messages. sure you got hit on pretty much all the time, but coming from someone as popular as satoru had you quirking your brow due to the clique difference between the two of you.
the only other guy who was similar to satoru that had tried his luck with you was sukuna… and that was a shit show. a big frat guy with an even bigger ego mixed with a sweet girl like you was not a good partnership. safe to say you two ended after a few months of being him pushing you around like his own personal plaything.
the thought of being involved with another mean frat boy like that really did frighten you, you wanted to feel loved, not like a trophy to show off.
reading satoru’s messages once over again, you decided to not respond. sure he was kind of sweet today asking for your number all akward and bashful, complimenting the hair clip you took five minutes this morning trying to pick out; but deep down you knew you didn’t really want to give him your number. you were just too shy to say no. at least now you had a choice to talk to him or not, and you chose the latter. better to keep yourself safe.
before you could set your phone down, another influx of messages appeared.
xxx xxx xxx xx : read? looks like i did scare you off :(
xxx xxx xxx xx : i’m sorryyy i came off too brash didn’t i?
xxx xxx xxx xx : i was being such an akward loser today
xxx xxx xxx xx : please let me redeem myself 🙏🏻
you once again found yourself smiling, maybe responding just once wouldn’t hurt..?
n/n 💗: hey, sorry for not responding earlier !!
n/n 💗: i was pretty swamped with course work 🙁
you clicked on his number and made him a contact before he responded.
gojo : oh hey!
gojo : no worries, glad you're working hard 🤝
on the other line, gojo was grinning like a madman at the thought of your nose stuck in a text book.
he was lazing in his room shirtless with a pair of black shorts, his signature silver chain dangling from his neck. his room was barely lit with posters of all the bands he loved plastered on the wall, what a perfect opportunity for a photo. smirking to himself he snapped a photo of his shirtless top half with a big smile on his face, clearly showing off his beautifully sculpted chest.
gojo : [Attachment 1 image] for my contact photo ;)
you did a double take at the photo, clicking into it and zooming in to make sure you were seeing what you thought you were seeing. you weren't normally the type to get all hot and bothered over guys, but wooow, he was hot. you shook your head and saved the photo, making it his contact photo since you really didn't have anything else to set it as. your phone dinged again.
gojo : so? where's mine? can't have your photo blank now can we?
you bit your lip nervously. sure you put a lot into your appearance and knew a lot of people thought you were 'absolutely adorable', but you weren't really convinced yourself, so taking selfies wasn't something you were too used to.
regardless, you found yourself putting on a small smile and snapping a picture of your pretty face. giving it a once over you hovered over the send button. why did you care about what this guy thought of you anyways? weren't you the one who was just lecturing yourself about not getting involved with another guy like sakuna? you huffed and sent the picture trying not to think too hardly of it.
n/n 💗 : [Attachment 1 image]
gojo : wowza 🤯
gojo : you're fucking stunning 😍😍
on the other line, satoru could feel his blood rushing south at the photo you sent, it was innocent and oh so adorable. everything about your features made his heart feel woozy. after staring for a good five minutes, analysing each and every aspect of your face and what he could see in the background, he set it as your contact, smiling to himself.
n/n 💗: thank you
he chuckled at the some what dry response. he could tell you weren't very comfortable and he desperately wanted to change that.
gojo : hey, so i was thinking... you seem really cool to hang with, we should totally go out some time, yeah?
he hit send quickly so he wouldn't overthink it too much. he watched his screen abit worriedly. he wasn't sure how you'd respond to that after only just meeting him today, but it's the best he had under his belt. satoru was strictly a hook-ups-only kind of guy, going on dates was foreign for him, but for you, he would.
he saw you read the text and type out a reply, delete it, then type out another.
n/n 💗 : thank you for the offer ! i'm sorry if this sounds abit rude, but we kind of just met today... and you suddenly want to hang out with me of all people?
n/n 💗 : is this like, a prank or something like that?
gojo cringed at himself for making you feel like he was trying to hang out with you for ulterior motives -which he kind of was considering the bet- but it was more than that, he genuinely did think you were cute and wanted to get to know you.
gojo : what? no! i just thought you were really cute, that's all. if you don’t feel comfortable hanging out i totally get it!
he anxiously watched as you read his message, fiddling with the sheets beneath him.
you did feel bad, really you did. and god knows you're way too shy to outwardly reject anyone. so, you let out a sigh and decided to humour him.
n/n 💗 : no, no! it's fine don't worry, we can hang out.
with all his anxiety dissipating, gojo let out a breath and quickly typed out a reply.
gojo : awesomee how does tomorrow for coffee at lunch sound? my shout, ofcourse.
n/n 💗 : okay!
gojo : sweet, i'll meet you outside the campus cafe at 12, see you then sweetheart ;)
~
the next day came much faster than you'd expected it to. your fingers toyed nervously with the zipper of your off shoulder jacket as you stood beneath the awning of the student cafe, you were standing off to one corner trying not to stand out too much as your eyes scanned the other students for that unmistakable shock of white hair.
your mind was still reeling, you believe you’d said yes to him. the rational voice in your head had spent the entire morning trying to talk you out of it, replaying memories of the only boyfriend you’d ever had being a frat boy. sukuna.
but here you were, waiting for gojo. the satoru gojo.
he showed up exactly at 12:03, he strolled toward you like he owned the pavement, hands shoved into the pockets of his grey sweats, his messy white hair tucked under a backwards cowboys cap. He wasn’t wearing his usual frat-boy grin, instea his eyes flicked over you softening as he approached, his lips curving into something cute and bashful. maybe the frat thing didn’t look so bad on him. maybe.
“hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice light but laced with a note of something way softer, p“hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
you shook your head, smiling shyly up at him. “just got here.”
you weren’t used to towering boys like satoru opening doors for you, but he did, motioning for you to walk in first. surprisingly gentlemanly..? the café was warm, the windows fogged with spring condensation, the air filled with the soft hiss of the espresso machine. once you’d sat outside under the same oak tree he’d first seen you under, surprisingly, satoru stayed mostly quiet. he wasn’t bombarding you with charm or flirting overkill like you expected. instead, he seemed like a seriously toned down version of himself. like he didn’t want to scare you off.
he glanced at the menu, but looked back at you quickly. “tell me what you’re having so i can grab it. i promised i’d pay, remember?”
your lips parted slightly in surprise, no cocky comment, no flirtatious undertone. you told him your order, voice soft, and he nodded like it was the most important thing in the world, striding to the counter with ease. you watched him exchange a joke with the barista, his laugh echoing warmly through the small space. he really was effortlessly charming, you had to admit that.
you shyly bit your lip as you replayed the whole situation you were in right now. you had to tell your best friend yuki all about this later.
he returned with your regular iced latte and something caramel-colored for himself with two pastries. “didn’t know what you liked, so i got a cinnamon swirl. it looked like something a girl as cute as you might like,” he teased gently.
you smiled, biting back a laugh. “thanks a bunch, i like cinnamon.”
“see?” he leaned back in his seat with a smug little grin, sipping his drink. “i’m so good at this.”
it was awkward at first. you weren’t sure where to look, his face, the window, the table? but he made it easier, he asked about your major, why you chose it. he didn’t interrupt. he didn’t make jokes at your expense. when you mentioned how much you liked microbiology, instead of zoning out, he asked, “that’s the one with the cute little organisms, right? like, the blob guys?”
you giggled, making his cheeks flush slightly pink at the sound. “kind of, yeah.”
he grinned wide, pleased with himself for making you laugh. “you like what you like. that’s cool. most people don’t talk about something and light up like you just did. i could get used to seeing that cute smile more often, y’ know.”
you felt your cheeks warm and looked down, hiding a smile behind your drink. you didn’t know what you expected from this coffee date... maybe a few hollow compliments and an invite back to his place? you didn’t expect to feel so seen.
“i’m glad you came,” he said after a pause. his voice was a little quieter now, more honest.
you glanced up at him, unsure of what to say. so instead, you just nodded.
satoru and you spent the rest of what would of been your chemistry lecture talking about how much you loved being feminine, doing your make up and creating a dormitory that reflected fragile femininity to the tee. satorus smile never seemed to drop as he asked you question after question never seeming to get bored of your shy voice.
“so like, are you into james charles and stuff? he’s the only make up person i know.”
he said with a little laugh. you joined in, gigging to yourself.
“not really, i don’t go as heavy as him. i just like to… i don’t know, make my face look abit cuter? does that make sense?”
you covered your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket as you looked up at him bashfully.
his face seemed to soften seeing you hide behind your sleeve, reaching over and pulling it down, causing you to let out a small noise of surprise.
“you don’t need to hide your pretty face from me. it’s too cute not to be seen, you’re obviously doing a good job if you look that adorable.”
after a pause you nodded your head, making a note to try and not touch your face out of nervousness as you usually did.
“you know,” he finally said, tapping the table with one ringed finger, “i don’t usually do this.”
you blinked. “do what?”
“go for coffee. with girls.” his tone was sincere, his brows lifting slightly as if he was the one feeling small. “usually it’s just… parties, hookups, and then nothing. but you’re… different.”
you bit your lip, unsure how to really respond. “because i look innocent?”
satoru let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “no. because you are innocent. but not in a bad way. you’ve got this whole thing about you that makes me,” he paused, chuckling at himself. “makes me wanna, like, put on a suit and meet your parents or some shit.”
you couldn’t help but laugh quietly, hiding your smile behind your cup. “you’re weird.”
he grinned like he’d won the lottery. “yeah, but you smiled. that’s a win.”
the minutes turned to hours and suddenly you had sat through a five hour conversation with satoru about his basketball, your course work, the hobbies you both had, and the friends you liked the most.
“mmm. if i had to pick, i’d say suguru is my best friend. do you know him?”
‘ah, suguru.’ the hot guy in your ethics you have a small crush on, of course you knew him.
your face heated up as you turned your head to face or the window, stuttering for the first time in about four hours.
“y-yeah… i know him.”
satoru raised a brow at this. he wasn’t sure why you were suddenly so nervous, he thought he had overcome your shy barrier a few hours ago?
he cleared his throat, continuing on. “so? i hear you guys are in ethics together. is that like, good?”
‘is that like, good? seriously man? you’re sounding like a loser right now.’ he thought to himself.
“i.. yeah.. it’s good… he’s really smart, and pretty. p-pretty good at the subject, i mean!”
‘that was a shit save, y/n.’ you inwardly groaned. you could see satorus face slightly drop from his usual laid back grin.
satoru’s brow furrowed for a moment as he processed your sudden nervousness. it was subtle, but enough for him to catch it. he leaned back in his chair, studying your face, the way your eyes darted away from his and your hand fiddled with your jacket sleeve. something wasn’t adding up.
he wasn’t sure what was bothering you, but for the first time that afternoon, he felt a flicker of doubt. he had been so careful, so mindful of you so why were you suddenly pulling away?
“huh, really?” he said slowly, his voice softening, as if giving you space to explain. “didn’t know suguru was your type.”
you could feel his gaze on you, like he was trying to piece together something he hadn't understood yet. his usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression that made you feel a little... vulnerable.
“ahhh, you’ve got it wrong. he’s… just a good guy,” you mumbled hoping the topic would pass.
but satoru didn’t let it slide. not this time. he was quiet for a few seconds, his fingers lightly tapping on the table. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious.
“y/n,” he began, his tone oddly gentle, “if you’re into him, that’s cool. i just want you to know, though, that i’m not here to play games with you.”
you looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. you’ve just had the most enjoyable time with satoru now he thinks you’re inlove with his best friend. yikes.
you were not one for confrontation, so you were getting nervous. you really didn’t like suguru, you just thought he was pretty, how the hell were you going to save this… you sighed deeply, peering into his orbs.
“hey, i don’t like him like that. i just think he’s a pretty guy… like you, you’re a pretty guy too.”
you bit your lip anxiously waiting for his reaction…
satoru blinked a couple of times, clearly processing your words. the usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found as his gaze softened, something almost vulnerable flickering behind his bright blue eyes. he leaned forward slightly, his arms resting casually on the table, but his posture had changed. it was like he was giving you space, like he was trying to understand you more than just joking around.
"i... i get it," he said, his voice low and a little more serious than you'd heard all day. "it's just... i’ve never really talked like this with any girl before, i’m not sure how this all works to be honest. and with suguru, i guess i was just making assumptions." he ran a hand through his white hair, looking out the window for a moment before turning back to you. "but, i’m glad to hear that. 'cause, you know, i really enjoy spending time with you. and i don't want you to feel like you have to explain yourself to me.”
you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, feeling some of the tension melt away between the two of you. "you’re a silly guy, huh?"
he smirked, the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "yeah, i know. but i’m also a pretty straightforward guy. so just, uh, don’t feel like you owe me any explanations, okay? you’re cool, y/n. like, really really cool."
your heart skipped at the compliment, but you were still a bit nervous, unsure of how to react to his change in tone. still, you managed a small smile, feeling a little lighter.
“t-thanks satoru,” you said, your voice softer now.
he leaned back again, relaxing into his chair with that signature confident grin returning to his lips. “no problem, sweetheart. you’re way too cute for me to get all weird about things. just... don’t go falling for suguru, okay?” he teased, his smile widening.
you rolled your eyes, feeling the nerves ease, though your cheeks were still a little flushed. “i’ll try my best.”
"good," he said, winking at you. "because you’re already way ahead of the competition."
you shied into yourself at the flirty gesture, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
suddenly, satorus face dropped from his laid back casual expression to one of almost annoyance. you saw his eyes trailing at the entrance of the cafe to see a group of what looked to be frat guys walking out.
“you uh.. okay?” you asked sweetly, watching him shift in his chair.
satoru didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stood up abruptly, muttering, “stay here. i’ll be right back.” his tone was sharper than it was normally was and you couldn’t help but watch as he plastered on a grin, striding toward the group of guys with his usual charms. but this time, it seemed different. there was a bit too much of a show in his smile, a little too much forced energy in his greetings.
“look who it is. how’s it, gojo?” one of the guys shouted, clapping satoru on the back. the others chimed in with loud greetings.
you watched from afar as he made conversation, subtly steering the group away from where you sat. after a while you saw them wrapping up.
“alright, alright, go on then. catch you later, satoru,” one of them said with a half-smile, walking away with the others. he slumped back into his chair with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder again to make sure they weren’t coming back.
“… are you okay..?” you asked, your voice soft, a little quiet. you could see the tension still lingering in his eyes.
satoru ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment. “yeah, just-” he sighed again, his voice lowering. “you know how it is. guys like them… they don’t know when to quit.”
“quit?” you repeated, brow furrowed. you were trying to piece things together, but his mood had shifted so abruptly. “what do you mean?”
he looked at you finally, his expression softening a bit. “they can be… fuckwits, to put it lightly. don’t want them coming over here and making any fucked up comments or anything.”
you blinked, realisation slowly dawning on you. “you didn’t want them bothering me?”
“yeah,” he said quietly, avoiding your gaze. “i mean, it’s one thing if they’re messing around with me, but... you shouldn’t have to deal with their shit.”
your heart fluttered a little at his words. satoru was trying to protect you, even if it meant dealing with his friends’ annoying antics. it was... sweet. "thank you," you said softly, a small smile forming on your glossed lips.
he glanced at you, a slightly sheepish look on his face. “no problem. i just didn’t want them to say anything messed up to you. that’s all.”
“that’s really kind of you satoru, very chivalrous,” you said, your voice teasing yet holding its own sense of shyness.
satoru’s smile returned, this time a little more genuine. “yeah, of course. don’t know what you’d do without me.”
you raised an eyebrow playfully. “i’m sure i’d manage.”
“nah, i’m irreplaceable, girlie.” he grinned, his usual cocky charm back in full force.
you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were starting to like this side of him, the side that wasn’t always trying to show off. satoru may have been surrounded by chaos, but right now, in this quiet moment, he felt like the realest thing.
“well, thank you,” you said, your smile softening. “for looking out for me.”
“always,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and looking at you with a glint of something softer behind his usual cocky grin.
your date with satoru revealed a lot about his character. he was a dork, a cute dork. he was charming, funny, hot as hell, but he was deeper than that. satoru had a layer to him you we’re sure only those close to him were allowed to see, and for the time you we’re together, he showed that side you you. deep down he was thoughtful, he was kind, observant.
he cared for people and how he was perceived. and most of all he made you feel like the only girl in the world on that date. not too flirty, but just enough to make your heart flutter with life, something you hadn’t felt since you had broken up with sukuna about a year ago.
for a second, you wondered if maybe there was more to this guy than the image he liked to project, maybe he’d let you see it if you stayed around. maybe you needed to do just that.
For all his life, Gojo Satoru has only ever gone for the popular girls. The loud ones. The cheerleaders. That’s just how it’s always been.
This perfect mirror of life shattered the moment he saw you.
It was the first semester of Satoru’s second year at university. He’s settled in nicely, he has a group of friends, a frat, and a circle of women that constantly swoon his every move. What more could he ask for?
Unfortunately, as flashy as Satoru’s life is, his grades pale in comparison. He may be the most popular man on university campus but he currently has to retake Communications 101. That’s where he meets you.
You were quiet, almost invisible in the lecture hall. Satoru had no reason to pay any special attention to you.
Satoru is barely listening to the professor drone on about whatever the subject was about when suddenly she begins to call names. Luckily, Satoru’s name isn’t on his professor’s mind. He’s ready to zone out and scroll on his phone when his ear picks up a soft, shy voice.
Satoru looks up from his lap and he sees you, standing from your seat as you nervously explained the importance of the different modes of communication in society to the rest of the class. Now usually, Satoru would roll his eyes and turn the other way. He wasn’t interested in shy girls. Never was and never will. But there was something about you that had Satoru’s eyes locked onto you for the rest of the lecture.
The lecture ends and Satoru is quick to try and follow you as the students spill out of the lecture hall. Despite the mass of people his eyes never leave your frame and Satoru is truly so close to reaching you but you manage to slip away into the crowd of people and Satoru loses sight of you.
Satoru spends the rest of the week trying to find you on campus. It’s hard. He can’t find you anywhere and it has Satoru thinking that maybe the whole thing was a dream but he was so sure that you were real.
He finds you the next week in the same class. Satoru’s determined to talk to you this time so he takes the empty seat next to you. Usually girls would fluster and shy away from just this but you didn’t seem to care at all and something about that had Satoru’s heart thumping in his chest.
“Do you have an extra pen?” Satoru asked. He didn’t need it. He was just hoping to get your attention somehow.
You turn your head and raised your eyes meeting Satoru’s gaze.
You’re so much prettier up close. Satoru feels the air leave his lungs.
“Oh. Yeah, sure. Here you go.” You hand Satoru a pen from your pencil case. He reaches out to grab it, his fingers grazing yours slightly. There must be something terribly wrong with Satoru’s heart if this small interaction had his heart racing a mile a minute.
You don’t pay attention to Satoru for the rest of the class after that interaction and for the rest of the class Satoru desperately tries to get your attention back on him. He raises his hand, recites, makes jokes. It grabs the attention of everyone else except for you but their attention isn’t enough. Satoru wants yours specifically. He’s hungry for it.
The lecture ends. Satoru taps your shoulder and holds out your pen.
“Y’doing anything after this?” Satoru asked, flashing his usual charming smile.
You pluck the pen from Satoru’s fingers and place it back in your pencil case.
“No.” You replied, voice quiet still. Satoru wonders to himself if you’ve ever been loud in your life.
Satoru decides it’s time to go in for the kill. It’s now or never. Really, how hard could it be? “You wanna grab some matcha?”
“No thank you.” The response is immediate and Satoru’s smile drops instantly. Unironically he’s never been denied by a woman before and he doesn’t know how to react. Does he get on his knees and grovel or does he pretend like he didn’t ask at all?
“Uhm. Are you sure? I’ll pay.” Satoru attempts once more. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out his wallet. It’s thick but you barely glance at it.
“No. I’m alright.” You offer Satoru a small, polite smile before you grab the straps of your bag and leave the lecture hall. Satoru is stunned. He can only watch your figure disappear out of the room as he rethinks every moment of his life.
