warnings: HEAVY yandere themes! cursing, fear, descriptions of physical abuse by a family member
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a.n. - is he yakuza? or is he just rich? idk and reader doesn't know either.
if you can't tell by the end, i basically wanted to do a whole cinderella retelling, but things got out of hand so it's just slightly cinderella-y. enjoy!
words: ~5k
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
the grand hall of the most prestigious museum of art in the city quietly hums with murmurs of admiration from a sea of black-tie attire. sparkling jewelery reflects the soft glow of crystal chandeliers as you stand in the midst of the quiet crowd, studying the old, intricate paintings that line the walls.
you breathe in softly, smelling polished wood, aged canvas, and expensive perfume. occasionally, the soft clink of a champagne glass echoes off the walls, blending into the crowd.
every now and then, you glance towards the other side of the event, where a blond-haired man stands, speaking softly with other guests.
your uncle.
anxiety forms a pit in your stomach, and you have to take another breath once you let your gaze drift away.
the air feels like its growing heavier as his presence lingers in the room like a dark shadow. you pretend to adjust the strap of your dress, fingers trembling slightly against the satin.
a waiter passes by with a tray of champagne, and you hesitate before taking a glass. you take a slow sip, the bubbles fizzing against your tongue.
your uncle’s voice rises, something about “the importance of legacy” and “proper appreciation.” the words wrap around you like a noose, and you force yourself to exhale slowly. across the room, his gaze flickers in your direction, just for a second, but it’s enough to make your stomach twist.
you turn away, once again focusing on a painting: a swirling abstract piece, shades of varying blues. it feels almost like a metaphor.
it all started when your parents had died when you were young, leaving you to the only family member you had left: your uncle. you quickly learned after that day how truly dispicable the man is- heart and soul devoid of anything good.
instead, all that occupies him is the desire - the obsession - for money.
here, at events like these, he’d dress you in beautiful, exquisite clothing, parading you before the other elite like a prized possession. it's his self-proclaimed generosity on display, the act of having taken you in.
at home, he just gets worse. you're practically a maid in your own home.
you would leave if it weren’t for the debt.
because from the moment you arrived on his doorstep- you owed him, and he reminded you every chance he got.
new dress to show off to his peers? although it's only for his benefit, you still owe him.
food from his kitchen? you owe him.
a bed to sleep in? you owe him.
everything he's "given" you in order to keep you alive just adds to the debt he holds over your head. to pay it off- you clean, you mop, you cook, and you don't say anything to anyone.
realistically, you know that the debt will never end. but where else would you go? despite his evil nature, his abuse- mental and physical, you're still alive. you have a roof over your head, food in your stomach.
despite the pain, the fights he would get in with you when he's drunk, the bruises he leaves on your skin whenever you let him get too close.
he's the only family you have left.
on especially lonely days, you sometimes take a trip up to the attic of his house, gazing forlornly upon the possessions your family had left behind. picture frames, photo books, small knicknacks.
the rocking chair your mother once held you in, singing you to sleep as you lay in her lap.
you can't imagine running away- leaving all of this behind. honestly, having everything here keeps you sane. reminds you that once upon a time, you were loved.
you feel a single, small tear trail down your cheek as you study the painting you can't seem to move on from. the blue swirls around itself like a furious whirlpool, drawing your eyes to the dark center- a black hole.
will you ever be free?
"this painting has certainly caught your eye, hm? haven't seen you blink once." a gentle, teasing voice draws you out of your heavy thoughts, and you glance up to see an unfamiliar man who's suddenly standing beside you.
you've been dragged to so many of these events, you're surprised by the fact that you don't recognize him. your eyes trail down him, taking in his appearance.
he's wearing nearly all black besides the white color sticking out neatly from his jacket. he's tall, with dark eyes tracing your form as well, mirroring your own actions. the faint scent of an expensive, charming cologne drifts towards you.
you blink at him, realizing that he asked you a question.
"ah, yes," you hastily wipe the tear from your cheek with a quick sniffle.
"it is truly magnificent," you continue, smoothing out a few wrinkles in your dress. he hums, appreciatively, studying the painting that has caught so much of your attention.
"what does it mean to you?"
his question catches you off guard, and you glance up at him again to see soft eyes softening slightly. he's handsome- in a dangerous sort of way. he looks like he knows things.
you think for a moment before answering.
"this painting is so beautiful...but almost claustrophic? i don't know," you glance down.
"really?" he gestures for you to continue.
"i guess it's like all the shades of blue are leading you towards the dark center, and the direction of the swirls is like a riptide. like, once you're in the center, it would be impossible to swim out. so you're just," you take a shaky breath, "stuck."
he makes a small sound of acknowledgment.
"i think i know what you mean," he states. "i felt like that once, too. a long time ago. that is, until i learned how to swim out."
you're not sure what he means by that, so you stay silent.
"what's your name?" you blurt out, before you can stop yourself. he chuckles at you, eyes crinkling softly in the corners.
"suguru. geto suguru."
before you can tell him yours, your name gets called, a harsh hiss of a sound, and you turn to find your uncle gesturing for you to join him in a conversation. no doubt so he can introduce you to his clients, earning their trust by flaunting his "goodwill."
you turn to leave, to obey the command, but a large hand grabs your elbow- stopping you from taking another step. you blink up at the perpetrator in question, meeting his eyes.
and somehow, a thousand words were spoken in a single glance.