For the first time in Gojo Satoru’s life he wants to chase after something. And it’s exciting.
summary! gojo's slowly realising how bad of a boyfriend he is when he walks into the most gut wrenching scene he's ever witnessed, his beautiful, shy girl, upset over his party animal lifestyle choices. but, instead of comforting her, for reasons not even he can comprehend he gets really, really mad. (angst to (not really) comfort, messy, toxic relationship dynamics, gojo is a fuckwit but he learns ig) !! so ooc
disclaimer: this is not a healthy relationship dynamic, i don't feel like i need to explain how rage bait i made this on purpose bc i love to get you guys heated, but yeah, this is not something you should chase.
wc: 4k || pt.2!! || inspo from my mean!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader || CW: suggestive
dating you was already wayyy out of fratboy!gojo's comfort zone.
don't misunderstand, he loved you. he just had a really fucked up way of showing it.
never had he ever been in a relationship before, his experience hadn't gone past messy hookups followed by an empty bed in the morning.
so, when you came along, or should he say, when he charmed you into this new fancy thing called a 'relationship', he was far from the perfect boyfriend. like, far, far from it..
you were at the other end of his spectrum, where he was a wild party animal, you were soft and quiet. that's what drew him in, you sitting alone in the front row of his economics class, how different you were to his usual indulgences. your pretty outfits and shy demeanor knocked him off his feet, so he sat next to you and that was that, you'd been dating for around five months now and all was going smoothly... well, smoothly by satoru's standards.
the thing was, he'd still attend his insane ragers where almost everyone was half naked, fucking around like rabbits upstairs.
ah, the high life.
he thrived in this setting, grinding and dancing, laughing and talking shit with his friends, it was his perfect sanctuary.
he could have you at home, waiting for him to come back with open arms and dinner in the oven, as well as doing whatever the fuck he wanted at the frats.
you'd never told him he couldn't after all, so what was the issue? obviously not because you were just too shy to? right? obviously not because you were a complete push over and he
knew that. nah, you were most likely just a chill girl! that's gotta be it.
pffft, whoever said you couldn't have your cake and eat it too was so wrong.
.
gojo slips his key into the lock, he misses it once, then gets it the second time. he cracks a laugh at himself, he's not drunk just tipsy from whatever garbage punch they served at the mixer.
the hallway light outside your apartment shines behind him, catching on his chain when he leans forward. he giggles something under his breath about the silly maintenance never fixing anything, then pushes the door open with his shoulder.
your place is so quiet, so pretty. he’s gotten used to your decor, the air warm from the little heater you always turn on at night. god, you were so cute.
he scuffs off his jordans at the front door and steps inside, reaching back to tug the door shut.
he pictures you asleep, snuggled up in his shirt that swallows you whole. he smiles a little as he imagines it. cute, sweet, soft. all his.
except, as he draws closer inside, the light from the living room is still on?
"hmm." he pauses.
the tv is off and the candles are unlit. but you’re on the couch with your legs tucked under you and your shoulders curved in like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.
your phone glows against your pretty little face, you’re so focused on whatever's on the screen you don’t hear him.
your lips are pouty and sad, that alone guts whatever leftover buzz he had going. your eyes look swollen, your lashes wet, cheeks a little blotchy. he’s never seen you like that. never seen that kind of silent with you, it's not the shy kind, it makes his chest feel off balance.
“oh… shit,” he whispers under his breath.
because now he sees the screen.
it’s him shirtless, beta cap turned backward and his chain dangling against his chest. he’s smiling that charismatic smile, mouth open like he just said something funny that made everyone laugh. that one girl in the tiny bikini he barely remembers presses her fingers to his shoulders, leans down, body tilted against his, she takes a shot off his collarbone while her friends cheer. he throws his head back laughing.
oh fuck..
really, it was just another moment in the mess of the party. someone yelled his name, shoved salt into his palm, the girl had licked it from his fingers like some pornstar then she poured the tequila and leaned in.
shit.
your thumb shakes as you close your phone and stare at the ground.
gojo feels his stomach rip in two, but he forces himself to breathe normal. he lifts his chin, and lets that fratboy grin slide into place.
just act normal. that’s his first instinct. be goofy, be loud, be charming! pretend nothing’s wrong. that always works.
“baby!" he calls lightly, stepping toward you. “you’re up? what’re you doing awake? it’s late, y'know."
you jump a little but you just hum very shyly and don't look at him.
he comes around the side of the couch, he plops down behind you, slipping his arms around your shoulders from behind like he always does when he wants to distract you from something. stretching over the back of the couch, he nuzzles your cheek with a grin.
“i missed you,” he says brightly.
you shudder against his arms.
his smile ticks.
“hey,” he says leaning a little to see your face. “what’s wrong?” like he doesn't know.
you keep looking down at the floor like looking at him would really break you.
“nothing, toru,” you whisper.
that hits him in a place he seriously doesn’t like.
“doesn’t look like nothing.”
you set your phone on the cushion beside you, eyes stuck on your knees.
gojo watches every tiny move you make, feeling something yucky pull tight in his aching chest. he swings himself over the couch so he’s sitting next to you, one knee bumping yours. he smells like sweat, cheap liquor, and someone else’s perfume. he doesn’t realise it. he doesn’t notice the way you subtly lean away.
gojo drags in a slow breath and leans back against the couch with his legs spread, he feels the tension humming through the room but refuses to let it land anywhere close to him. gross. his irritation rises really fast, he was never good at dealing with girls who don't fight back.
he stares at your knees, not your face, the smile gone. “so,” he drawls, “you gonna tell me what's wrong, y/n? or are ya just gonna sit here and mope.”
you hesitate before trying to respond to him, but that tiny silence ignites something unsavoury.
he scoffs under his breath and sits up straighter. “come on. seriously? you’re acting like i fucking murdered someone.”
you've entered that state where you want to talk, but your throat just won't let you speak.
and god, that sets him off even more. his patience fractures clean down the middle.
“i don’t get why you’re so sad,” he says, louder this time. “like, genuinely. i don’t get it.”
you squeeze at your hands, trying to stay small. trying not to take up space.
"i... that girl, she-"
“it was just a body shot,” he interrupts. “big deal. everyone does them. it’s not like i kissed her, it wasn’t even fun. the tequila probably tasted like sprax.”
you softly flinch again when he raises his voice. he acts like he doesn't notice as irritation swells in him like static.
“why are you acting blindsided? you know who i am. you knew before you dated me.” he throws his hands up. “i’ve always been like this. i go to parties. i drink. i mess around with my friends. i’m not some stay at home boyfriend who knits blankets on weekends.”
still nothing from you.
you sit still and small, taking every word. you feel like you deserve it.
it makes him angrier, he can’t explain why. something about the sadness on your face, something about how soft you look, something about how he’s too aware of his own guilt, makes him latch onto the only thing he knows how to do when cornered.
he lashes out.
“god, are you really this insecure?” he snaps. “over a party? over something stupid like a shot? this is what college is like, babe. people have fun. you wouldn’t know because you never go to shit like that, you wouldn't have a fucking clue.”
your chin falls as your shoulders tuck in even tighter.
“you just… sit here at night,” he says, waving an arm at the room, “you study, you cook, you watch shows, you bake, you… whatever. you stay in your little routine. and that’s fine, that’s you, but don’t project that shit on me.”
you try so badly not to cry, he hates how that looks on you. it makes his neck muscles jerk.
he leans foward “you don’t get it. you don’t get my life! you don’t get how things work with my friends. you don’t get how parties are. you never have. you’re a shut in, babe. you barely talk to anyone unless they come up to you first. you get nervous around people you don't know.”
your hands get clammy and you squeeze your knees tighter..
but he just keeps on going.
“you think i’m cheating on you? is that it?” he challenges. “you think i’m out there hooking up with girls just because they’re pretty and wearing tiny outfits? you think i’d cheat over some girl licking salt off my hand? seriously?”
your lip tucks inward for a second.
“say something!” he demands. “come on. don’t just sit there like a kicked puppy. if you’ve got something to accuse me of, spit it the fuck out.”
you shake your head frightened. “i’m not... i'm not trying to.. accuse you, toru, i-.”
“then what?” he bites. “what are you so upset about?”
your voice is barely there. “i just… didn’t know you still let girls do things like that.”
he groans and drops his head back against the couch. “oh my god. it’s not deep! why do you always assume the worst?”
your body starts to subtly shake.
“i’m not assum-" you whisper.
“yeah, you are,” he throws back. “you wouldn’t be whining if you weren’t.”
you stiffen but don’t sob.
he digs the heel of his palm into his brow, frustration pulsating through him. “you’re so dramatic sometimes.”
your breath stutters, but you swallow it down fast. your hands tremble just once before you force them still again.
“god,” he mutters, shaking his head.
"...maybe this was a mistake.”
the second the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re cruel. he knows they’re a lie but he’s too far into his childish anger to stop.
that one hurt, because that's all you'd been thinking lately. maybe this was all too much for a girl like you. you'd be a better fit for someone softer and quieter like you...
he stares at you expecting you to argue back or something. to deny it, to grab his sleeve and plead the way past girls did trying to get him to love them, to give him something he understands.
but you never do.
you weren't like them, you were shy and sweet. you hated how hard it was for you to speak up and express how you felt, but that's just how you were.
and something about that makes him crash out harder.
“say something,” he barks. “stop acting like i’m some monster for having a life outside of you!"
you open your mouth but no words come out. you just shake your head softly.
that subtle movement ignites him again.
“you can’t just sit here and look sad every time i go out,” he says. “you can’t expect me to change everything about myself because you get overwhelmed by basic social shit. you’re dating me. me! not some guy who stays home reading textbooks every night.”
your shoulders rise a smidge, then drop.
his stress and confusion doesn’t know how to handle you. he feels cornered by emotions he’s never dealt with before.
“god, you’re impossible,” he mumbles. “i can’t deal with this shy routine when it’s twisted around like this. it’s like talking to a wall. do you even hear me? do you even care how insane this looks? you’re acting like i fucked some chick over a body shot! you need to grow up,” he says sharply.
“seriously. this is college. this is how it works. people party. people have fun. people get stupid sometimes. you can’t expect me to act like some perfect boyfriend when i don’t even know how to be one. i’m trying! okay? this stuff is normal. it’s harmless. you’re just… sensitive. too fucking sensitive.”
your lips open for a second. you want to say something.
again, nothing comes out.
you just nod once, heartbreakingly polite.
and that’s when it all hits him.
not slowly.
not gently.
it slams into him like a fucking semi truck.
your cheek glistens with one tear.
then another.
they slip down your face without a sound, falling over your jaw and landing on your lap, darkening the fabric.
your shoulders don’t shake. your breath doesn’t hiccup. you don’t sniffle or wipe them away.
you just let them topple downward.
gojo stops talking in the middle of his forest speel. the last word dies on his harsh tongue.
your tears keep flowing, you don’t defend yourself. you don’t argue. you don’t yell back. you don’t move away from him or push him or tell him to fuck off like any normal person should of.
you just sit there.
letting him rip your heart out and pummel it on the ground over and over and over.
letting him say awful things because you’re too gentle to fight back.
and suddenly he can hear his own voice echoing in his head. every insult. every jab. every cruel, thoughtless messed up word.
fuck, his stomach had never dropped quicker.
he stares at your beautiful face covered in salted tears, at the way you hold yourself so small and polite even while he ripped into your chest.
his throat tightens up, his hands go limp and his whole body goes scarily still.
what the hell did he just do?
the sniff he hears you swallow so fast it barely comes out gouges a deep hole through his brain.
his chest caves in.
oh no.
oh no no no.
“baby…” he whispers.
you don't dare look at this man's face. you only wipe at your cheek with the sleeve of your sweater, like you’re apologising for making a mess.
gojo’s breath pulsates in his lungs as if he was about to start sobbing aswell.
he feels sick.
he feels cold.
he feels like he'd be better off jumping out the window to put you out of your misery.
what the fuck was he doing?
what kind of guy yells at his girlfriend like that?
what kind of boyfriend calls his shy, gentle girl insecure?
what kind of person tears apart someone who wouldn’t dream of hurting him back?
he thought he was irritated. he thought he was defending himself. he thought he was justified.
now he just feels disgusting.
you sniff again as quietly as you can, gojo’s heart implodes and chokes him up.
he presses his knuckles to his mouth, eyes burning while he stares at you while he tries to figure out how to speak without making things worse. he doesn’t know how to say sorry without choking on the words. he doesn’t know how to own what he just did without wanting to shove a knife down his throat.
he tries to open his mouth but he knows if he speaks again he'll sob.
he hates himself for that.
you feel so bad, you feel like you'd just made gojo feel terrible, stressed, like you were an anchor he wanted to free himself from.
before satoru gets the courage to try again, he feels the couch dip as you move closer.
he wants to run away, never burden you with his egotistical attitude ever again, then your arms slip around his bulky side, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt.
he goes completely stiff, you’re... hugging him?
after everything he said, after all the mean ugly things he tossed at you, you’re the one reaching out? he stutters, stunned. he expects you to say you’re leaving his sorry ass, that you’re scared of him, that you don’t want this relationship anymore.
hell, that's what you should say.
“i’m sorry.”
his breath stumbles in his throat. he turns to you fast, eyes wide. “what?”
you sniff quietly, still not looking up at him. “i’m… i’m sorry for being clingy. and annoying. and making you feel stressed. i didn’t mean to ruin your night. i... i didn’t know i was doing something wrong.”
fuck he was such an asshole. he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he can’t believe that after everything, you still think it’s your fault.
“hey,” he says, voice cracking. “no. no. stop. baby, no.”
but you keep whispering shakily. “you’re right. i don’t really know how frats work. or parties. i don’t know what’s normal for you. i just… i saw the video and i got overwhelmed. i shouldn’t have made you feel guilty, toru.”
never in his messed up life had he experienced such a pain in his gut.
“sweetheart…” his hand rises halfway, then falls because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you without shaking. “please don’t say that. please don’t apologise. you didn’t do anything wrong.”
you keep clinging to his side gently. it's as if you’re trying to make him feel better about the pain he gave you.
“look at me,” he chokes out.
you don’t, or, you can't. so he moves slowly, tipping his head down until he can see your face. your lashes are stuck together with tears. your eyes stay lowered. your mouth keeps trying to stay steady for him. he hates himself so much he feels nauseous.
he cups the side of your head with a trembling hand. “you’re not annoying. or clingy. or anything like that. i swear, sweetheart... i swear.”
more quiet sobs rack your body as you squeeze him tighter. “no. hey. baby, no, listen. i messed up. this whole thing is on me... just.”
he leans closer pressing his cheek to your forehead. “i shouldn’t have yelled. i shouldn’t have said any of that shit, y/n. i shouldn’t have talked to you like that. i’m… i’m so sorry.”
he feels like scraping his eyes out, he wants to tie his throat closed, but the words spill out, “i’ve never been in a relationship before. i know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. i didn’t know how to handle… feelings. yours or mine. i freaked out and i took it out on you, y/n. i'm just... i'm an insecure piece of shit, i don't deserve you."
you can't handle this, you really can't handle anymore of him on the verge of tears.
“i’m really sorry you saw that video. i'm sorry i was even in it, that i ever did it,” he says. “and i’m sorry i did something that made you feel small. i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t even trying to hurt you. i was just being self centred... y/n, you have every right to be upset about it.”
when you finally look up his blue eyes are glossy with tears.
“you didn’t deserve a single thing i said,” he whispers. “you didn’t deserve any of it.”
you part your lips, but he shakes his head before you can talk.
“don’t say sorry again,” he mutters. “please. i can’t handle hearing that from you.”
his arm wraps around you, pulling you into his chest. the moment your face tucks against him, he breaks. a wet sound escapes him before he can swallow it down. his arms lock around you tighter as he hides his face against your shoulder.
“i’m sorry,” he borderline croaks. “i’m so sorry, baby. i didn’t mean any of it. not one word. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i treated you like that. i’m sorry.”
your hand rises hesitantly and rests over his heart. he clutches your waist like he needs you to breathe.
“i’ll stop,” he says suddenly, desperate. “i mean it. the parties. the dumb shit i do. i’ll stop. if something makes you sad, i don’t want it anymore.”
“i’m not trying to change you, satoru.”
“i want to change,” he insists. “i want to be better. for you.”
he lifts you up, arms sliding under your legs holding you against him. he stands and you cling to his shoulders, he carries you down the hall, steps steady like he’s afraid to jostle you.
when he sets you gently on the bed, he sits beside you, hands resting on your thighs.
“i’ll never talk to you like that again,” he promises. “i swear. i’ll never yell at you. i’ll never make you cry like that. i’ll learn how to be a real boyfriend. i’ll learn how to communicate. i’ll tell you where i’m going, what i’m doing. i’ll cut off anything that disrespects you.”
yeah, you could tell by the tone of voice that he really meant this.
“you can tell me anything,” he sighs, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “no matter how small it feels. even if it’s just that something made you uncomfortable. i want to hear it. i want to know. you matter to me.”
you can see how hurt he looks, how badly he regrets what he did.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers again. “i’m so sorry, baby.”
satoru kisses your cheek, then you wrap your arms around him. he pulls you into his lap, holding you close.
his fingers drift through your hair in slow careful ministration. “you’re my girl,” he murmurs. “my sweet girl. i’ll take care of you. i’ll be better, y/n, i swear.”
...
he whispers praise until your eyes shut..
gojo slips out of the bed once your breathing settles into a soft, sleepy sound he knows off by heart. he pulls the blanket up to your shoulders, then stands there for a second just staring at you with immense guilt twisting through his bones.
he pushes a hand through his fair hair and lets out a tight breath before heading to his drawer. the cigarette box inside is old, the last time he touched it was months ago, the last time he felt this same sort of self loathing itch.
he grabs one and steps out onto the cold windy balcony, and clicks the lighter with a horribly shaky thumb.
the city vibrates below with the windows of far away apartments glowing, cars driving by, shit, he can't even look at any of it. he just stands there leaning on the railing with his head bowed deep, smoke puffing out of his lip.
every sentence he spat at you floating through his mind, munting him harder each time. he can’t believe how easily he slipped into that revolting version of himself, the one who never cared who he screwed over. he swears he left that guy behind the day he met you. tonight proved he hadn’t.
he takes another puff.
he hates himself for yelling.
he hates himself for making you cry.
he hates how small you tried to get and how you tried to comfort him even when he was the one who mercilessly ripped you down.
he flicks ash over the railing... no one’s ever trusted him the way you do. he doesn’t get how someone like you ended up loving someone like him.
he lets loose a stray sob, he won’t let tonight happen again. he’ll learn. he’ll grow the hell up. he’ll earn you. he’ll become the boyfriend you deserve, because you deserve the world, everything he can give you.
he makes himself that promise right there on the balcony, whispers it into the night like a vow. he'll never treat you like that, never again.
PART TWO
oou he doesn't deserve us 👎 chat do not take this disrespect from anyone. this is just fiction ! results from the poll !
gojo satoru didn't love, he lusted. that's what the rumours said. and blissful, innocent you assumed better of your husband to be. arranged to marry— or perhaps doomed? your dream come true turned nightmare once you realise that your new husband; man of your dreams, despises you. and worse, that you'll do anything for his affection. including ruining your own innocence in a desperate endeavour for his attention in the only way you know how. . . lust.
ᝰ.☆ cws : arranged marriage :: unrequited love :: slow burn :: so much sex :: infidelity :: broken marriage :: loss of innocence :: pregnancy pressures :: duty vs love :: love vs lust :: violence :: abusive clans :: prostitution :: mean satoru :: sexism (not from satoru) :: side samurai!suguru x reader :: first times :: f.oral :: fingering :: p in v :: soft sex
You heard many stories about married life from the women in your clan. Fed fantasies with your morning rice and painted dreams on evening's pillow.
Gojo Satoru singlehandedly tangled all those tales and shattered every dream.
Being the wife of a man who loathed you was terrible. But the wife of a man who ignored your existence? That blistered a different kind of bitterness on your tongue.
At least hate was something. The adverse of love. A feeling. You'd rather hate than the numbness of his stare on your skin. You'd rather hate than the lonely nights with only the moon as your company.
You'd rather hate. Because at least then you could consider the possibility of something more. At least then you would know that Satoru was capable of feeling anything for you.
You would take hate over watching him love prostitutes. Maids, servants, any other woman that wasn't you. Were you even a woman in his eyes? A being capable of breathing? Feeling?
Maybe he thought you were as unfeeling as the frost that settled on the windowsills of your empty bedroom. The same frost that crept into his eyes whenever he looked at you. The same blistering cold that taunted you with the locked door of his study and the freezing buzz that coated him whenever you were near.
You knew little about Limitless. Even less about Infinity. All you did know was that it felt cold. Morphed your flesh into winterskin whenever you drew too close. You hopelessly wondered if he turned it on for other women, too.
Even now, that barrier wedged beside you. To barricade him from whatever thorns he thought festered in your touch. In a meeting room where you sat poised at his side. Before clan members that should consider you a packaged deal.
The clanhead and his wife.
As if.
You watched him carry out his duties with the same winter tongue. He addressed his clan as if they were blocks of ice. Easy to shatter under him if he so pleased. Uninterested. Unkind. With his jaw set tight and his face a sheet of snow. Beautiful, brutal snow.
Your mind wandered again. Did he only smile when he had a woman to hold? Was he only happy when his cock was?
You shook off the thought.
As the advisors and upper-clansmen prattled on, you focused your ears. Considered the issue. It was naturally unheard of for a woman to understand clan politics. But as your father's only daughter and heir, you had dedicated your mind to learning.
It was detrimental for you, as the disappointment of your clan. You spent hours analysing scrolls and studying scholars. Burnt the midnight oil until you memorised every term. Every condition. Sat in droning clan meetings before any sort of women's etiquette class.
If your father could not have a son, you would be his prettiest one.
Today, the issue was cut and dry. Vengeful spirits had been crossing over the border of the Zen'in clan to the Gojo clan. The riverside villages that marked the border between both had bared the brunt of the failure.
"This does imply that the Zen'in clan grows lax with its night hunts," sighed an advisor. "It is crucial for the Gojo clan to react. These vengeful spirits will bleed further into our territory and terrorise our people."
"I would suggest increasing guard around the border. Stop them before they even set a foot in." Another suggested.
Satoru nodded.
"Or, we offer the Zen'in clan our aid and exorcise the wandering spirits in their territory ourselves."
But you had other plans.
Winter was not outside. It frosted in this very room. The second you spoke, every mouth sealed. You expected it, of course. You were a woman and the wives of clanheads were more of a display for meetings rather than diplomats.
However, this silence weighed. Your shoulders itched to sag, but you kept your spine straight. As the quiet droned, your confusion and anxiety festered. Had you said something wrong?
It was so obvious to simply cut the problem at its route. Prevention rather than protection, right? Save the weak before any more were hurt.
You considered expanding on your idea. But the blunt, low chuckle beside you splintered your tongue and stabbed your spine.
"Are you foolishly hopeful or just ignorant?"
You flinched. Ice cold and yet the insult burned your ear.
Through your whirring mind and stifling heart, you turned to him. Satoru's icy blues awaited you. Patiently cruel. "Would this not solve the issue?" You asked.
"At whose expense?"
"Jujutsu exists to protect non-jujutsu sorcerers."
Your voice ached to quiver but you firmed it. Unblinking at your husband, who scoffed at you. As if you uttered a crude joke and not the basis of sorcery itself.
"Correct. But that just means that the Zen'in's should figure their shit out."
No regard for manners in a meeting room. Even less respect for you. Your fingers coiled on your lap. Lips pursed in the face of his blatant neglect. You'd wasted away for hours dedicating half your life to understanding clan politics and procedures. But for the life of you, you couldn't comprehend his logic.
Why wouldn't the Gojo clan eradicate curses for the sake of protecting the weak? Even if those cursed spirits were in another territory. Was it not their responsibility. Was it not—
"Is our duty not to the people?"
You expected a flicker in his eyes. A change in his resolve. But Satoru only stared you down. As if his glare alone could splinter you for your foolish statement.
Then, his shoulders eased. Your heart would have too, if it wasn't for his smile. Gojo Satoru never smiled at you.
"Guess I have to give you a lesson in clan politics, huh?"
Your breath hitched. The room's eyes burned into your skin. Etching embarrassment into every inch as your husband made it his duty to educate you.
"If the Gojo clan went around aiding everyone's shortcomings, we'd be considered a charity." He couldn't care less for the pinch in your brows. Nor the quiver in your gaze. That smile tugged into a grin. Dark with mockery.
"What next? You wanna go around feeding every villager fish and rice?"
If the stares burned your skin, the hushed chuckles flayed it.
You clung to your kimono and lowered your head. Ignoring how Satoru looked above it. The tittering ceased immediately. Not that you noticed with the cotton building in your ears.
Your head stayed down for the remainder of the meeting. Humiliation was a bitter, brittle fruit that weighed on your tongue and soured your mouth. You weren't even sure what the conclusion of the meeting was. All your ears rinsed and repeated were those stabbing, icy insults.
Are you foolishly hopeful or just ignorant?
The former. Evidently the former.
The meeting room couldn't empty quicker. Satoru got up first. Not caring to pick the broken shards of your confidence into his palms as he left. If anything, he trampled them beneath his boot without so much as a glance in your direction.
Quiet.
Safe for the turmoil spiralling in your head. Humiliation, frustration, it all became a confusing blur before your frantic eyes as you rose from your seat and beelined for the door. Your heels convinced that if you moved quick enough, you could escape whatever occurred between these four walls.
Hot on the entrance and cold in your heart, you barrelled for the gardens. Hoped to weep your sorrows to the roses and paint them paler. Tell them your woes about your husband.
Husband.
Husband.
You're not sure he knew the meaning of the word. Hell— he barely understood duty. What could he possibly fathom about a responsibility such as husband.
Satoru was so ready to embarrass you in front of his entire clan. Did audacity come as natural to him as strength and beauty? You couldn't shake his smile. Nor his grin. Every words was a dagger that wrenched deeper— and deeper— into your already shattered heart.
Was he not supposed to revere you? Were you not his wife?
Of course not. You were hardly even a duty.
You weren't his wife. Just a contract that warmed a bed he never even slept in.
Thunk!
Your already spinning mind jumbled as you collided with a hard smack. Your hands needn't worry to stabilise you, as another strong pair so naturally tethered to your waist. How achingly tender.
"My lady, you really should watch where you are going," a deep voice smoothed to your ear. Not mocking. Never mocking. Gentle.
Seemed you made it a habit of running into your guard whenever you reeled from your husband's irreverence. The second time in two weeks. Suguru braced you all the same. Hands slipping to your arms with one of them offering a squeeze.
He tilted his head. Silky strands curtained your teary eyes the second he saw them. As if to hide you from the world that dared to lay a finger on you. Concern affirmed in his stare. Softened but serious.
"My lady. . ." He murmured.
So soft. So tender.
Why could your husband not mirror this man?
Why couldn't you be wed to someone whose hands held such tenderness for you? Whose eyes searched for your comfort first and foremost. Suguru was more than just warm. He was loyal. Dedicated to you and only you.
Satoru? Dedication and loyalty burned in the cold coals that were his eyes.
Suguru wasn't him.
Suguru's stare wasn't like his.
Suguru's hands wouldn't feel like his.
"Are you alrigh—"
In the end, loyalty died on your lips, too. The same lips that sealed over your guard's in a clumsy haste of desperation and unbridled temptation. Searching for comfort in the softness of his mouth and the warmth of his arms.
Suguru stiffened. You felt his broad frame freeze in your touch. The spiral, the spin, it slowed into a sickening feeling— dread.
"I—. . . I'm so sor—"
But as you willed yourself to pull away, his long fingers stopped you. Cupping your scalp and yanking you back in. To consume your mouth and comfort it all the same. One hand on your waist. Another guiding your inexperience.
Not shaming. Not detesting. But guiding. He cradled your inexperience in his palms and whispered assurances in his passionate kisses to your lips.
He kissed you like he had everything to lose.
He did.
And yet you kissed him back anyway.
White sheets. Your soft body. Oh how it belonged there. Displayed on the silk and soaking a scene that should have been your wedding night.
With your back pressed to the mattress, shame crept around your heart. Were you so desperate for a debt to be paid to your soul that you'd recreate your dream on the very bed that belonged to your husband? Where was your duty— when you laid in half-undone robes and drunk on another man's kisses?
Suguru's lips smothered your guilt. Weeded out the thorn in your heart and bloomed a rose between your mouths. Vermilion and voracious. Petals of passion that brushed away your shame and flowered you in affection.
He unravelled the last few layers of your robes. Not tearing, nor ripping. As if every stitch was a sacred wrapping to the holy grail that his lips so eagerly sought. He mouthed down your shivering neck, then parted to witness the fabric peeling away from your skin.
Your hands itched to replace it. Hiding away flesh that no eye had seen before. But he took your hands into his. "Don't," it sounded like a plea. You laid before him bare and it was him who begged you.
His devotion bled in kisses to your knuckles. "Let me see you." Those kisses ventured to the valley of your breasts as he laid your hands to rest on the bed. Fingers intertwined with yours. Assurance seeped from the warmth of it all. From the heat of his mouth, whispering:
"Let me worship you."
His touch carried years of experience. Smoothing down your skin with gentleness in his palms. A quiet vow etched in every caress of your sides, breasts, thighs and hips. His lips joined the promise. With kisses pressed against the heat of your nipples. With every stutter of your chest and twitch in your spine— he'd hitch. As if assessing you. Understanding you. Committing you to a sacred corner of his mind.
Perhaps in his arms, you weren't the frost on the windowsill. Maybe you truly were a rose under his stare. A rose once wilted, now in full bloom.
You recounted your wedding night. The insults, the bites, the pit that was left heavy in your gut. Now your stomach fluttered. Spilling with the warmth of Suguru's affection as his mouth traced love to the crooks of your thighs.
Maybe if you shut your eyes, you could pretend it was your wedding night.
Hands, calloused from a life by the blade you're sure, cradled your thighs. Tender with their trembles as he spread you apart. Your breath hitched. Eyes flickering down to him as uncertainty dimmed the flutters for but a second.
"What're you. . ."
"Giving you what you deserve."
The answer paired with a hearty kiss to your pelvis. The tickles wriggled your hips in his grasp, and he breathed a laugh against your hipbone. Before tracing lower. Slower.
Muted violets fluttered from under long lashes. Holding your stare and dragging it with him as his mouth perched to your centre. Your chest stuttered again. Not only had you never experienced— you never learnt. It was only natural that your eyes brimmed with confusion.
But Suguru was a gentle teacher, you've noticed. Not calloused like the cold tongue that chose to berate you for every misstep. His mouth didn't chastise. It caressed. A soft kiss to your twitching cunt. Before his thumbs stroked your folds open.
You wrinkled the sheets beneath your fist. Straining yourself from squirming at the jolts sparking your spine. Heated pulses of your cunt were unfamiliar to your mind. But in your heart— you yearned for whatever was to come next. Even if you hardly knew the steps. Like a first time waltzer with your hand laced tight in your partner's.
Suguru wouldn't let you fall nor stumble. Even as your thighs shook and a hesitant murmur built on your tongue. Instead, he committed to affection. Turning to kiss your trembling inner thigh and whisper an assurance against it.
"Shhh. It's okay, princess. I've got you."
Each time he opened his mouth, his tongue lulled you deeper into ease. To lay back on your husband's bed and forget about him. To focus on the mouth that held nothing but devotion for you.
So you committed yourself to him, all the same. As that very tongue flattened at the bottom of your slit and laved up. Slowly, sincerely. He reached your clit, as you twitched and whimpered. Circled the tip once, twice, and then sucked his lips around the quivering bud.
The jolt to your spine finally won. You body jerked as pleasure surged up your tummy and to your fingertips. Your whimper melted to a whine. Hands instinctively shooting out to cling to his hair. To hold him as he burst stars before your very eyes—
But you refrained. Stars blistering into cold memories. Of when you tried to hold Satoru as he, at the time, worked your body. How he reacted. How he shunned you.
Your hands cramped with the memory and you withdrew them to the sheets in a sharp correction. But once again, Suguru's stopped you in your tracks. Fingers laced into your uncertain ones and drawing them atop his head.
"I'm yours," he moaned into your cunt. "So please, touch what's yours."
And oh, when loyalty looked so handsome, how could you ever deny him?
Your hands braced his hair. Shaking as they raked through the silky darkness. Even his strands felt like they were holding you as his lips worshipped your heated centre.
Mouthing around your cunt. Sucking your folds into it. Tracing his thumbs in slow strokes. Kissing. Loving. His tongue would swirl on your clit before laving along your slit. Dragging his spit and mixing it with your slick.
By then, your head had fallen back into the sheets. Who cared if they were white? If they were your husband's? Would he even care if he saw you like this now?
Your mind wandered to his reaction. Would he resent you for laying with your guard? For letting him touch you in the bed that should have been wrecked with your consummation?
Would he hate you?
Would he feel. . . jealous?
Whatever little consciousness you had left slipped with the spiral of hazy pleasure when an unfamiliar pressure prodded at your cunt. Any roots of the thought were splintered as your walls clamped around a new entry.
The gasp left your mouth the same way Satoru's name left your mind. A whine built on the back of your throat once your pussy realised it was Suguru's index, and squeezed around the knuckle.
"Eaasyyy girl," he murmured with a warm kiss to your clit. His flicking tongue on the bud only encouraged your spasming velvet.
Heat spread through your cunt. Seeping into your thighs and tummy as his finger stroked along your slick walls. Slow, ever-tender. He prodded at bundles and rubbed on nerves. Pumping only when your hitched breaths melted into hushed moans.
Another finger joined when your hips started to stir naturally. Your breath stuttered, but movements swayed to the rhythmic pumps of his fingers bringing you pleasure you'd never experienced before. Much less dreamt of.
As your slick built on his palm, Suguru's mouth committed to your clit. Slow but inching in intensity as you danced with him through the throes of bliss.
"How are you feeling, princess?" He rumbled his groan into the swollen bud.
"Good— it's really good. . ."
His fingers curled as the gasp on your lips. Surging it into a pitiful whine as your fingers scratched on his scalp. The come-hithers stroking on whatever special spot he innately found burst sparks in your hazing vision.
The flickers bounced over your body. Glinting into the ends of your limbs and the pit of your tummy. You squirmed involuntary. A hot surge nudging your spine into an arch you couldn't recognise as your chest flooded with an indescribable warmth.
What was happening? Why did your body tense like this? Why did it feel like you were falling and flying and everything in between?
A knot bound tight in your centre. Taut with each stroke of Sugur's fingers and suckle of his lips on your clit. But when he hummed, the waves of pleasure took hold of your tongue. As the pressure built higher,
And higher—
"S-Suguru feels— 't feels so weird— w-wait. . ."
Then sunk.
Suguru stopped.
The whine fell from your tongue before you could stop it as his fingers slowly, achingly slipped from your cunt. You're uncertain why disappointment bloomed petals in place of the once building knot.
Only when his laughed fanned your thighs did you realise you were pouting. Suguru climbed up and leaned over you with a soft smooch to your cheek as he cradled the back of your head. "We're not done yet."
There went the flutters again. Your heart flowers at his affection. Ever as trusting. Ever as eager. Even as a deeper part of it clenched. As a secret tucked away in one of its chamber's whispered:
Would he love me now, that I am learning for him?
But the deeper whisper in your ear weeded out that little voice drifting to another man once more. Dark, but promising.
"Let me show you what real pleasure feels like."
If pleasure was reverent hands and an adoring mouth, you could get used to it. Suguru didn't allow a single thought that wasn't of him alone to creep into your mind. Not even for a second.
His hands called for your attention. Mouth searched for your approval. As if his greatest joy in life was to simply serve you. No expectations. No high bar that you that had to stagger over. Just a waltz. This uncoordinated dance in which he held your fingers in his and guided you through the unknown.
His robes soon slipped. Fabric falling from broad shoulders and a scarred chest. Your eyes roamed as the inches were offered to you. Every dent, every imperfection, every testament to the years that he swore loyalty to your clan.
Now, he swore it to you, too. As you laid bare beneath him. Skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart. Devotion pressed into every edge of toned muscle and elegant beauty spots. All the way down to the heavy weight on your pelvis.
Your eyes drew before shame could catch up. Your face paid the price in a flares as your hands gripped the sheets.
The first time you had ever laid eyes on a man— and it so happened to be your guard. Your well-endowed guard.
Questions spiralled your mind. Were they all like this? Or was Suguru simply magnificent and monstrous? With a long length, girthy rim and a pretty tip, with more veins throbbing than you would have expected. Neatly trimmed. He took grace in even his most intimate parts.
He cupped his cock in his fist and pumped its length a few times. All while holding your gaze. As if inviting you into the image in his mind. Where desire and darkness swirled into passion.
You might not have understood, but your body certainly knew. It parted for him as he shifted between your thighs. And as your hands braced the sheets— you watched. Waited.
This was it. On your back. On your marriage bed. With your husband's name bitter in your mouth and sour in your mind.
Consummation. Was this what it would have been like? If you were blessed with Satoru rather than cursed?
A thousand thoughts spinning. A hundred questions unanswered. But one man at the centre of it all. Swapping out the bitterness for a mild sweetness. Blooming into the blessing that you'd been waiting for.
Geto Suguru.
You weren't even sure how you fit half of him.
The sheets were finally strewn. Your thighs wide and trembling. The dim glow of the moon bathed you. Hiding away the sin you committed here and now. On white silk never meant to bleed red.
But was it really a sin when it was Suguru's devotion?
He breached through the first rings of tightness. Punched a gasp from your stuttering lungs and stirred your body into a quiet quiver. The sheer girth of him strained your walls. An unfamiliar burn settled deep in your core. And for a frightful moment— you almost begged him to stop.
But as always, his hands sought to soothe. One cupped your waist to ease the shakes, while another cradled your head to relax your mind. Distracting you with a thumb to the scalp as you breathed ragged and wrecked through your mouth.
Your nerve endings honed to the sensation below. Of the foreign entry that your cunt couldn't decide to cling to or cry around. But he shushed it too. With another thumb to your clit. Glimmering the familiar bliss into the new burn and washing your body with a tender promise: to show you what real pleasure felt like.
"You're doing so good for me." His whisper caressed your ear. The hand behind your head reached over to brush away tears. It stroked on your cheek as you whimpered.
His hips were reduced to a rock. A slow sway to inch his cock bit by bit. To hold your hand through the overwhelm and kiss the gasps away.
As he ventured deeper, your cunt squeezed tighter. Spilling slick. Either it wept, or whimpered for him to never stop. With your stuttered chest and spinning head— you're not sure yourself. Your breath was too thin, eyes too hazy, mind everywhere and nowhere all at once.
The clouds parted when his tip graced a clenching muscle. When the weight of his balls pressed into your folds and you felt so utterly full that you'd mistake him for being halfway through your womb if you didn't know any better.
Your hands searched for comfort and found it in his strong shoulders. "It's so big." You whimpered. Strained and shaky.
His breathless chuckle brushed your face. Warm lips kissed between your brows. "And you're taking it so well."
You laid there. Bathing in the all-consuming thrum of his body. In the gift of his devotion and the simmering burn that came with it. Inflaming every inch of your skin. Scouring your chest. Peeping through your ribcage and wrapping around your heart.
Your cunt pulsed around him. Familiarising each inch and committing every humming vein to memory.
You thought he'd never be able to move. But when he did, bliss bloomed in red roses across your body.
Suguru wasn't impatient. Wasn't hasty. That tenderness that he always held for you seeped into the slow rock of his hips and the controlled glide of his cock. Slow, sensual, but dripping with purpose. A pursuit for your pleasure and nothing more.
You were gasping. Whimpering. Through hazy eyes focused on the ceiling and a spine distancing itself from the damn bed you thought way too much of. The burn had burst into a warm ecstasy. Wrapping around your limbs, pooling in your stomach, and melting your mind into a puddle.
Wetness stained your thighs. Trickled to your sheets and stained them too. But you could hardly care with the consistent sparks flooding your cunt every time Suguru dragged deeper.
And even less so when his voice soothed your ear.
"Talk to me, pretty girl."
He murmured.
"I didn't think it'd feel like this."
You mewled.
He halted, and you cramped. But you could get used to his big hands cradling your face. To his lips that kissed concern into your lips. "Like what?"
And oh, how you ached. From the tenderness of it all. From the affection you'd been searching for and finally found here— with him. In his arms. In this bed that he had made his.
The tears fell as your heart broke open for him. Begging him to nestle inside and never leave. To never stop. Never stop giving you this feeling.
"D-Didn't think it'd feel so good."
You felt his breath hitch with the stiffness of his chest. For a moment you regretted the display. The rawness in your face and the vulnerability of your tears—
But Suguru did what he always did. He held you. Scooping you up into his arms and flushing your bodies. Skin-to-skin. Chest-to-chest. So that you might feel his heart that beat only for you.
And in his embrace, his thrusts sought to worship you with the intensity of a devotee's fervid prayer. Moderate and mediate. He was not violent. But his gentleness morphed into a mildness. His hips rocked with more purpose. Arms looped around your waist while yours clung around his neck.
The sparks burst into stars. In your tummy. Creeping up your spine. Swirling around in your head. Your mouth fell open as your shudders became moans and your moans became whimpers.
The bed rocked with him. Creaking under the weight of your passion and the saturation of his devotion. But you didn't care.
Didn't care that the headboard tapping on the wall was your husband's. Didn't care that the screaking mattress was one he hardly laid in. That the sheets wrinkled and wet with your scandalous lovemaking were chosen by Satoru himself.
The name Gojo Satoru died on your tongue for the blossom of Geto Suguru's. Not a thorn. But a rose. A sweet rose. That flowered your body.
"This is what it's supposed to feel like."
That petalled your ear.
"This is how you're supposed to be worshipped."
That bloomed between the cracks of your heart and wrapped your mind in a blushing bliss.
Your head fell into his neck as his hips grazed your thighs firmer. Pelvises smooching and heats clinging together. His balls flushed to your quivering folds and his pubic bone ground hot into your clit.
The angle shifted. His cockhead snuggled against a darling bundle and rubbed the stars into devastating bursts of pleasure before your hazy eyes.
"There—" You whined, wrecked.
"Here?" He whispered, rough.
And committed his hips to the memory. Angling and dragging to hump just right into the sensitive spot that tossed your head back and threw your spine into an arch. Shivers washed over your limbs. Your cunt clenched in spasms.
"This little spot—" he heaved, mouthing from your ear to your glossy lips. "This darlin spot—" he grunted as he stuffed you to the hilt and dragged on that spot until you wept. His rambled were breathy. Feverish.
"It's mine now. Not your husband's. Mine. This is all mine."
Husband?
You didn't know the meaning of the word.
Not with the pleasure shaping in your tummy. In the tightening knot that returned every time he rubbed into that spot and hoisted your hips to meet his. Tighter— and tighter— until your breath was thin and your tongue strangled his name in a desperate whimper.
"Suguru, f-feels s'weird again—"
"Sshhh. I've got you, princess. Let it happen."
Mouth slack. Eyes hazed. Lips glossy. Ears ringing. You limped in his arms. Tethering to his hair like it was the only thing grounding you in the high that your body pummelled through.
"Sugu—" you croaked. A wrecked whine as your lashes fluttered and pupils looped back.
The knot snapped. Blistering and blooming. Your cunt spasmed into clenches around the base of his cock. White, hot pleasure surged through your muscles and cramped every nerve into a devastating release. You were left babbling. Scrambling.
Was this what everyone spoke about?
Was this true, raw, pleasure?
Suguru's thrusts hardly let up. They firmed on your cunt and rode out the cloud nine that your head hazed in. He groans rumbled against your throat and you returned their desperation. With soundless gasps and quivering fingertips that clung to every inch of him that you could possibly garner.
The sparks simmered into a daze. The collision of stars splayed you as a shattered nebula on the sheets. A starry stream of satisfaction and fading shock. As your body eased into the mattress and a warm ache settled in your bones.
Still, your hands held his hair. Legs shook around his waist. You tethered to him like he was your rock. Your sanity. The only comfort in this forsaken world.
He was.
As Suguru withdrew, it was only to behold your face. Drink in your teary eyes and babbling mouth. He hushed you with whispers and comforted you in kisses. Hot, but not violent. Intense, but not demanding.
A vow to your mouth from his. One that you returned in uncoordinated fervour. Still clumsy in your kisses, but. You could learn if it was under Suguru's lips.
"Such a pretty girl," he drawled as the moonlight bathed you in the glow of sex. His lips peppered worship across your face as his hands devoted massages to your thighs.
"My girl."
He pressed his lips to your temple. To seep the whisper into your mind so that your heart finally understood.
It did, as your conscious drifted. Lulled by his words into a peaceful slumber and a tender joy. At least someone could call you theirs.
A breeze brushing over your bare flesh stirred you from your first soothing sleep in weeks.
The ache was deep but warm in your muscles. Memories tucked away in your drowsy nerves as you droopily raised your head from the comfort of your pillow.
The sheets kissed your skin. Caressed the nakedness and lulled you to ease your face back into the silk. But a strange tug at the the back of your mind guided you to sit up in the wrinkled blankets and bed.
Dazed and confused, your glossy eyes took to the window. Searching for fresh air and scenic gardens in hopes they held answers from the muddled nest that was your mind.
The white roses calmed the pangs in your eyes. But as you rubbed sleep from them, you spotted a blush of colour amongst the pale petals. With a few blinks, your vision cleared.
Red roses had bloomed amongst the white. Bright and brilliant. Your head crooked.
Sleep pulled a yawn from your chest and you raised your arms to stretch. Release the tension in your back and hips as your body arched to the relaxation. Your neck extended to ease the stiffness as your eyes flitted across the room.
Tension surged all the way back in.
Because as you turned, your eyes caught the mirror. Spotted your nudity and the messy canvas spread upon it. Hickies on your shoulders. Bites down your arms.
The peaceful stir snapped into a spiral of panic.
The night crashed into your dazed mind. Dreaded it with memories of silky black hair, and calloused hands. Of a soft tongue and devoted kisses. Your eyes shot down.
The strewn white sheets taunted you.
You jolted in a haste. Flinched as sun rays crept up your shoulders. Your gaze shot to the window once more.
Morning. It was morning. The morning after you laid in your husband's bed and gave yourself to another man.
Morning. When Satoru typically returned.
Panic strangled with the ache in your bones as you tossed yourself from the sheets and scrambled for the washroom connected to the bedroom. To your surprise— you found your body clean of sweat and fluids.
Not that you could soften on the implications of that as you wet a cloth anyway and scrubbed your skin. If you rubbed hard enough— maybe you could wash the evidence from your very soul?
You clumsily cleaned and primed. Bumbling on your robes and nearly tripping over tiles. You caught the sink with a harsh insult thrown at yourself.
And then came another. And another. Until your berates harassed your frazzled mind as you haphazardly tied a kimono and dared to look yourself in the mirror.
What were you thinking?
Were you so desperate for attention and affection that you allowed your guard to crawl his way into your bedroom— into your bed, and lay with you as if you were wed?
Disgust pulled tight on your gut. Your inner voice shattered into shards. Each dedicated to a new insult and scold as you chided yourself for even considering whatever heinous acts your body dared to commit through the night.
You weren't thinking straight, you tried to tell yourself.
What did it matter? you struggled to ask.
Your husband held no regard for you so why should you hang yourself with the distress of your supposed sin? He actively sought out other women and spent his nights drunk on infidelity in brothels. What was the difference here?
A big difference. Your mind screeched at you. Because no matter what— an eye for an eye was hardly what you were taught. And two sins didn't make you a saint.
The difference was simply that you. Were supposed. To be different.
You double-checked your face in the mirror. Ensured that the kimono covered every inch of evidence from last night.
Your reflection taunted you. Badgered you more for the satisfied ache between your legs and the warmth in your chest. Called you an immoral wife. An awful one.
You swallowed the insults. Took them whole and hung your head. Focus. You could beat yourself when you weren't trying to lock your iniquity and display your shattered innocence for your husband.
Husband.
Husband.
He probably wouldn't even be back from his rendezvous yet.
As the thought ruminated into a possible fact, it nursed your frantic mind to a stop. Your shoulders sagged. Eyes drooped. Right. Satoru probably wouldn't even be back any time soon. Who's to say this isn't one of those times he returned only when the moon took to the skies?
You sighed. Maybe a part of you wanted to see him. Wanted him to see you. But the patterns proved correct and you understood that you'd most likely only see him at dinner. Flirting up some other maid or winking at a servant.
You shook your head and made your way to the door. Heart heavy and last night's memories on the back-burner. Perhaps a walk in the garden would do you some good. You could take some time with the new red roses you'd spotted earlier.
The thought of the gardens eased your spine, as the shoji drew back and your feet entered the bedroom once more.
Then froze.
As a head of white hair needled every nerve into a stiff frenzy and blue eyes frosted each inch of your skin.
Satoru, clothed in black and sat silent on the bed. Patient. Waiting.
His head curved as his gaze roved you once. Dragging his boredom across your flesh before stabbing ice into your stare. His head curved. Expression snowed.
summary! gojo's slowly realising how bad of a boyfriend he is when he walks into the most gut wrenching scene he's ever witnessed, his beautiful, shy girl, upset over his party animal lifestyle choices. but, instead of comforting her, for reasons not even he can comprehend he gets really, really mad. (angst to (not really) comfort, messy, toxic relationship dynamics, gojo is a fuckwit but he learns ig) !! so ooc
disclaimer: this is not a healthy relationship dynamic, i don't feel like i need to explain how rage bait i made this on purpose bc i love to get you guys heated, but yeah, this is not something you should chase.
wc: 4k || pt.2!! || inspo from my mean!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader
dating you was already wayyy out of fratboy!gojo's comfort zone.
don't misunderstand, he loved you. he just had a really fucked up way of showing it.
never had he ever been in a relationship before, his experience hadn't gone past messy hookups followed by an empty bed in the morning.
so, when you came along, or should he say, when he charmed you into this new fancy thing called a 'relationship', he was far from the perfect boyfriend. like, far, far from it..
you were at the other end of his spectrum, where he was a wild party animal, you were soft and quiet. that's what drew him in, you sitting alone in the front row of his economics class, how different you were to his usual indulgences. your pretty outfits and shy demeanor knocked him off his feet, so he sat next to you and that was that, you'd been dating for around five months now and all was going smoothly... well, smoothly by satoru's standards.
the thing was, he'd still attend his insane ragers where almost everyone was half naked, fucking around like rabbits upstairs.
ah, the high life.
he thrived in this setting, grinding and dancing, laughing and talking shit with his friends, it was his perfect sanctuary.
he could have you at home, waiting for him to come back with open arms and dinner in the oven, as well as doing whatever the fuck he wanted at the frats.
you'd never told him he couldn't after all, so what was the issue? obviously not because you were just too shy to? right? obviously not because you were a complete push over and he
knew that. nah, you were most likely just a chill girl! that's gotta be it.
pffft, whoever said you couldn't have your cake and eat it too was so wrong.
.
gojo slips his key into the lock, he misses it once, then gets it the second time. he cracks a laugh at himself, he's not drunk just tipsy from whatever garbage punch they served at the mixer.
the hallway light outside your apartment shines behind him, catching on his chain when he leans forward. he giggles something under his breath about the silly maintenance never fixing anything, then pushes the door open with his shoulder.
your place is so quiet, so pretty. he’s gotten used to your decor, the air warm from the little heater you always turn on at night. god, you were so cute.
he scuffs off his jordans at the front door and steps inside, reaching back to tug the door shut.
he pictures you asleep, snuggled up in his shirt that swallows you whole. he smiles a little as he imagines it. cute, sweet, soft. all his.
except, as he draws closer inside, the light from the living room is still on?
"hmm." he pauses.
the tv is off and the candles are unlit. but you’re on the couch with your legs tucked under you and your shoulders curved in like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.
your phone glows against your pretty little face, you’re so focused on whatever's on the screen you don’t hear him.
your lips are pouty and sad, that alone guts whatever leftover buzz he had going. your eyes look swollen, your lashes wet, cheeks a little blotchy. he’s never seen you like that. never seen that kind of silent with you, it's not the shy kind, it makes his chest feel off balance.
“oh… shit,” he whispers under his breath.
because now he sees the screen.
it’s him shirtless, beta cap turned backward and his chain dangling against his chest. he’s smiling that charismatic smile, mouth open like he just said something funny that made everyone laugh. that one girl in the tiny bikini he barely remembers presses her fingers to his shoulders, leans down, body tilted against his, she takes a shot off his collarbone while her friends cheer. he throws his head back laughing.
oh fuck..
really, it was just another moment in the mess of the party. someone yelled his name, shoved salt into his palm, the girl had licked it from his fingers like some pornstar then she poured the tequila and leaned in.
shit.
your thumb shakes as you close your phone and stare at the ground.
gojo feels his stomach rip in two, but he forces himself to breathe normal. he lifts his chin, and lets that fratboy grin slide into place.
just act normal. that’s his first instinct. be goofy, be loud, be charming! pretend nothing’s wrong. that always works.
“baby!" he calls lightly, stepping toward you. “you’re up? what’re you doing awake? it’s late, y'know."
you jump a little but you just hum very shyly and don't look at him.
he comes around the side of the couch, he plops down behind you, slipping his arms around your shoulders from behind like he always does when he wants to distract you from something. stretching over the back of the couch, he nuzzles your cheek with a grin.
“i missed you,” he says brightly.
you shudder against his arms.
his smile ticks.
“hey,” he says leaning a little to see your face. “what’s wrong?” like he doesn't know.
you keep looking down at the floor like looking at him would really break you.
“nothing, toru,” you whisper.
that hits him in a place he seriously doesn’t like.
“doesn’t look like nothing.”
you set your phone on the cushion beside you, eyes stuck on your knees.
gojo watches every tiny move you make, feeling something yucky pull tight in his aching chest. he swings himself over the couch so he’s sitting next to you, one knee bumping yours. he smells like sweat, cheap liquor, and someone else’s perfume. he doesn’t realise it. he doesn’t notice the way you subtly lean away.
gojo drags in a slow breath and leans back against the couch with his legs spread, he feels the tension humming through the room but refuses to let it land anywhere close to him. gross. his irritation rises really fast, he was never good at dealing with girls who don't fight back.
he stares at your knees, not your face, the smile gone. “so,” he drawls, “you gonna tell me what's wrong, y/n? or are ya just gonna sit here and mope.”
you hesitate before trying to respond to him, but that tiny silence ignites something unsavoury.
he scoffs under his breath and sits up straighter. “come on. seriously? you’re acting like i fucking murdered someone.”
you've entered that state where you want to talk, but your throat just won't let you speak.
and god, that sets him off even more. his patience fractures clean down the middle.
“i don’t get why you’re so sad,” he says, louder this time. “like, genuinely. i don’t get it.”
you squeeze at your hands, trying to stay small. trying not to take up space.
"i... that girl, she-"
“it was just a body shot,” he interrupts. “big deal. everyone does them. it’s not like i kissed her, it wasn’t even fun. the tequila probably tasted like sprax.”
you softly flinch again when he raises his voice. he acts like he doesn't notice as irritation swells in him like static.
“why are you acting blindsided? you know who i am. you knew before you dated me.” he throws his hands up. “i’ve always been like this. i go to parties. i drink. i mess around with my friends. i’m not some stay at home boyfriend who knits blankets on weekends.”
still nothing from you.
you sit still and small, taking every word. you feel like you deserve it.
it makes him angrier, he can’t explain why. something about the sadness on your face, something about how soft you look, something about how he’s too aware of his own guilt, makes him latch onto the only thing he knows how to do when cornered.
he lashes out.
“god, are you really this insecure?” he snaps. “over a party? over something stupid like a shot? this is what college is like, babe. people have fun. you wouldn’t know because you never go to shit like that, you wouldn't have a fucking clue.”
your chin falls as your shoulders tuck in even tighter.
“you just… sit here at night,” he says, waving an arm at the room, “you study, you cook, you watch shows, you bake, you… whatever. you stay in your little routine. and that’s fine, that’s you, but don’t project that shit on me.”
you try so badly not to cry, he hates how that looks on you. it makes his neck muscles jerk.
he leans foward “you don’t get it. you don’t get my life! you don’t get how things work with my friends. you don’t get how parties are. you never have. you’re a shut in, babe. you barely talk to anyone unless they come up to you first. you get nervous around people you don't know.”
your hands get clammy and you squeeze your knees tighter..
but he just keeps on going.
“you think i’m cheating on you? is that it?” he challenges. “you think i’m out there hooking up with girls just because they’re pretty and wearing tiny outfits? you think i’d cheat over some girl licking salt off my hand? seriously?”
your lip tucks inward for a second.
“say something!” he demands. “come on. don’t just sit there like a kicked puppy. if you’ve got something to accuse me of, spit it the fuck out.”
you shake your head frightened. “i’m not... i'm not trying to.. accuse you, toru, i-.”
“then what?” he bites. “what are you so upset about?”
your voice is barely there. “i just… didn’t know you still let girls do things like that.”
he groans and drops his head back against the couch. “oh my god. it’s not deep! why do you always assume the worst?”
your body starts to subtly shake.
“i’m not assum-" you whisper.
“yeah, you are,” he throws back. “you wouldn’t be whining if you weren’t.”
you stiffen but don’t sob.
he digs the heel of his palm into his brow, frustration pulsating through him. “you’re so dramatic sometimes.”
your breath stutters, but you swallow it down fast. your hands tremble just once before you force them still again.
“god,” he mutters, shaking his head.
"...maybe this was a mistake.”
the second the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re cruel. he knows they’re a lie but he’s too far into his childish anger to stop.
that one hurt, because that's all you'd been thinking lately. maybe this was all too much for a girl like you. you'd be a better fit for someone softer and quieter like you...
he stares at you expecting you to argue back or something. to deny it, to grab his sleeve and plead the way past girls did trying to get him to love them, to give him something he understands.
but you never do.
you weren't like them, you were shy and sweet. you hated how hard it was for you to speak up and express how you felt, but that's just how you were.
and something about that makes him crash out harder.
“say something,” he barks. “stop acting like i’m some monster for having a life outside of you!"
you open your mouth but no words come out. you just shake your head softly.
that subtle movement ignites him again.
“you can’t just sit here and look sad every time i go out,” he says. “you can’t expect me to change everything about myself because you get overwhelmed by basic social shit. you’re dating me. me! not some guy who stays home reading textbooks every night.”
your shoulders rise a smidge, then drop.
his stress and confusion doesn’t know how to handle you. he feels cornered by emotions he’s never dealt with before.
“god, you’re impossible,” he mumbles. “i can’t deal with this shy routine when it’s twisted around like this. it’s like talking to a wall. do you even hear me? do you even care how insane this looks? you’re acting like i fucked some chick over a body shot! you need to grow up,” he says sharply.
“seriously. this is college. this is how it works. people party. people have fun. people get stupid sometimes. you can’t expect me to act like some perfect boyfriend when i don’t even know how to be one. i’m trying! okay? this stuff is normal. it’s harmless. you’re just… sensitive. too fucking sensitive.”
your lips open for a second. you want to say something.
again, nothing comes out.
you just nod once, heartbreakingly polite.
and that’s when it all hits him.
not slowly.
not gently.
it slams into him like a fucking semi truck.
your cheek glistens with one tear.
then another.
they slip down your face without a sound, falling over your jaw and landing on your lap, darkening the fabric.
your shoulders don’t shake. your breath doesn’t hiccup. you don’t sniffle or wipe them away.
you just let them topple downward.
gojo stops talking in the middle of his forest speel. the last word dies on his harsh tongue.
your tears keep flowing, you don’t defend yourself. you don’t argue. you don’t yell back. you don’t move away from him or push him or tell him to fuck off like any normal person should of.
you just sit there.
letting him rip your heart out and pummel it on the ground over and over and over.
letting him say awful things because you’re too gentle to fight back.
and suddenly he can hear his own voice echoing in his head. every insult. every jab. every cruel, thoughtless messed up word.
fuck, his stomach had never dropped quicker.
he stares at your beautiful face covered in salted tears, at the way you hold yourself so small and polite even while he ripped into your chest.
his throat tightens up, his hands go limp and his whole body goes scarily still.
what the hell did he just do?
the sniff he hears you swallow so fast it barely comes out gouges a deep hole through his brain.
his chest caves in.
oh no.
oh no no no.
“baby…” he whispers.
you don't dare look at this man's face. you only wipe at your cheek with the sleeve of your sweater, like you’re apologising for making a mess.
gojo’s breath pulsates in his lungs as if he was about to start sobbing aswell.
he feels sick.
he feels cold.
he feels like he'd be better off jumping out the window to put you out of your misery.
what the fuck was he doing?
what kind of guy yells at his girlfriend like that?
what kind of boyfriend calls his shy, gentle girl insecure?
what kind of person tears apart someone who wouldn’t dream of hurting him back?
he thought he was irritated. he thought he was defending himself. he thought he was justified.
now he just feels disgusting.
you sniff again as quietly as you can, gojo’s heart implodes and chokes him up.
he presses his knuckles to his mouth, eyes burning while he stares at you while he tries to figure out how to speak without making things worse. he doesn’t know how to say sorry without choking on the words. he doesn’t know how to own what he just did without wanting to shove a knife down his throat.
he tries to open his mouth but he knows if he speaks again he'll sob.
he hates himself for that.
you feel so bad, you feel like you'd just made gojo feel terrible, stressed, like you were an anchor he wanted to free himself from.
before satoru gets the courage to try again, he feels the couch dip as you move closer.
he wants to run away, never burden you with his egotistical attitude ever again, then your arms slip around his bulky side, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt.
he goes completely stiff, you’re... hugging him?
after everything he said, after all the mean ugly things he tossed at you, you’re the one reaching out? he stutters, stunned. he expects you to say you’re leaving his sorry ass, that you’re scared of him, that you don’t want this relationship anymore.
hell, that's what you should say.
“i’m sorry.”
his breath stumbles in his throat. he turns to you fast, eyes wide. “what?”
you sniff quietly, still not looking up at him. “i’m… i’m sorry for being clingy. and annoying. and making you feel stressed. i didn’t mean to ruin your night. i... i didn’t know i was doing something wrong.”
fuck he was such an asshole. he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he can’t believe that after everything, you still think it’s your fault.
“hey,” he says, voice cracking. “no. no. stop. baby, no.”
but you keep whispering shakily. “you’re right. i don’t really know how frats work. or parties. i don’t know what’s normal for you. i just… i saw the video and i got overwhelmed. i shouldn’t have made you feel guilty, toru.”
never in his messed up life had he experienced such a pain in his gut.
“sweetheart…” his hand rises halfway, then falls because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you without shaking. “please don’t say that. please don’t apologise. you didn’t do anything wrong.”
you keep clinging to his side gently. it's as if you’re trying to make him feel better about the pain he gave you.
“look at me,” he chokes out.
you don’t, or, you can't. so he moves slowly, tipping his head down until he can see your face. your lashes are stuck together with tears. your eyes stay lowered. your mouth keeps trying to stay steady for him. he hates himself so much he feels nauseous.
he cups the side of your head with a trembling hand. “you’re not annoying. or clingy. or anything like that. i swear, sweetheart... i swear.”
more quiet sobs rack your body as you squeeze him tighter. “no. hey. baby, no, listen. i messed up. this whole thing is on me... just.”
he leans closer pressing his cheek to your forehead. “i shouldn’t have yelled. i shouldn’t have said any of that shit, y/n. i shouldn’t have talked to you like that. i’m… i’m so sorry.”
he feels like scraping his eyes out, he wants to tie his throat closed, but the words spill out, “i’ve never been in a relationship before. i know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. i didn’t know how to handle… feelings. yours or mine. i freaked out and i took it out on you, y/n. i'm just... i'm an insecure piece of shit, i don't deserve you."
you can't handle this, you really can't handle anymore of him on the verge of tears.
“i’m really sorry you saw that video. i'm sorry i was even in it, that i ever did it,” he says. “and i’m sorry i did something that made you feel small. i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t even trying to hurt you. i was just being self centred... y/n, you have every right to be upset about it.”
when you finally look up his blue eyes are glossy with tears.
“you didn’t deserve a single thing i said,” he whispers. “you didn’t deserve any of it.”
you part your lips, but he shakes his head before you can talk.
“don’t say sorry again,” he mutters. “please. i can’t handle hearing that from you.”
his arm wraps around you, pulling you into his chest. the moment your face tucks against him, he breaks. a wet sound escapes him before he can swallow it down. his arms lock around you tighter as he hides his face against your shoulder.
“i’m sorry,” he borderline croaks. “i’m so sorry, baby. i didn’t mean any of it. not one word. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i treated you like that. i’m sorry.”
your hand rises hesitantly and rests over his heart. he clutches your waist like he needs you to breathe.
“i’ll stop,” he says suddenly, desperate. “i mean it. the parties. the dumb shit i do. i’ll stop. if something makes you sad, i don’t want it anymore.”
“i’m not trying to change you, satoru.”
“i want to change,” he insists. “i want to be better. for you.”
he lifts you up, arms sliding under your legs holding you against him. he stands and you cling to his shoulders, he carries you down the hall, steps steady like he’s afraid to jostle you.
when he sets you gently on the bed, he sits beside you, hands resting on your thighs.
“i’ll never talk to you like that again,” he promises. “i swear. i’ll never yell at you. i’ll never make you cry like that. i’ll learn how to be a real boyfriend. i’ll learn how to communicate. i’ll tell you where i’m going, what i’m doing. i’ll cut off anything that disrespects you.”
yeah, you could tell by the tone of voice that he really meant this.
“you can tell me anything,” he sighs, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “no matter how small it feels. even if it’s just that something made you uncomfortable. i want to hear it. i want to know. you matter to me.”
you can see how hurt he looks, how badly he regrets what he did.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers again. “i’m so sorry, baby.”
satoru kisses your cheek, then you wrap your arms around him. he pulls you into his lap, holding you close.
his fingers drift through your hair in slow careful ministration. “you’re my girl,” he murmurs. “my sweet girl. i’ll take care of you. i’ll be better, y/n, i swear.”
...
he whispers praise until your eyes shut..
gojo slips out of the bed once your breathing settles into a soft, sleepy sound he knows off by heart. he pulls the blanket up to your shoulders, then stands there for a second just staring at you with immense guilt twisting through his bones.
he pushes a hand through his fair hair and lets out a tight breath before heading to his drawer. the cigarette box inside is old, the last time he touched it was months ago, the last time he felt this same sort of self loathing itch.
he grabs one and steps out onto the cold windy balcony, and clicks the lighter with a horribly shaky thumb.
the city vibrates below with the windows of far away apartments glowing, cars driving by, shit, he can't even look at any of it. he just stands there leaning on the railing with his head bowed deep, smoke puffing out of his lip.
every sentence he spat at you floating through his mind, munting him harder each time. he can’t believe how easily he slipped into that revolting version of himself, the one who never cared who he screwed over. he swears he left that guy behind the day he met you. tonight proved he hadn’t.
he takes another puff.
he hates himself for yelling.
he hates himself for making you cry.
he hates how small you tried to get and how you tried to comfort him even when he was the one who mercilessly ripped you down.
he flicks ash over the railing... no one’s ever trusted him the way you do. he doesn’t get how someone like you ended up loving someone like him.
he lets loose a stray sob, he won’t let tonight happen again. he’ll learn. he’ll grow the hell up. he’ll earn you. he’ll become the boyfriend you deserve, because you deserve the world, everything he can give you.
he makes himself that promise right there on the balcony, whispers it into the night like a vow. he'll never treat you like that, never again.
oou he doesn't deserve us 👎 chat do not take this disrespect from anyone. this is just fiction ! results from the poll !
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Synopsis: When you realize your husband might still be hung up on his ex-wife.
・❥・requests : rules
・❥・characters: fushiguro toji.
・❥・masterlist
part one
warnings: mdni, 18+, kind of angsty, smut, degrotary terms (slut, bitch), saying the wrong name (whoopsy), drunk sex, very very very slight anal penetration, you are megumi's step mom, age gap, Toji's ex-wife's name is Rei.
part two
warnings: mdni, 18+, angst, angst, and more angst, smut, oral sex (m. receiving), age gap, Toji's ex-wife's name is Rei.
part three
warnings: themes of a possible divorce, sad gumi, angst.
part four
warnings: mdni, 18+, themes of divorce, brief smut, angst but kinda fluff, slight comfort, sad gumi, toji's ex-wife's name is rei.
how GoM react to you wearing their jersey to a game
-> AOMINE DAIKI:
You knew he wouldn't show up to the game, as per usual. But this time would be different.
This time, while you stood over his lazy, napping form on the school roof, you had promised him that if he showed up, there would be a surprise waiting for him.
That caught his attention, as you knew it would. He was skeptical on the inside though. What could possibly be good enough to make him stay for a whole game, start to finish?
He did not expect to hear you scream his name from the stands during warm ups, breath hitching when he caught sight of you in his jersey.
You had put it on over your sweater, grinning wide as you pointed at the number and mouthed ‘surprise’. It made aomine blink and gulp.
You had worn his clothes before, but never his jersey. He felt his skin tingle in a foreign feeling of possessiveness. That was his number on your chest.
Aomine turned around and walked to the coach. “Put me in at the beginning of the game.”
His teammates gawked at him. Aomine? Willing to play? No, not just willing. Eager. This was unprecedented.
You however, were giggling in the stands, knowing exactly what his motivation to play today was.
-> KISE RYOTA:
Kise’s fans often showed up in his jersey number for games, giggling and squealing in the stands and saying his name to get his attention during warm ups. But you, you were different.
For one, you were dating. For another, you weren’t just wearing a jersey with his number on it. You were wearing his personal jersey. Tailored to him and swimming over your small frame.
You grinned when he noticed the jersey on you before the game in the hallway. He bit his lip and hid a smile.
“You wore it for me?” He tilted his head, trying to hold back from cooing all over you. You looked so cute.
“Yeah. To support you. I see all your fans do it.” You shrugged like it was no big deal. It was a big deal though, at least to Kise.
He stepped forward and smacked a sloppy kiss on your cheek, made you squeal and wipe it off in mock disgust. It didn’t bother Kise though. He was on cloud nine just looking at you wearing his clothes.
-> MIDORIMA SHINTARO:
His brain short circuits when he sees you.
Next, a million thoughts hit him all at once.
First of all, how did you even get your hands on his jersey? And how had he not noticed a missing jersey from his closet?
(You were sneaky and crafty usually, so it wasn’t too surprising)
Second of all, how did orange look so good on you?
“What is the meaning of this?” He scowls at you, making you giggle and skip closer to him. Midorima fought to keep a straight face. You were glowing.
“I know you have your lucky object with you,” you eyed the humongous hourglass figurine in his hand. “But I thought it would be nice to have a little extra luck.”
He felt his lips twitch, the muscles of his shoulders relax. He hadn’t realized he was about to walk out to court while being so stiff.
He pouted at you and looked away when he caught your teasing gaze, looking away with heated cheeks. “Thanks for the luck.”
You giggled again and planted a kiss on his jaw, turning around to the hall which lead to the stands.
“See you after the game, Shin.” You called back. Midorima allowed his lips to tilt upwards as he watched you leave.
-> MURASAKIBATA ATSUSHI:
I’m gonna say it, he doesn’t think it’s too big a deal.
Not the jersey itself, but he is more affected by the fact that you’re wearing his clothes at all. Because they are huge on you.
You’re swimming in it, dwarfed by the sheer amount of fabric. If he didn’t like the look so much, he would laugh.
But he loved it. Loved seeing you in the stands, perking up and grinning at him whenever he looked up at you and met your eyes.
The white and purple looked great on you, made you stand out in the crowd and put you in the center of his vision. What a view to have during the game.
Him putting in more effort on the court was all because it made you cheer for him and stand taller. He could give less of a shit about the actual game or the end result.
Rest assured, he will be subtly hinting at you to wear more of his clothes, jersey or otherwise.
-> AKASHI SEIJUROU:
Akashi’s actions make it abundantly clear that he is very territorial of you.
You are his. No one else has rights to you the way he does.
Now imagine him seeing you at a game, which he knows is also being attended by his peers, underclassmen, opponents and other acquaintances, knowing you are in his jersey.
His number on your chest and back, his school colors enveloping your frame.
Everyone would know you were his. And that sense of power made him feel things.
His piercing gaze finds you in the stands, the uptick of his lips and the satisfied look on his face was enough for you to squirm. Oh he liked what he saw.
He gives you a harsh kiss in the hall when the game ends, and an approving once over that fills you with glee.
With zero words, Akashi has ensured that you would show up to all his games from now on with his jersey on your back.
♔ Part One ♔ Part Two ♔ Part Three ♔ Part Four ♔ Part Five ♔ Part Six ♔ Part Seven ♔ Part Eight ♔ Part Nine ♔ Part Ten ♔ Part Eleven ♔ Part Twelve ♔ Part Thirteen ♔ Part Fourteen ♔ Part Fifteen ♔ Part Sixteen (Final) ♔
Alt chapter six
♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you - Satoru Gojo x mistresses, Nanami x you, It's messy and will get messier- MAIN pair is Gojo x reader
♔ Warnings: Sex, infidelity, mentions of past self harm, panic attacks, disordered eating, emotional damage like a mf, emotional abuse, physical abuse, cheating on both ends, cruelty from Duke Gojo. OOC. ANGST, explicit sex, horny ass masquerades, regency era but make it wild, toxic relationships, arranged marriage, SLOW BURN enemies to lovers. Toxic MC (she makes bad decisions lol) Love triangle w/Nanami Gojo is TERRIBLE at first, you're warned- Happy ever after- angst with a good ending <3
♔ Word count 152k FINISHED
♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful in this. You'll hate Satoru, warning you now. HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you
Playlist:
Moodboard for our reader:
Reader inspired art here - Buy me a Coffee ☕️ - Masterlist
You're married to Satoru Gojo - an arrangement since your childhood, one you're so excited for. You soon find out - he wants nothing to do with you. Any one is preferable, from the waitress at your engagement party, to his secretary. Torn apart by insecurities and devastated by the fact that you can't make this one sided affection work, you decide to find something to keep you going until Gojo finds a way to end the marriage. That's what lands you right in the notorious boxing ring in town - led by Ryomen Sukuna, who finally sees you.
pairings - Arranged! Gojo x Reader x Boxer! Sukuna
warnings!!! - Heavy, heavy angst, cheating and reactive cheating, Satoru is ooc, cruel and mean, reader starts off very shy/insecure, Soft Sukuna but he still don't mind being buried inside married reader, a fuck ton of feelings, eventual smut, explicit, mentions of insecurities, painful and hurtful all around.
This WILL have multiple endings, all of these three are gonna be messy. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV and split up by each! based on this drabble - WC - 9k
This won the 30k followers poll! Thank you so so much again!!
part one
Gojo -
Satoru Gojo his entire life has been used – as the ‘head of the Gojo’ clan, as the heir to the empire, everything in his life has been set in stone the moment he was born. They never gave him a real choice, barely let him have friends his entire childhood, no it was studies, it was pressure, it was how to be absolutely perfect, telling him who to talk to, how to act, how to walk.
He knew inevitably his time in college was just a fun distraction, where he had friends for the first time, where he felt almost normal, where he secretly dated – his parents would not approve – of the girls he talked to. Yet he fell into it just a bit, enjoying it too much, partying and fucking the worst girls, ones that would make his parents gasp in shock.
He hung out with the worst crowd, too, straight up heathens really, to rebel as much as he could, before the inevitable fact – his dad was dead, and he was turning twenty four, there was no more partying, no more life, no more dreams. All there was – the obligations, the responsibilities, the arranged wife they’ve had picked out since you both were children.
Oh, you’re beautiful, it’s not that.
You’re sweet, you’re smart, you’re kind.
It’s not that.
You’re not his choice, nothing about his entire fucking life was his own choice, and this is just another thing, another way to show him what he is – just something to be used, just a tool for his family to have power. The richest family in Japan must have that, right? And you were from the second richest, and one of the most powerful, from an impeccable line.
You were impeccable, you were exceptional, you were ‘perfect’.
And Satoru Gojo hates you on sight, the moment you meet him at the engagement party – yeah, that's where he officially meets you, and doesn’t just ‘hear about you’. That’s where he sees how fucking gorgeous and bright you are, and for a moment his heart hammers in his chest, for a moment he’d sink to his knees to get a taste of you.
Then he remembers it all, when you shyly look down, when you ring your hands in front of you.
Obligation.
Arrangement.
You didn’t want this, want him, choose him – who would other than for his name, for his power? For what he could do for your family, for everyone. You’re shoved into this – a contract from your youth, who knew what the fuck you wanted, or who you’ve been with, who you want to be with?
You didn’t choose him, he didn’t choose you.
He keeps reminding himself in moments where he thinks the light from the chandeliers are hitting too nicely on your collarbones, when he looks at your lips just a little too long, instead he politely smiles, and turns away. Why, do you ask, does he turn away from his future wife?
Why is he later kissing another woman, fingering her right on the balcony, where pretty much anyone who walks by could see, smirking against her neck with every moan she muffles. Why does Satoru Gojo pick the most common, slutty little waitress to do so, when you’re there in a beautiful fucking gown, and look lost and upset, your lips trembling?
Because imagine a world where he falls – and you didn’t choose him. Imagine he thinks for a brief moment he could have happiness in his life, a joke really, it’s just flitting little moments. He can only handle so much pain, and in turn he causes you the pain, the embarrassment, sucking her juices off his thick fingers after she cums, laughing just a bit and walking back in.
His elders are furious, everyone is murmuring about his antics, as he throws back a shot and chuckles, but you?
You just look down, and a couple of tears fall, turning away and sipping on your wine. You say nothing even as he dances with you later, stumbling a bit with how drunk he’s gotten, to piss them off – to tell them he’s not going down without a fight – looking at you curiously.
You stare at his chest, you say nothing.
“Having fun?” He asks, and you scoff a bit, looking up with glassy eyes, and for a moment it pierces his drunk heart.
He’s horrible.
But isn’t he just a disappointment anyway?
“Am I having fun watching you with another woman at my engagement party?” You ask softly, shaking your head. “I get it, I’m not your type. I knew that from people telling me so.”
He pauses, right in the center of the dance floor.
“Yet I expected some decorum, I expected you to at least be respectful, not to show the world how unappealing you find me,” you whisper, biting down on your lip, shaking your head now. “I wanted to at least try here, with you.”
Satoru can’t speak.
Until he spins you, and catches you, his big hand taking over your waist, thumb pressing under the swell of your breasts. He almost falls then, from just a look, yet he holds himself back, he stops every insane thought and action, laughing easily, like he’s amused.
Satoru is good at hiding.
“Ya thought we’d have some story book romance, huh? Oh… you’re a fairy princess and I’m from another kingdom? And oh…” He leans down, so low to you, lips a breath away. “I fall for the princess, she’s just so beautiful, how can’t I?”
“Gojo…”
“News to you, perfect little fairy princess, I’m not interested in marriage, or any of this shit, this show, I fucking hate it,” his words are harsh, as he squeezes you too tightly, so tightly you’re shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Your prince from another kingdom just stuck his fingers in a waitress. That’s reality, sweetheart.”
You tremble in his hold, and he knows then.
He hurt you.
Good, he thinks, shit will be easier that way, safer if you hate him, if you smack him, tell him to fuck himself. Yet you tilt your chin up and spin as the dance calls for, giving a little curtsey as he steps closer, not showing a hint of emotion aside from your tears that you seemingly can’t stop.
“I see,” is all you say then, stepping back into his arms, as the crowd of gossiping families speaks of it all, you hold all of your composure, even as he raises a brow, looking down at you. “Maybe I am foolish, to have thought it that way. Yet I still don’t understand why you’re…”
“What, little princess? So mean?”
You just look down again, quiet, swallowing visibly, you smell too good, invading his fucking senses. “I didn’t think you were mean when I met you as a child.”
“As a child?” Satoru pauses, and you sigh, shaking your head.
“Of course you wouldn’t remember, I’m not very special.” You step back as the song ends, and your tragic eyes meet his, before lowering them and bowing a little bit. “Have a good rest of your evening, I’m feeling a little…” You look at the girl he’d just kissed. “Sick.”
When you rush off, politely excusing yourself, Satoru feels this sinking in his heart, questions simmering under the surface – what if he just was kind to you? What if he at least didn't make a fool of himself?
But he doesn't go after you, no that would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. The thing is, you're much better off without him. So he's dancing with women who make his family furiously whisper amongst themselves, and he just knows -
You will hate him, and you’re better off for it.
*****
You
You didn't expect a fairy tale marriage. Even marrying the man who is basically the ‘prince’ of all the families, all of the clans, the Gojo heir. You may as well be the ‘princess’ of your own, both of you promised as children to each other, knowing no love or match would come to anything.
This was it, your future, but you met him when he was just a little kid, he's two years older than you. His blue eyes and spiky white hair were enough to make your heart race, but mostly you noticed how sad those blue eyes were.
He wasn't mean then, he was kind and reserved, not boisterous, laughing and acting a fool. He was cautious more like you are, both of you not wanting to disappoint your very harsh parents who had so many expectations. Satoru had given you his hand, holding it tightly, pressing a little kiss on the back of it.
So you'll be my wife some day
Yeah…
You're um… pretty.
That was it, just a moment and then he'd had to run off. And you only saw Satoru in bits and pieces, here and there from afar, watching and knowing he didn’t notice you. Yet that moment gave you hope.
Just to fucking crush it all.
It's your wedding night, and his staff is carrying all of your luggage inside the expensive mansion. Satoru is drunk, you notice he is around you, as if that helps with the pain of having to be married to you, stumbling just a bit and chuckling darkly when you try to help him.
“I'm fine,” he yanks your hand off like you burned him. Your tummy is in knots, you feel sick. “Let me show you your room. Princess.”
He says it always mockingly, tonight you know he was with someone again, he's made no attempt to hide kissing others. You're sure he probably does more, but you're innocent yourself so you don't exactly know what's what. Your parents pounded innocence and propriety in your head.
You'll be Gojo’s wife, you must be pure for him.
What a joke, really, to be pure for someone who will never want you, to watch him kissing on necks in the gardens, laughing until he sees your face. You never have been a very confident girl, but everyone has always told you that you're pretty, lovely, so you sort of didn't think your looks were an issue.
Then again, it could just be you. Maybe you're boring, maybe you're too proper. Your mind wracks with doubts as he leads you up the winding staircase of the Gojo mansion up to a dark hallway. He opens a door and you pause, breath catching in your throat at how beautiful it is.
“This is our room?” You ask softly, the blue silk bed and gossamer canopy snug in a room of soft whites and blues. He chuckles, making you look at him.
“They had it made for us, pretentious isn't it?” You blink a bit.
“I think it's beautiful,” it's quiet when you step in, still in your beaded and saying white wedding gown. You slip off your veil and take a breath. Looking in the mirror.
You look gorgeous today.
No matter what he says or doesn't say, you see it in that reflection. In your lashes, in your eyes, in your lips, painted a pretty crimson. Your body is showcased to perfection, modest but still sensual, just hints of your lines and curves outlined, the material glinting in the soft light.
“Your room,” he says at the doorway, and you pause, making him smirk. “You didn't think we were fucking did you?”
You blush furiously, looking down nervously at your hands entwined in front of you. “I did think we would… make the marriage official even if you don't find me attractive.”
It's dead silent, lingering in the air – your insecurities rampant.
“Why? Because our duty?” He asks, stepping inside, his dress shoes echoing on the floor, coming to stand behind you, reflection in the mirror making you tremble.
“We will need to have babies, it's expected of me. Or I'll be… a failure as a wife.” Your voice breaks, and for a moment you see blue eyes soften, you feel fingertips slipping over your straps, yet they halt, and his eyes narrow.
“I won't fuck you, not for duty or expectations, fuck them and fuck that.”
It's like a slap to the face. You take a breath, trembling now. “Gojo, am I that displeasing really? I tried so hard to look-”
“Nothing will make me fuck you,” he murmurs coolly. “We will ride this shit out till I find a way to end it somehow.”
“End it?” your brows draw together, eyes swimming in unshed tears, his fingers slip off now, going to your back, slowly undoing the little rows of buttons methodically.
“An annulment, divorce, whatever… fuck this shit, I'm not staying married.” he is casual as he helps you out of your dress, knuckles tracing up your spine, then he smirks. “Oh shit. You want me? Hah… that's cute.”
“I… um… you…” You're flushed, reflection in the mirror blushing, as you look at him, his cruel smirk, his mean eyes. “Am I not supposed to want you?”
“Of course you do, I am Satoru Gojo,” he presses those straps down, pausing when he gets a view of your breasts as you hold the dress against them, your back exposed and bare. “You can always touch yourself and think of me, who am I to deny that? But I will never touch you.”
It's like he just stabs you in the stomach. You turn, facing the cruel, tall man now, on the night you hoped for something, anything, but you're just met with a mean curve of his lips. “So what, you'll just… fuck anyone but me?”
“You can cuss?” He laughs a bit, fingers curling along one of the carefully coifed ringlets.
“Yes, I can. I just don't usually,” you take a breath. Trying to remember.
Obey him.
Treasure him.
For your family
“You don't know me and you won't even try to, will you?”
“You want dick that bad, huh?” You gasp, slapping him as hard as you can then, he winces and rubs his cheek, glaring at you. You falter, looking at his pink cheek and gasping.
“I'm sorry. I…”
“Let's get one thing straight, princess,” Satoru Gojo leans over you, an arm on either side, tilting his head as you grip your wedding dress tightly to your chest. “We can do our own things. I get it. You have to live here for now.”
For now.
“But don't you dare fucking hit me,” he grips your wrist, bruising with his long fingers, you gasp out at the pain, tears falling. “Not used to men not wanting you, huh?”
“What!?” You're blinking in confusion, his grip tightening, your heart sinking.
You feel so sick.
“Never been turned down because you're the family princess, aww. So cute,” he leans down, touching your cheek, eyes a cruel bluee. “Everyone after that money, after a chance with you, so special. Well you're not fucking special to me, we are just the same.”
“I don't think I'm special or anything!? I never said that.”
“Don't have to, I can just see it.”
You're shaking in his hold. “I just thought we could try, you don't even know if we have anything, a connection or-”
Gojo laughs at you.
He laughs.
“Try what, fucking you? You want my dick real bad.”
“No!? Just if we could feel a connection? I… like you haven't kissed me, how do you even-”
Satoru grabs your face, leaning low and pressing his lips against yours, capturing them and making you lose your breath. You melt when his plump lips work yours, when a hand comes to entangle in your hair, your hands slipping off your dress so that your nipples hit the cool air.
His tongue slips in your mouth, exploring the recesses with far too much finesse, hot and drooling as he presses you against the hard wood of the dresser.
You've never kissed.
You try to move your tongue back, knowing you're awful at it, your arms slipping around his neck. He's mean, he's cruel, but you want to try, you want to have this. Feel whatever this dizzy sensation is, one of his hands gripping your breast as he pulls back, lips glossy, eyeing them now.
“I'll give you this,” he murmurs softly. “You have perfect tits.”
“Um…” You're stammering again, whimpering when his thumb brushes your nipple.
“Perfect posture, pretty face, nice little body. It's not enough though sweetheart," he pulls back now, grinning and crossing his arms as you just stand there. “There, your kiss, and there's nothing between us. Is there? Enough to shove that fantasy out of your head?”
Nothing!?
“You think keeping your tits out will make me hard?” You gasp, covering them up, blinking back more hot tears.
He wipes his lips with his thumb. As if to remove the kiss from his memory. You look down, pain making you dizzy – deep pain.
“I just… you’re so sure that this won’t work that you’re not trying!” He laughs softly, without humor.
Charming. Handsome. Cruel.
Satoru’s two fingers brush down your collarbone and across it, a mean smile on a devastatingly pretty face as he watches goosebumps dance across your skin. "You want me to touch you. Hmm?"
"I just…" you cover yourself with your arms now, suddenly so insecure, you were anyway but this was more. It was worse, having the man you've been infatuated with since a kid turning you down, on a night you felt so beautiful. "I just thought we could try to find some common ground, to maybe make this work. Become… more?"
He leans down, his sweet breath against your lips, tickling them as his blue eyes glitter, cold like the most beautiful sapphires, and just as hard, there’s no emotion in their depths. So cold you shiver, swallowing nervously.
"Oh sweetheart, I don't want any of it. What they tell me to do, what they expect, no... I'll burn it all to the fucking ground, and them with it.”
“Burn it to the ground?” Your whisper is soft, his lips curve mean when he grips your chin.
"You're a pretty girl, but I'm not for you. That's the most you're getting from me.”
Not. For. You.
"What is so wrong with me?” You hate how desperate you sound.
Was this who you are?
Do you know yourself outside of becoming Satoru Gojo's wife?
“It’s not…” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “You just don’t seem to get it, little princess. It’s an inconvenience, this entire thing.”
Great.
You’re just a fucking inconvenience to your ‘husband’.
“We will let them think we're good for a year, maybe two. Then I'll get out of this, you should thank me really, it's not like you chose it either.”
He turns now, leaving you close to collapsing, with the pain, with the casual cruelty. “Satoru…”
“Don't fucking call me that,” he snaps, looking back at you. You step back and bump into the elegant dresser, shaking as he looks at you with such hatred. “You don't get to call me my first name.”
“I am… I am sorry if I messed something up. If I did something wrong…” You're sniffling your tears, trying to keep it together. “I haven't even kissed before and I probably am just bad at it. Just give me a chance to-”
“Stop trying,” his voice is softer, like he fucking feels bad for you. That's worse than his cruelty – pity. “Just keep to yourself and I will too, until I find a way out of it. It's useless to try.”
“Useless to?”
“Sweetheart,” his tongue is honeyed, a lilt to his voice. “I'll never want you.”
The knife in your heart?
Twisted.
“Oh, I see…” You take a breath, just nodding then, hands gripping the beaded material so tightly they ache.
Obedient.
Sweet.
Serve your husband.
It's what you were trained to be, a traditional wife who follows her husband's orders, even your stinging palm was beyond what you're used to. How can you serve a man that doesn’t want you, how can you obey someone when their only order is for you to quit trying?
As he walks out, with just one look over his shoulder before he shuts that door, leaving you alone in the room on your own in tears on your very wedding night… how can you act like that kiss meant nothing to you? How can you not sink down on that bed all alone, and sob.
The boy you fell in love with doesn't remember you.
Doesn't want you.
No, he hates you.
And you'll have to endure this and be a failure to your parents, the worst of all your fears.
You don't stop sobbing until dawn breaks into the windows.
*****
Gojo
It's been a month of having you in his home, you're trying to be so perfect too. Dinner ready every night, you sit there and wait for him, smiling so pretty, wearing some new outfit as if he will ever touch you again, trying to talk to him, to get to know him.
Satoru can't stand you.
All you do is make him want to end it quicker, so that he has no feelings in this. No amount of slutty little slips or lingering before bed time is getting him to consummate the marriage, to give in to what his family and elders shoved on him, controlling his entire life.
Nah fuck that.
Satoru is balls deep inside his secretary right now, condom dripping with her cum as he lets her bounce up and down his latex covered cock. He leans back and moans as she works him like a pro, bouncing her ass and letting it jiggle under the shoved up pencil skirt.
Of course he thinks of you, fists his cock to images of those tits, imagines those lips around his tip. All the more reason to not fuck you, imagine if he did? You were a virgin, probably would lay there and not know how to do shit, you could barely kiss him back.
He'd have to be all gentle, not slam you down and bottom out like he could right now. She's moaning, too loud, he has to slam a hand on her mouth, lips against her ear.
“We're at work,” he reminds gently.
“Sorry Mr. Gojo. Mnh!” Satoru's big hands work her up and down, bottoming out as she cums, covering her own mouth as she screams out.
“Hah, so messy,” he taunts, she's squirting all over his Armani slacks, right when the door opens.
Fuck.
Did he not lock it?
He pauses, and its…
You.
You quickly shut the door and turn away, as his secretary gasps, panicking and lifting up. Satoru drags her back down, eyeing you.
“Wife,” he teases, you turn to look at him, lunchbox in your hands. “Didn't expect you at my work. Can I cum real quick, then we can talk?”
You say nothing, obedient little thing that you are, not an ounce of fire in you aside from a little smack. He supposes that's how you were raised, how boring really, but he shoves the woman down once more. Toying with her clit and making her moan in front of you, right as he busts in that condom, groaning softly.
“Fuck, there we go,” he taps her and she hops off, giggling when she tugs her skirt down, rushing past you.
“Mrs. Gojo.” she says, you just step back and nod.
“Hello.”
‘Hello’ is what you say, to the woman who'd been riding your husband's cock?
He tosses the condom in the trash under his desk, sighing and smirking over at you, when you turn and see him, still hard and covered in milky seed, turning back around again.
“I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry?” He demands, slipping his boxers up now. “I was fucking someone and you're sorry?”
“I should have called first,” you turn back again, as he zips up, cheeks tinged pink.
You look beautiful today.
He wouldn't tell you. But you do.
“I was just… I learned to make sushi? I was so bored lately. Then… they kind of look ugly? But they're um… yummy and-”
“Just stop, fuck,” you look at him, tears in your eyes, clenched fists at your side when he takes the bento box. “Stop trying so hard, it's not gonna happen.”
“Gojo-”
“Stop, don't hurt yourself more.”
“But why am I so… why would you never ever want me?” you whisper brokenly then. “I am not trying to be mean but her? She's not even… attractive!? I don't-”
He laughs at you again, shaking his head. “You are a spoiled rich girl, a mean little thing. Because she's not drop dead gorgeous I couldn't want her? Looks mean nothing really, little princess. It's just you who I don't want.”
Your breasts heave up and down, finally a glare on your otherwise sad little pretty face. “I am trying!”
“I don't want you to fucking try, constantly acting like the perfect wife. I don't want it. Don't want you, how clear can I fucking make it!?”
You step up to him then, tilting your head to look up at the tall, cruel man, lipstick on his fucking neck, smirking at you. “Well maybe I don't want YOU, but I fucking TRY.”
“Oh. You want me,” he tilts your chin up, grinning at you, feeling your skin hot to the touch. “Bet you're so desperate you'd lick her pussy off me. Wouldn't you? For a chance.”
“I would never,” you shake your head. “Fine, you win. I won't try anymore.”
“Good. It's for your own best interest,” he pats your cheek and smiles. “What's on your plans today, hmm little perfect wife?”
“Not making dinner.” he smirks at you again. “Not trying for you ever again.”
You rush out of the door, dejected, shoulders slumped, when you look back at him though?
That look.
Heartbroken, devastated, done for. Like you just lost all your goddamn will to live.
That one hurts.
Satoru was not cruel before you. Sure he was a dick, he played a lot, he was conceited, but to make you give up trying made him have to push you away. If even fucking in front of you didn't he had to push it further, and he thinks that's the moment you gave up on him.
It's for your own best interest to end this when he can, to be strangers.
Your eyes are burned in his brain as he opens your dumb bento box, and sees these pretty little Sushi. Shaped like little hearts with pink paper instead of the traditional.
He swallows down his guilt when he sees them laid out with a cup of soup, rice, a drink even. And a little note on pink paper.
He hates himself more when he opens it.
Gojo, I know you don't want me, don't want this, but if we could just try… I think there could be something, truly. When we kissed I did feel it, somewhere buried under the surface.
I know I'm not who you chose, or who you want, but I hope one day we could grow to like each other. I am trying my hardest and I just hope that it can be enough.
Have a great day at work, I will see you at home.
Tears slip onto the note, bleeding the ink through the paper, he looks at the shut door you'd walked out of, remembering your eyes..they'd always fucking haunt him. That look of defeat written all over them.
You were bringing him lunch and love notes when he was letting a secretary ride his cock.
“Mr. Gojo?” his assistant opens his door, and he pauses, looking up at her. “You have a two a clock.”
“Right…” He just stares at the sushi, at the note, before shutting his eyes, swiping off tears he hasn't cried since he was a little kid.
That night, no dinner is made by you. No it's the chefs as it should always be, but it's a sign, as is you not in that dining room waiting for him. He walks around the mansion, looking for you, for any sign that you're in his home.
Why does he care?
He hears your sobs from the room you are supposed to share, and rests his door on it.
Why did you have to try so hard, when he told you not to?
“He will never w-want me…” You're sobbing and hiccuping. “Never enough.”
He swallows down his own self loathing, resting his head on the door, wondering at just who he is. Is this Satoru Gojo, or is this Satoru Gojo trying to be anything else but what he's always been pushed into?
He walks off to his own room, shutting the door. He'd have to end this marriage soon as he can, in whatever way that meant – to get you the fuck away from him. You may hate him for it, but at least you'd have a little bit of a choice in your life.
*****
You
You come home from an event with Satoru, a press junket where you have to act like a happy newlywed. And you do just that, you play your role, giggling with his hand on your waist, the most contact you've had since that kiss – the one where he felt nothing for you. The one that you felt shaken from, suddenly fucking delusional, in spite of the fact of one thing.
Satoru Gojo made sure to let you know there was no chance, he didn’t mince words, didn’t lead you on, it was your own hope that made you keep trying that first month, that hope that even after seeing him with his dick inside a woman, maybe he’d feel anything. Fuck, he made sure to cum before she got off of him, didn’t even stop mid fuck.
That’s how unimportant you were.
Yet even then you tried, until he made that disgusting comment – licking another woman off him? Calling you pathetic?
Well, you were.
You were not going to be cruel to him despite the rage in your heart, however, you just no longer try, it’s quiet when you take off your heels at the door, and he slips off his dress shoes. You both say nothing, but you feel his eyes on you at times, as if he expects some word out of your mouth.
You no longer say good morning, good night, you just live your life with Satoru for another month like this, he’ll have a girl over in his room, but you keep to yourself, living so alone… yet, with him.
Your few friends you have get worried for you, every time you get to see them over the next couple months you look more tired, you don’t look like you’re eating, you have dark circles under your eyes, the eyes that don’t glimmer any longer. They share their concerns quietly, over a nice brunch, but you act like everything is just fine.
Tonight your mother had pulled you aside, making sure to dissect your looks to a fault, including said dark circles – As if you didn’t have enough insecurities just being married to Satoru Gojo, a man who’d fuck anyone but you.
“You have to keep yourself together, look he’s all over those women,” she whispers, you would laugh but you know better, the woman who beat submission into your head was right here. You just look down, nodding.
“He always is.”
“So you need to get his attention,” you sigh, wanting to explain how hard you tried, even in lieu of him fucking that secretary in front of you, but you merely nod once more. “Get yourself together, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, your hair is oily even. What’s wrong with you!?”
What’s wrong with you?
You peer over to your tall, white haired husband surrounded by women in the ridiculously extravagant event, glamorously dressed when you chose a thin silk number, not caring anymore. You didn’t do your makeup, what did that matter? It’s not as if he’d ever look at you anyway.
“You’ll make him look bad, make us all look bad, you must gather yourself together and try more. Have I not raised you to be the perfect wife?”
The perfect wife.
To a husband who hates you.
“You did indeed Mother,” you manage to say, clearing your throat that night, feeling the eyes of so many curiously flit between you both. “I shall try not to disappoint you and father.”
Yet you are done trying, as he asked you to be, walking up the stairs now with him slowly trailing behind, as if to make sure there was enough space between the both of you.
Try a gym!
Or a spa day?
You need self care babe!
Yeah, your friends advice about self care was not enough for what you’re going through, but they ring in your head, as you head to your room, and reach around to try to unzip your dress. You curse, moving your hand in every which way, you then try to tug it up off you, but it’s half stuck with the tight material.
Fuck, you’re gonna have to ask him.
“Gojo…” You say, standing by his door, he’s up typing away on the laptop, shirtless, his body cut and chisled, muscles moving as he sits up straighter, eyeing you carefully.
“You, coming to my room?” You flush furiously, looking down.
“Don’t worry, I’ll never, ever ask to be intimate again,” you whisper, the pain still piercing your heart, your soul. He just looks down. “I just really can’t get out of this dress, and I swear to god it’s not a hit on or seduction.”
“Ah,” he doesn’t gloat like usual, standing up now, his sweats falling down his hips, you wish he didn’t look so good like that, coming up to you carefully, everything flexing as he walks. “Zipper stuck?”
“I think so, and it won’t go up over my damn hips,” you grumble, when he comes closer. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize constantly,” you just nod again. “Turn around.”
You do that, lifting your hair off the nape of your neck for him, two of his fingers grasp the metal zipper, slipping it down achingly slow, the noise loud in his quiet room, mixing with his own catch of breath. It’s quiet, a few tendrils falling against the nape of your neck, as the zipper jams just a bit, stuck in the middle.
“Hang on…” He mumbles, clearly irritated, holding the dress tight together and then grasping it, jerking you just a bit as he finally gets it down. “There.”
“Thank you, Gojo,” you say softly, as he looks at the smooth expanse of your back, and for a moment neither of you move, you turn to face him, still holding your hair up. “I didn’t mean to bug you.”
He doesn’t say anything, knuckles brushing down your spine lightly, enough to make you ache in your core, something you’ve never really felt before this moment. You swallow nervously, blushing and looking away, you can’t make a fucking fool out of yourself again.
You will not push something he clearly doesn’t want, it’s just not right – even in the name of ‘marriage’ it should be Satoru’s choice too, and he so clearly would never choose you, in any world. You turn now, straps slipping down your shoulders, his bright blue eyes get dark and lidded when his gaze hits your tits, the tops of them showcased with the little dress half off.
“I’ll let you um… sleep.” You say, he just blinks a moment, clearing his throat now.
“Yeah.”
You slowly walk out, wondering if it is just you looking for something, anything, the way you damn near begged him to notice you, to want you, it was as he said – pathetic. Even knowing he’s fucking women actively, that he doesn’t have the time of day for you at all, you still crave it, you still don’t retaliate.
His phone rings, and you hear him murmuring while you’re in the hallway –
Hey sweets, hmm… I bet you do miss me.
You feel your feet get heavy, you’ve been barely eating because you’re just fucking miserable, but hearing that as his door shuts and you walk to your lonely room sinks in. The miserable realization that he doesn’t care about you, that even if he gave you a glance, it was nothing, you were nothing to him.
You slip that dress off when you’re in your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, even just his proximity always put a blush to your cheeks, as if your body was betraying your mind. You remember what your friends told you the other day, their concerned gazes, and the way they tried to be supportive when they barely know the half of what you endure.
Having to hear your husband jerking it on the phone and talking another girl through it when he has never touched you?
You are tired of crying, so tired.
You look up gyms in the area, sure that’s not really going to help a damn thing, but it might be enough to keep you busy, considering you can’t even work as a Gojo wife, and you’re left alone too often in the quiet, thinking too much. You pick one and map it, while laying in your bed and snuggling, yawning a bit as sleep starts to drag you under.
“All right, let’s see if self care will help me at all,” you say to yourself quietly, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, as you have been.
What’s there to dream about anymore?
*****
Sukuna
His knuckles are aching from hitting the big heavy black bag, punching it over and over, his class is done but Sukuna always loves to blow some steam off, and the best way is to beat the bag to a pulp. His ruby eyes are locked on the target, exhaling and controlling his breathing.
One, two.
One, two, punch.
Cross, jab, hook.
It’s methodical, it’s easy, even as his muscles ache – that ache is sweet, it’s so perfect to feel, he grins as he imagines beating the fuck out of so many people then. Start with his shit father – his mother gets a pass only due to being a woman – and then, all the little pretentious shits he went to college with.
Sukuna was supposed to be training to become a CEO, to take over his father’s position, and be a nepo baby like the rest of those damn men he partied with at the frat in college. Yet, he never, ever wanted that, and he built something for himself – several gyms, he’s trained pro boxers, national champions.
This was what Sukuna wanted to do.
Mostly, he loved to box, he cared just a little bit enough not to join those matches himself – oh, what would that look like!? The Sukuna heir going into a boxing ring!? Yet, at the same time, he had dreams of it. Of being in a ring and knocking everyone out, pushing that ‘family disappointment’ name even further.
For now, however, there is peace in the quiet gym.
That is, until you walk in.
Tired and fucking beautiful, these dark circles that sit under your eyes, a shy little nervous smile, about five minutes before he closes. You stand at the door and look around, frowning then and staring at your phone, wearing some pretty little yoga outfit and a big sweater, like you were getting ready for pilates rather than kickboxing.
“I’m sorry, first off for coming so late, second… ugh I thought you were a regular gym! Where is my brain…” You smack your forehead, turning, when he literally runs up to you, stopping you before fully thinking of it.
Sukuna, running.
You really are that pretty, when he sees a giant rock on your finger he curses internally, sighing.
“I do other things here, a whole room of workout machinery,” he says then, his voice just a little gruff, when you turn and look up at him, so shy, you look right back down at your feet, hugging yourself a bit. “I can show you, just need to lock up.”
“You probably want to get home, god I’m sorry, I slept all day like a miserable… oh… so sorry.” You have said sorry again, rambling now, making Sukuna wonder.
Just who has you this down? This shy? This clearly hurt?
“I meant to come earlier,” you blink back tears, looking up again with them swimming in your pretty eyes, so pretty he can’t decide what color they are, but the way they look at him almost takes him out. “I set an alarm, and promised I would make myself do something, then I just… hit it over and over. And now I’m rambling.”
“And crying,” he smirks a bit, swiping off a tear. “Rambling, crying, coming in late too, huh?”
“I know I’m so-”
“I’m teasing,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head and tilting your chin up. “If you want to do any sport, you need eye contact. Even when they’re all red and bloodshot.”
“Well your eyes are red too! I mean, oh my god!?” You cover your mouth, he laughs again softer this time. “I’m sorry, I like their color, they’re beautiful. Not to say I am hitting on you! Oh dear god…”
“Will you take a breath?” You shut your eyes, nodding. “A deep one, in… there you go, and out.”
Your breasts rise and fall, the sweater slipping further off a shoulder, as he takes in the mess that’s come to his doorstep – a beautiful, tragically broken mess that does something he can’t explain. When you swipe your cheeks and try to give a tremulous smile, you break whatever heart Sukuna has in his chest.
Who fucking hurt you like this?
Damage recognizes damage, but this…
“Don’t apologize a fourth time, yeah?” You nod then, sniffling a bit and attempting a better smile.
“I really just want to… apparently I need self care, my friends say, and I thought a gym might… help. But I can’t box, or kickbox.”
“Why not? You've got a lot of pent up tension," his hands brush down your shoulders softly, feeling the tenseness. "Bet you’d kill it."
"Me!?" You giggled nervously but he was serious, a huge handsome man crossing his arms and raising a brow, leaned back a bit in the quietness of his gym. "Kickboxing, huh?"
"Think you can't?"
You shake your head, and he sees it all over your face –
You don’t think you can do anything.
“Why not? Husband wants you all girlie or something?” He addresses the ring with a glance, you laugh without humor, your face darkening then.
“He doesn’t give a shit what I do, no, we’re not,” you trail off, shaking your head. “I dumped enough trauma on you just walking in here. What’s your name?”
“Sukuna,” he takes your hand, feeling yours just a little sweaty in his grip. “What do you mean doesn’t give a shit?”
“He doesn’t like me.” He blinks at that.
“Trouble in paradise?”
You laugh again, shaking your head. “Let’s say he’s done more with his secretary than me so far,” Sukuna frowns at that, raising a dark brow. “It’s okay, really don’t feel bad for me. I just need something to get my mind off it.”
Who the fuck wouldn’t want you?
He almost says it, but he holds back, nudging his head now. “Lemme show you around the gym.”
He locks the door behind you so no random people try to come after hours, and you follow him through, looking up at the ceiling – it’s high, wooden beams running across it, it was once an old factory before Sukuna bought it off the guy. The walls are all red and orange brick, some of it is painted white, with graffiti art.
“That’s so cool,” you murmur, walking up to it then, touching it gently. “What is all of this?”
“Some of the guys like to come tag it,” he says, there are all sorts of images scrawled, along with Sukuna’s name in big red letters, little demon horns over the U. “I think they’re callin’ me the devil.”
“No!” You laugh, the sound so foreign to your own ears, he can just tell when you sober up a bit, smiling gently now. “You, the devil?”
“Mmm, you don’t know shit about me yet,” you blush a bit at the insinuation. “You’d run out if you knew what I was thinking.”
“You don’t have to be so… nice to me, okay? Because you feel bad.”
Sukuna blinks his pink lashes. “Huh?”
“I can tell, you’re a really good person,” you walk up to him, touching his hand now, sucking in a breath at the contact, fingers tracing his calloused, beat up knuckles. “Thank you though.”
“You think I’m pretending to find you attractive?” He almost can’t take you serious, but your face says it all. “Yeah, no, I’m not that nice. Now follow me before I say something real fucking dumb.”
You’re a flustered mess, letting your hand fall and nodding.
“This is where you’d like to be,” he mentions, toward the room with all of the normal equipment – treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, all sleek and black. “So you can just do your normal little workouts. Yoga mats and all.”
“Oh! I see,” you’re just a step behind him, he can inhale that perfume, he doesn’t know what scent it is but it’s driving him insane, when he stops and you bump into him. “Ah!”
He catches you quickly, frowning a bit at how weak you seem, assessing you. “You eat anything today?”
You blink a bit.
How'd he notice?
“No.”
“It’s six?”
“Yeah, not for a couple days,” you mumble. Sukuna glares at you, far, far too attractive and you’re not even fucking eating.
“If you have some… problem, you gotta tell me if I’m gonna train you, yeah?”
“No, nothing like that, just can’t eat when I’m sad,” your words are soft, barely over a whisper, running your fingers along the arm of a treadmill. “It’s been a few days I guess.”
“A few days, the fuck?” What sort of husband lets his wife just not eat?
He supposes the kind that makes her an unconfident, sad girl that cries the moment she enters a gym. Sukuna knows damn well he shouldn’t get involved in the shit, but just looking at you hurts him, in a way he’s not sure he’s felt, recognizing a version of himself so long ago, when he was young, when he wanted that approval, when he craved it so badly.
But more than that.
“If you don’t eat tomorrow I’ll be shoving food in your mouth,” you laugh at that, covering your mouth again. “I’m serious, the fuck you mean days?”
“I will make myself eat before I come.”
“And you’ll come at a decent time, yeah? Not before I close. Do I need to set three alarms to get your bratty ass up?”
“Bratty!?” you laugh again, shaking your head, the sight so fucking cute it destroys him.
God he’d drop to his knees just to kiss up those thighs, fucking lick you right over those leggings, the ones just a little snug against your puffy lips. And he can tell when you’re close how excited you are, the way your pupils blow out, the way you bite down on that lower lip, the one already chapped from likely biting it to death.
“No one has ever called me bratty,” you muse softly. “The opposite, actually.”
“Well maybe they don’t see it buried all in there, under a cute little fucking yoga outfit,” he brushes your hair back. His mistake, his undoing, and not kissing you is maybe the hardest thing he’s done.
You’re married.
He’s trying to give a fuck about that.
“C’mon brat,” you giggle again. “Here is the ring.”
You pause, looking at the huge rectangular boxing ring, surrounded by mats, boxing bags hanging heavy and worn all over, red and black ropes surrounding it. “Is this where you all practice?”
“Mhm,” he leads you over to a bag, touching it, old and black and hanging, one of his big hands touching it now. “Tomorrow you’ll punch it, today you didn’t eat so you don’t get to.”
“Mean,” your lips twitch though, the color to your face just brighter, your eyes glittering. Fuck you’re pretty sad, and happy, he can only imagine more. “All right, I promise, full breakfast.”
“Eat some dinner, too, then I’ll let you kick it.”
“The bag?”
“No, me.”
“What!?” You laugh again, Sukuna snorts and rolls his ruby red eyes, those pink lashes fluttering. “You’re joking, oh!”
“Yeah, a joke,” he tugs on that pony tail your hair is thrown in. “Two pm, don’t be late.”
When you’re gone he’s locking up, watching you slip into some bmw, waving a bit before you back up, wondering what’s this feeling in his heart, in his gut.
Sukuna loves women, he loves being inside them, pleasuring them, but he’s never just enjoyed making someone smile that much. Knowing you’re married should be a hell of a deterrent, whether he’s clearly a dick or not, Sukuna can’t just swoop in and be with married women.
Right?
Yet when he’s in bed that night, he finds himself throbbing, thinking of seeing your pretty face in pleasure. And he knows damn well whatever ‘morals’ he should have about it aren’t going to help him not make you feel good, in just any fucking way you need him to.
*****
You
“Never seen you eat so much,” Satoru murmurs when he walks in, lipstick across his neck, you’re downing some soup, realizing just how starved you were. “Have the chefs make something.”
“I just haven’t eaten in a week,” you say softly, Satoru’s eyes widen, then narrow a bit, while you dab at your mouth with a napkin. “I guess I’m hungry.”
“A week? What nothing here good, they can order anything.”
“I was too depressed,” the honesty is something you’d usually hold in, but something about meeting Sukuna today…
Everything about him.
The way he looked at you, that smirk was teasing, not cruel – he listened to you, he seemed to care, him a stranger. You know it’s nonsense, a man trying to be kind to a crying woman, but it meant a lot, even if that’s all it was. You’d walked in with a smile you haven’t had since you married him.
Satoru Gojo.
“A week? You can die from that shit,” he glares now, and you laugh, but this time it’s a mean little sound. “You think you can’t?”
“Sure, but what would you care?” You take a sip of the wine you’d poured, Satoru’s finest vintage, letting it dance along your tongue. “Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I did?”
His lips part, brows drawing together. “I don’t want you to fucking die, okay? Fuck.”
“You wouldn’t care,” you swirl the wine around, leaning back in the seat, eyes locked with the man you’ve tried so hard to make like you. To just come near you, to give you a chance. “I’m nothing to you.”
He says nothing in the quiet of the dining room.
“You didn’t notice.”
“Well, no I don’t eye your every move, figured you eat before I get home or some shit,” he runs a hand through his silky white locks, eyeing you carefully. “Do you want them to order something specific? Just because me and you will never be anything, doesn’t mean I want you to starve in my fucking house.”
“Nah, I like everything they have here,” you finish the wine in a gulp, an unladylike one that makes Satoru raise his brows, standing then, sighing. “It’s hard to eat when you can’t stop crying, when you constantly feel sick to your stomach knowing the man you live with hates your existence.”
You walk up and he says your name, you pause and look back at him. “I never said don’t eat, yeah?”
“No, you didn’t. But her lipstick is all over your neck, and up on that collar,” he touches it then, looking at the crimson on his pale fingertips. You step up to him, so close you inhale that scent. “Can you buy your sluts some decent fucking perfume, aren’t you rich?”
“What the fuck!?” You smile, you’ve never cussed, but it feels amazing in that moment, seeing him sputter. “What are you going on about, and what’s got your ass so fucking peppy?”
“Their knock off perfume, it’s all over you, every night. Buy them some Chanel or something, yeah? Not like you have to buy me anything, I have my own money. The scent makes me nauseous,” you turn again, Satoru grips your wrist, making you pause for just a moment, shutting your eyes.
Nothing, he feels nothing.
“Thought you didn’t cuss?”
“You don’t know me and you don’t want to.”
He lets you go, no argument, just quiet.
“I’m starting training at the gym,” you mention quietly. “I’ll be going there tomorrow.”
“Some yoga class?”
“Boxing.”
Satoru blinks, you just smile, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “You? Boxing?”
“Mhm, good night Gojo.”
You head up the stairs to your room, falling back on the bed, shutting your eyes, feeling good for the first time since that engagement party, for the first time in months there was something brimming under the surface. Some sort of hope.
Tonight you don’t hear him moaning, or talking to his girls, it’s quiet, and you’re thankful, shutting your eyes and falling into a deep sleep.
You’re haunted by two sets of eyes, two sets of hands, blue ones that are glaring, red ones that are hungry, long thin fingers choking your neck, suffocating you, thick ones painted black freeing you. Torn between them, claustrophobic in the darkness, where all you can see are their eyes.
You wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, holding your racing heart, thrumming against your palm, before you fall back asleep, and there is only one pair of eyes.
And they’re red.
Tysm AGAIN for 30k my loves <3 this will be a doozy
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plot: on your last day of sixth year, you get detention with professor lupin, developing a huge crush on him since then. two years later, you graduated from hogwarts and were invited to join the order of phoenix by the weasley twins, so you arrive at the black family house where you've been provided with a place to stay by the order after recently being kicked out of your home. is then when you discovered that you would have to live under the same roof not only with sirius, but also with your big crush from years ago, remus lupin.
tw: professor x ex-student, nothing inappropriate happened when y/n was a minor, like a huge age gap (reader is 19, almost 20), mostly romance/fluff i guess, a little angst, mentions of the reader being a slytherin, reader is friends with the twins but she's older than them by a year, mentions of smoking, sirius black being sirius black it's his own warning, low caps on purpose.
notes: english is not my first language, thank you for the support on the other one-shots!!! ALSO HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! ♡♡ xoxo.
ps: i wrote this listening to speak now (the whole album) by taylor swift and it was an INTENSE experience.
it was your last day of sixth year and you couldn't believe that your last hours before dinner and taking the train were going to be spent on remus lupin office. now you really regretted following the twin's ideas for once.
in your eyes it was an innocent last-day-of-school prank, but it ended up with you three accidentally setting the whopping willow aflame for like twenty seconds before the three of you managed to stop the fire. yet, professor snape was the one to see the whole sequence of events, meaning he was completely livid and not so forgiving as others professors could be so he sent you and the twins straight to detention.
and that's how you ended up in professor lupin empty classroom, in detention, for three hours. of course snape separated you from the twins, so not only you were going to be sitting in one of the classroom benches for a long time, you were also alone.
remus was finishing getting some papers in order as he supervised you, and you sat quietly in the front row, completely bored as you looked at what he was doing to entertain yourself. in one moment, his eyes went to you, noticing your clearly irritated face.
the moment snape appeared in his door grabbing you and made him take care of your detention time (only to put more work on him last minute, he believed) you made him remember the times he used to do the same stupid shit with sirius, james and peter.
so, for the sake of the old times and the fact this was the last day of school, he decided to make your detention a little bit more entertaining.
“miss (l/n).” he called you, his voice calm as always.
“professor lupin.” you answered, still irritated but with the energy to speak ironically.
“what were you trying to do with the twins?” remus asked you, a subtle smile on his lips. he was looking at his work while he talked to you.
“when?” you answered smiling, trying to play dumb because the fact that the prank went terribly wrong embarrassed the hell out of you.
remus stopped organizing his paperwork as he raised his eyes from his work to give you a serious “don't pretend you don't understand” look, making you sigh in redemption.
“okay, im sorry professor, stop looking at me like that. it frightens me a bit.” you admitted as you rolled your eyes. “we were trying to set fireworks that were meant to activate when everyone went outside to take the carriages.”
his eyes relaxed when he got and answer and he continued with his work. he seemed to be just minutes away to finishing with his paperwork, though.
“you know, when i was your age i did the same kind of things with my friends.” remus said, chuckling a bit.
“no way.” you answered, clearly in disbelief. remus looked at you smiling softly for a moment.
“i swear” he added, and you instantly laughed.
“for merlin's sake!” you exclaimed, enjoying his confession and now feeling less alone than before. “the mysterious and innocent looking professor lupin ended up being a troublemaker, who could have guessed it?” you said, laughing.
he smiled as you laughed, still working on his papers.
“mysterious?” remus asked, an eyebrow raising in curiosity.
“y'know, what the other girls always say about you.” you added, trying to reference the constant things you heard from your classmates. “that you're mysterious because of your-... y'know.” you pointed at your face to reference his scars with all the delicacy you had. being a slytherin didn't helped a lot with having much tact, but for remus you tried. remus on the other hand, was usually uncomfortable with his scars but it warmed his heart a little that his students didn't think his face was completely unpleasant, as he did.
“they also say that you appear to be sweet and kind” you kept enlisting what you always heard, things that you also thought. things, that you firmly believed he didn't needed to know you thought. “and of course what i consider a classic at this point: that you're beautiful.” you ended up, a little smile on your lips.
remus stayed silent for a second before answering. a yawn scaped your lips as you were really tired. the whole thing with snape scolding you and the twins into oblivion had left you exahusted, yet you guessed remus wouldn't let you sleep on detention.
“those are all the things they say about me?” he asked, calmly. his apparently soft lips giving you a warm smile. somehow inside your chest you knew he wasn't as pure as he appeared.
in your eyes, remus had the look of a wounded man who couldn't afford to be innocent because he was already rotting since long ago, his soul marked with the kiss of something beautiful enough to torture a man.
there had to be a reason for the way this man was always looking like he knew something you didn't.
“yes. i think all the girls have a crush on you.” you said, answering his question like if your mind wasn't lingering on the way his fingers moved while manipulating every paper in his desk. that's what finally made you realize that in some point you were included in the affirmation you said, because remus lupin was too kind with everything and everyone for you to not end up completely mesmerized.
yet, you thought it was natural for you to develop a crush when this man guided your hand with his in class and whispered sweet instructions in your ear when he picked you to make a demonstration. i mean, who would not feel butterflies around him was the right question.
“i never noticed.” he lied, because in fact he did noticed, but it was fun to have someone gossiping with him about the class rumours. not that remus specifically enjoyed them though, but sometimes he felt like a gossip when discussing with, for example, minerva about all the things other students commented about him.
and right now, you were the one making him feel like a gossip. he honestly believed that you were his funniest student but also the most oblivious one.
oblivious, because you truly believed he didn't noticed you were one of the girls crushing on him too.
you smiled at remus, looking at him for a moment. you were aware that he probably lied about not noticing what the girls commented of him. he had this delicate demeanor in his face features that you couldn't fully explain, even if his skin was full of scars.
and every single one of those scars felt like a whole mistery waiting for you to solve. what you didn't knew yet, was that his scars were a prophecy of his damnation.
“i thought every teacher noticed.” you stated, smiling tiredly at him. as your thoughts became a little cloudy, you could notice that you were about to fall asleep, so you felt like you had to ask remus if you could rest a moment, or at least warn him. “professor lupin” you called him.
“yes, (y/n)?” remus answered, using your name. a chuckle settled in his lips as he used the same ironic tone you used earlier when he called your name.
maybe it was the fact that you were sixteen at the time, and your hormones were crazy or the way you suddenly started struggling to stay awake, but something in the way your name came out of his lips made you feel like you had a cloud of furious butterflies inside your body, eager to come out of you. his voice made your name sound so elegant that every letter curled in your guts and twisted your heart like a siren call straight from the deepest ocean.
a subtle blush settled on your cheeks, and you took a deep breath as you noticed how his smell was all over the classroom: chocolate, parchment, coffee, old book pages. autumn.
being in sixth grade meant that the amortentia was on your class program, and after some time alone with professor lupin, you quickly connected the dots of what was exactly the scent you smelt that one time snape put a calderon full of amortentia in front of your class and asked what was it.
yet you were getting too sleepy to deal with the huge crush you just realized you had with remus lupin in that moment. « i'll handle it next year » you thought, like if he wasn't in your amortentia scent, before finally answering him.
“nothing, i was just going to ask if it would be possible for me to take a quick nap here” you asked him, smiling clearly tired. “please professor lupin, snape exahusted the hell out of me.” you added, as if the plea would do something to help your case.
remus looked at you clearly trying not to laugh at the things you said. if you only knew he detested him just as you did, and that he always got exahusted from dealing with severus too.
he let out a deep breath before answering.
“go ahead. you do seem tired.” he said, having a little mercy on you. “i'll wake you when detention it's over.” remus added, now having finished with his paperwork and opening a book he had in his desk. it was the last day of school, and he felt like you deserved a little of good will from him.
you rested your head on your arms against the bench, closing your eyes softly.
“thank you professor, that's why you're my favourite.” you said, finally letting the sleep trap you in his arms.
remus watched over your dreams with the affection only him could possess. the sweetness he lacked as a wolf, he had it as a human.
so, when you had sleep over almost all your detention time, remus stood up from his desk chair and walked over you to finally woke you from your well deserved nap, fifteen minutes before dinner.
“y/n” he said, calmly. “y/n” he repeated.
you opened your eyes, moved your head a bit and looked up at him, standing up in front of you.
“good evening, professor.” your answer came out sleepy, pieces of your dreams lingering on your body.
“good evening, y/n.” he smiled at you from above. “here, take this.” remus said, placing a piece of chocolate in your bench, next to your head. “it'll wake you up a little.”
you didn't answer, as you were still trying to keep your eyes open.
“i need to get all these papers to my office, please leave the classroom door closed when you go to the great hall” he added, ruffling your hair with kindness before grabbing a pile of papers on his desk and leaving you alone in the classroom with the piece of chocolate as his only remain.
when you were awake enough, in the solitude of the classroom, you ate the chocolate piece and left, too excited and flustered with what just happened to remember that you had to leave the class door closed.
after that day you went home, spent your vacations there until your seventh year started, and when you got to hogwarts and dumbledore announced that your new professor of defense against dark arts was going to be alastor moody, your stomach dropped to your feet in deception.
that was the exact moment you damned your sleepy ass and how you thought you could do something about your crush «next year». you couldn't. you wouldn't.
and the worst part is that you knew that even if remus were there, nothing would have ever happen. he was a good man, and you were just a stupid girl thinking you stood a single chance with him. or maybe not, but still you wanted to see him every day again if it was possible.
the first night of your seventh year you cried like a heartbroken girl in your bed because you thought you wouldn't see remus again, and none of your dorm mates knew what happened to you or how they could help.
the only ones who knew what was happening to you were fred and george, because they were your best friends, and even if they did everything to make you feel better you were still crying for weeks like if someone had died.
and, being aware that harry potter surely would know what happened with lupin, the twins borderline interrogated him for days until he spilled out what he knew. so fred and george came back to you with the whole story: lupin was a werewolf and he had to quit because snape sniched on him with the students parents. obviously, you scolded them because harry had enough to think about with someone slipping his name into the goblet of fire but you were extremely grateful, and now you had an excuse to murder snape.
yet, you also had an answer to all the questions you had about remus. why his face was full of scars, why he looked so emotionally wounded, why he always seemed to know something you didn't, why he disappeared once per month. he was a werewolf.
so, settling with the fact that you would probably never hear of him again you kept your broken heart and your silly little crush in a box, graduated from hogwarts and went home. until one day, an owl with a letter woke you up early in the morning crashing into your window. you recognized fred's messy calligraphy.
« dear (y/n):
well that sounded awful. anyways, how is it going? be kind enough to write us a letter one of these days, we've been missing you.
since you're sooo good doing crazy shit with your wand (almost like us) me and george fred george recommended you to our parents for a little organization that's starting to rise again. we cannot explain more since y'know, the ministry is intercepting owls like crazy.
please come on september 9th at night to 12 grimmauld place. don't use flu. or maybe just come to our house first and we can take you there. yes, that's it, come to our home and we'll go together to grimmauld place.
we expect a letter to confirm your answer. or maybe just a letter telling us about you. please write us we're desperate!! and we miss you!!
ps: lupin will be there ;) SO SAY YES!!
sincerely yours,
fred george george and fred fred and george weasley »
you laughed at the whole letter, and when you read about remus being there, you decided to do what they asked you. you quickly wrote an answer and sent the owl back to them saying yes, but your parents ended up finding their letter.
your parents weren't the most tolerant people, being wizards with an opulent life and purist ideas just like the malfoys, so of course they weren't happy about you receiving a letter not from one but two weasleys. and for once you stood up to fight them back, confessing you planned to go with your friends.
that was the last straw, and days before of what fred and george stated, you were in their front door because your parents kicked you out of home with promises of disinherit you. you were a blood traitor on their eyes now.
the weasleys kindly received you and finally explained for what organization they were trying to recruit you: the order of the phoenix.
you agreed to join gladly, out of rage for your parents ideals and out of impotence because you openly believed what harry said: voldemort was back.
and, just as fred and george promised, on september 9th everyone went to grimmauld place, you included. it was a shiny full moon night and when you and the weasleys stood in front of the door, for a second you wondered if remus was okay. if his transformations were painful, if he was going to be comforted after.
when you got inside the house, the weasleys revealed to you that the plan was for you to stay at grimmauld place, and keep sirius black (who you recently found out that was an innocent) company the most part of the year. you were told that everyone would pass from time to time and that remus was probably going to be staying there the most of the time too.
so, you met sirius, who guided you to his deseaced mother's room and told you to leave your things there since you were going to be living there full time. you settled up and after a lovely dinner that molly prepared, you officially joined the order.
it almost felt like a fever dream, days ago you were at your parents house, and now you were joining a resistance and just hours away from seeing remus lupin again. a part of you was excited and other was scared of falling in love with him, heartbeat going crazy just at the idea of sharing a home with him.
you went to bed in the middle of a haze, the sheets embraced you with tenderness as you closed your eyes and the fatigue of all the events clouding your life catched up with you. you had a dreamless sleep until a scream suddenly waked you.
you didn't found time to change as you got out of bed almost running, worried that something had happened. yet, the moment you went down the stairs you saw arthur, sirius, moody and molly (who was clearly agitated and you guessed she was also the one who screamed) looking at someone laying in the sofa of the living room.
it was late for you to go back unnoticed, as sirius instantly saw you.
“(y/n)” he said, tenderly. “i apologize if we woke you.”
you didn't answered because in the exact moment he talked to you, arthur moved from his place and you saw the face you never thought you would ever see again.
remus layed on the sofa, his face was extremely pale and full of scraches, he had a nasty wound on his chest and in general, he looked sick. molly was helping to treat the deep cut on his chest and you quickly realized that was probably what made her scream.
you looked at sirius, your expression soaked in concern for remus state. it was almost unrealistic seeing him like this but you finally understood the violence involved in being cursed by the moon.
it was the first time you saw him in two years but your eyes couldn't fully believe what they were seeing. the one you adored so much in deep secret, was injured and almost unconscious.
a part of you knew you didn't had to seem extremely worried if you intended to keep your secret, but it was hard for you to restrain your feelings.
“is he-...” you doubted before the words escaped your lips. “is he going to be alright?”
no one but sirius payed attention to your presence as they were focused on remus. he looked at you with reassurance as you stood on the doorframe.
“yes, yes. do not worry, he has been worse.” sirius answered, giving you a calm smile. “go back to sleep, tomorrow it's going to be a long day and we'll have a meeting.” he added, as his attention went back to remus.
your feet refused to move for a couple of seconds and just when you were about to turn back and go to bed, remus eyes met yours. his gaze subtly widened and you felt like a deer in lights, provoking you to almost run upstairs just the way you did a couple minutes ago.
but as you left, remus felt ashamed of himself. after not seeing you for so long, suddenly now you knew what he was, who he was. what the beast inside of him provoked every full moon.
at the same time everyone treated his wounds, trying to make him feel better, in his mind he cursed his lycanthropy. remus couldn't help but feel like a constant burden, a beast who had to be kept captive.
as a couple of days went by, you didn't saw remus at all. molly insisted on him resting some days in bed since he was injured and his transformation had been quite violent so you only heard the news that she or sirius brought back of remus state when they went to check on him.
until one night you couldn't sleep, and you decided to go downstairs for a cup of tea. you tried to be silent as you got out of your room in your pajamas and went to the kitchen.
but oblivious as you always were, you didn't noticed that as you prepared your tea, your back facing the doorframe, someone else was also getting into the kitchen but with the intention to get a coffee.
“good evening, miss (l/n)” you jumped back as the teasing voice of remus lupin scared you, making you drop a bit of tea over the counter.
“shit-... prof- sorry-...” you said, surprised and nervous. the words struggled to find an order while coming out of your lips but you realized in time that remus wasn't you professor anymore and that he was probably joking.
the way he said your last name scratched your brain in a oddly specific way. or well, everything he said had that effect on you.
“im sorry, i didn't meant to-...” remus started to say but you interrupted his words, turning to face him.
“don't worry it's okay, i didn't thought someone else would be awake.” you answered, smiling at him.
the moment you looked at him you noticed that remus had the same loving and sweet gaze he had two years ago. all this time you believed that you may had been delusional about your crush over him, that maybe you had set a extremely high standard or that this was all a product of the idealized remus you had on your brain, but no.
as you saw him standing there, a comfortable brown sweater on his body and his now healed scratches on his face you realized that the man you've been crushing on was as wounded and broken as you once remembered. the same tender look on his eyes being a constant reminder of the cruelty of his destiny at the hands of the moonlight.
“you can call me remus, by the way.” he clarified, smiling at you and you nodded.
“remus... sounds good. better than professor lupin.” your answer was a little bold but you felt relief when he chuckled. “so, what are you doing here this late?” you asked as the cup of tea went to your lips and you took a sip, testing the temperature.
“i could ask you the same, you know?” remus smiled as he walked closer to the counter, meaning he was closer to you too. “i was craving coffee, and since the days after the full moon i can never sleep, a night coffee it seemed like a good idea.” he added, as he started preparing one. “also this is the only place in the house where molly allows me to smoke.” he said whispering playful like if he was telling you a secret.
then you gave a quick look at the ceiling and noticed that had some stains. stains caused by the cigarette smoke, you guessed.
you smiled at him and took another sip of your tea.
“are you feeling better, then?” you finally asked him, curious and nervous. the question had been repressed in your chest for a couple of days.
“well, sirius and molly took good care of me.” remus said, still preparing his coffee. “i feel a little numb this time, though. it was more intense than usually.”
“i was a bit worried.” you admitted, looking at his hot coffee on the counter, and then directing your eyes to his.
“i know, i saw you. and i heard you.” he answered, now grabbing a cigarette he had tucked behind his ear. “i thought you were scared of me, by the way you ran upstairs when i looked at you.” remus smiled a bit while speaking, but it became a melancholic smile when he said those last sentences. then he put he cigarette on his lips like a tender death kiss.
you realized how he was probably insecure about his nature. for him, a death omen. but for you, it felt like the moon loved him so much she needed to have him for herself once a month. but it was a exhausting love, the kind of love that consumes you to the core of your being and hurts your soul.
yet you wondered what kind of love remus had to offer, and if he indeed had feelings for someone inside his chest, who would be the one blessed with remus love.
when remus lighted the cigarette, he took a deep drag and released the smoke with a certain elegance that you couldn't explain.
“no, i could never-...” you stopped yourself from saying something you would probably regret. “i wasn't scared, i was embarrassed. i thought i was being intrusive. it was one hell of a entrance after not seeing you for two years, though.”
he smiled at you, more relaxed than before as he leant against the kitchen counter. the hand that didn't held the cigarette was now grabbing his coffee and your eyes quickly made their way to his fingers against the cup. you felt like you were sixteen again, looking at his hands.
when he answered your gaze found his again.
“you're right, it's been a long time.” remus took a sip of his coffee. “i hope you didn't got in much trouble after i left.”
“i became a bit worse.” you admitted. then your lips kept moving, saying things you didn't thought you would ever admit. “i used to have a crush on you, back in hogwarts. i was sad when you left.”
remus smirked, the cigarette separating from his lips before he responded.
“i know, the twins told me some weeks ago, before one of the meetings.” he confessed, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “they said you cried.”
a deep blush crept into your cheeks, and a intense feeling of embarrassment settled in your stomach. you left the tea on the counter, and covered your face.
“oh for merlin's sake, i can't believe they told you.” your hands left your face and you stared at the floor for a second.
“if it makes you feel better, i already knew.” remus said, finishing his cigarette.
you stared at him in disbelief.
“since when?” you asked, feeling like you could die of embarrassment.
“since the day you had detention with me.” he answered, calmly. “it is true? you cried?” remus curiosity won over him.
you sighed, defeated.
“yes, i cried.” your words were shy, but then you became a little confident. “fred and george told me snape was the one that made you quit, so he became my pranks target and i got a lot of detention time.”
remus laughed, and that made you blush even more and your heartbeat raised to the ceiling. he finished his coffee and spoke.
“i pity him, i wouldn't dare to provoke the rage of a young woman.” remus answered. “even less yours.”
“why-...?” you were about to grab your cup of tea again as you responded but his hand moved to the kitchen counter counter in that exact moment, meeting your hand with his.
when your hands touched, it felt like a shock of electricity running through your whole body. you instantly pulled back from his contact, looking at the floor.
feeling like you had your heart stuck in your throat, an inevitable realization came to you like a rush of adrenaline. you were too far gone for this to be only a crush. you've spent two years loving him endlessly, and now that you were with him you could only wonder if you would've kept loving remus like this if the twins hadn't recruited you, and he weren't beside you in this exact moment.
the typical boldness that layed on your chest had left you for a moment and you needed to take a deep breath. when the words came to you, they were far more brave that you could ever imagine.
“what if this crush never faded?” your voice trembled for a second. “what if it became worse?”
remus sighed and took his hand to your chin and forced you to look a him in the eyes in a sweet gesture.
“we can't, i'm too old for you.” he said, almost in a whisper.
“i never cared about that.” you answered in a heartbeat.
“well, i do care. it's not only the age, it's-...” he made a brief pause. “i'm dangerous, (y/n). im not good for you at all.”
“i don't care, remus. i'm not scared of you.” you moved closer, you could be in front of him.
remus was taller than you, a detail that never failed to make you weak before him. you looked up at his eyes.
“you don't even know me properly.” his voice sounded a bit shaky.
“i never thought i did, yet i always had the desire to do so.” everything he had to said, you've already had thought an argument ages ago thinking of all the things he could say if this situation happened.
and you never thought it would, but luckily the gods or whatever above heard the constant plea of your heart.
“i can't keep a job because i'm a werewolf, (y/n) please think of what you're saying for a second-...” you interrupted him.
“you could say your face will turn green every night and i wouldn't care. please, just give me one chance.” you said, almost in a whisper. a sweet plea for him to spare your heart.
remus thought you were a beautiful woman, brave, ambitious and oddly astute. an intelligence made for chaos and not exactly for books, but he knew better than to ruin you and in his eyes just even trying to date you would feel like setting on fire to your promising life.
he was a monster, fearful that his lycanthropy could hurt you or affect you forever, not to mention he was frightened that his children could end up being cursed like him.
but then he looked at you, so willing to have him, so in love and he felt his heart melting.
maybe you could try, right? just a try.
“i-...” remus began to say. “i think we can try.”
you sighed in relief as you got closer to him, your chest almost touching his.
his smell clouded your mind the same way it did years ago and you knew in your insides that if you someone put amortentia in fron of you, you would feel his scent as you once did: chocolate, parchment, coffee, old book pages. the smell of autumn itself.
his eyes, his voice, his smell, all of him provoked your chest to feel like it was about to explode, enchanting your mind like if some sort of love spell was being casted on your soul.
and now, he was yours. all yours.
one of your wildest dreams came true, and you knew your heart needed to seal the moment the best way you could. there was a gift, an offering to be made at the altar of your love.
there was something you never dared to give anyone else before, because no man was like him.
“you know, i saved something special for a moment like this.” the confession came out of your lips as you grabbed his face to lure him like a beautiful nymph and make him lean into your direction.
and even if he didn't say anything. your words hit remus straight on the face, twisting his guts and he just couldn't believe how nervous he was.
when his eyes looked at you as you grabbed his face and got closer, to him you looked divine just as a superior being could be.
in the moment you kissed him, it was a sweet kiss that made remus shiver from head to toe and take his hands to your waist almost like if you were made of glass.
the first time you kissed someone and it was him. it felt like you were putting a blessing on his soul, fixing even if it was just fo a second, the damage of his eternal curse.
remus wondered if he was the one who would fell in love deeper, noticing the control you had over him just with a kiss, how he suddenly could fall to his knees if you asked.
the soft exchange between your lips ended when a voice interrupted you both.
“for merlin's beard, moony.” sirius voice spoke from the doorframe. as remus avoided his look ashamed, you looked at him a bit irritated for interrupting. “don't look at me like that, (y/n). i didn't expected to find people kissing inside my kitchen when i came here to drink water.” he smirked, mocking you both
after a couple of seconds you laughed at his words, and remus followed you. the first fifteen minutes into this uncommon thing you had and you were already laughing at sirius together.
remus felt relieved and for a moment he believed that any difficulties you could have, you'll both be able to work it out together.
maybe it didn't matter if he was a werewolf or if you were this younger, or if he was frightened to hurt you.
because maybe remus wasn't as cursed as he thought.
i hope you enjoyed this, i spent DAYS writing it and im glad i got to release it for halloween!!! xoxo.
You hear it before you see it, a shuffle on pavement behind you, before sudden tug at your purse strap.
“HEY!” You snarl, already bracing your heels into the sidewalk, ready to rip your arm back and let whoever-the-fuck know they picked the wrong bitch today. “GIVE ME BACK MY–”
– and then you actually blink into a wall of muscle.
A wall of muscle hugged by a black shirt tight enough to map out every little line, forearms big as a greek statues. He’s got black hair, messy like he just come out of a windstorm. A small scar splits the corner of his mouth the way commas split sentences.
The word “…bag” comes out as a breath and then, “oh.” Your brain stutters and the fight in your voice dies mid-syllable. “…Um, heyyy.”
He cocks an eyebrow, the bag handle wrapped in his fist like a leash. You’re still clinging to your purse, but now it’s less defensive and more affectionate. Your gaze flicks from his mouth to his arm, and the corners of your lips twitch into something a little too pleased for someone being robbed.
Toji’s expression scrunches a millimeter. For the first time in a while, he looks vaguely unsettled.
“Uh.” He tugs at the strap. “Lady. Let go.”
You don’t let go. In fact, you sidestep in, catch his wrist with both hands and hug his forearm like you’re clutching onto a teddy bear. The veins jump under your thumbs. Oh, he lifts. Obviously he lifts. Your survival instinct files for permanent leave. “What if I don’t want to?”
His eyes narrow. He gives a sharp tug, purse be damned, expecting your grip to loosen. But you plant your feet, cheek pressing into his flesh, a manic little gleam in your eyes that makes his brows knit together.
“…the fuck?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
You say it lightly, teasing, almost singsong, but he feels the iron behind it, and for the first time in a long while, Toji Fushiguro isn’t sure if he’s the predator here. He tries again, because what the hell is wrong with you, but your nails dig into his arm possessively.
“You rob everyone like this?” You ask sweetly, leaning in closer and fluttering your lashes up at him. “Or just the girls you think are cute?”
For once, Toji doesn’t have a smooth answer. He just stares down at you, completely thrown off his rhythm, and realises with a pit in his stomach that he’s suddenly about to be the victim in all this.
MY BABY LIVES IN SHADES OF COOL; jeon jae-joon / reader
PART ONE.
You’d sipped, laughed, socialized. That’s when it happened. That cosmic sort of pull only two stars on a collision course can have, doomed to burn each other down to ash. No matter what turn you’d taken or conversation sparked, it all led back to him.
The young owner, the heir, the star on the collision course.