"i'll see you soon," he murmurs, giving you a crooked smile.
your lips turn down slightly, confused. "where?" you ask, a bit breathless.
but all he does is trail his hand softly down your arm as he pulls away, eyes softening as his fingertips light against your skin as you turn once again, still lightly confused, and walk towards your impatiently waiting uncle.
your uncle looks past you for the first time, seeing who you were just talking to. the color suddenly drains from his face, eyes widening in horror.
your eyebrows furrow, and you glance back over your shoulder. your new aquaintance gives you a small little wave, a soft smile.
your cheeks heat slightly. he's alarmingly charming.
when you turn back around, suguru's smile shifts into a sharp, wide grin. tall and imposing, he tilts his head at your uncle, eyes holding a dangerous glint.
your uncle shivers slightly, though you don't notice. he gives a few small nods, as if promising something. from there, suguru turns and walks out of the large building.
he accomplished what he came for.
--------
suguru geto is a patient man.
at least, he tries to be. but every so often something will catch his attention in a way that torments him with craving the longer he goes without it.
he first saw you when you were just a little girl, sat in a little room while your parents did business with his own. he was a young boy himself- but he didn't feel little. how could he, when his parents molded him into an adult from the age of eight?
so perhaps his mind was already broken- but he swears a piece of him was left with you when you first spoke to him.
a small, shy hello- and a shard of his soul was ripped away and embedded into your own.
he's felt incomplete since.
when he heard that your parents had lost their lives and you were sent to your uncle's, he felt such sorrow for you. oh, how he wished he could comfort you in your time of need.
but, suguru is a patient man.
and how sad was it when his own parents died themselves years later in a fatal car crash when he finally turned eighteen, leaving him to take over as CEO for the massively successful family corporation. just days before, they denied his request to take over, expressing that he wasn't ready.
claimed that he led his life with too much emotion and not enough intent.
oh, he showed them intention. how very sad, indeed.
imagine his surprise when he was allowed access to the company's private dealings and discovered that his parents had lent money to your uncle, only a few months after he first met little you.
327,600,000* japanese yen. what a stupid, stupid man.
5% interest over 15 years?
poor uncle now owes 681,056,812* yen. he basked in the money he was given, playing as rich man for all these years, spending all of it on a luxerious lifestyle.
suguru warned your uncle that if even a single coin isn't paid back- that he would take everything he has, from his possessions to his reputation.
and then, he would take you.
suguru geto can only be patient for so long, and the clock is ticking.
--------
it's only the next day when you realize you're being followed.
sent on a small list of errands to get done before noon, you're hustling around town in your old, beat up car.
at first, it just seemed like there were an unusual number of black sedans on the road that day- but it became more personal when there was at least one black sedan trailing behind you everywhere you went.
first at the grocery store, where a black car parked right next to you, then at the dry cleaners with the same phenomenon, and then now, at the bank, where two sit on either side of your car.
you stand there, right outside the bank doors, perplexed as you finally realize what's happening. you wonder if this is like a human trafficking method- are they going to kill you?
but the men dressed in suits and shades behind the dark windows don't show any plans of getting out of their vehicles. they just sit, parked, like they're waiting for whatever errand you decide to go on next.
as you slide back into your car, you pull out your phone and quickly dial your uncle. he won't be happy that you're calling him at "work" (drinking and shmoozing with his friends), but you have to confirm something.
"the fuck you want?" his voice is gruff over the line, and he only picked up when you called him a second time.
"are you having me followed?" your voice is hushed, panicky, as you side-eye the two sedans on either side of you. you notice the two men aren't looking at you- just straight ahead.
they look like robots.
you can practically feel your uncle's eyeroll over the phone.
"what the hell are you even talking about?" he snarls. you hear him reply to someone- maybe a client- in the background, and he hangs up the phone.
so, that's a big fat no.
somehow, you feel even more anxiety about the entire situation. you're not surprised your uncle isn't behind it, he could care less about your safety. but still- if your uncle isn't having you followed, who is?
your last errand is to pick up a package for your uncle from a private courier office. when you arrive, the building is susupiciously empty- not just in terms of people, but also things. its just a square box of a room with a single man behind a desk near the back.
you reluctantly approach the desk, explaining that you have a package for your uncle, giving the employee his name. he slides you a small, unmarked wooden box across the counter without a word.
outside, you notice that the two black sedans have been joined by a third.
and it's only when you actually look at the box that you notice what's engraved onto the wood. it's your name, etched in neat cursive.
you can't help yourself. you open the box.
inside, you find a stack of photographs, small enough to be polaroids or some sort of printed material. pictures of you, from around the age your parents died to now.
every milestone, every birthday, every awkward phase of your life has been neatly placed inside this box. the very last photo catches your eye- because its the only photo in which another person is in the frame.
it's you, at that art museum the night before- talking to that man you met. the one with the long black hair and the soft eyes.
what was his name? geto? suguru geto?
you shiver slightly. could he be behind this? you have to tell your uncle.
you speed to your uncle's favorite bar, hands shaking as you dial his number again. this time, surprisingly, he picks up on the first ring.
"where the hell are you?" his voice is sharp, disturbingly urgent.
before you can tell him what's been going on with you, or to ask what's going on with him to elicit that reaction, the line cuts to static.
you reach the bar a few seconds later, pulling up just in time to see your uncle stumbling out of the bar. drunk, but not so much so that he's oblivious. he's frantic with panic. has something happened to him?
he spots you, and sprints as evenly as he can to your car, but before he can reach you, the multiple sedans drive up to block his path. men in suits step out of the cars, faces calm as they restrain him from taking any more steps. your uncle's eyes widen in terror.
"no, no, you have it wrong, i still have time, i still have-" one of the men grabs him by his collar, dragging him towards one of the black cars.
his eyes meet yours for the last time, choking on hiccuped sobs.
"i'm sorry. i didn't know how much he wanted you back." did he just apologize? you're not sure you've ever heard those two words fall out of his mouth before.
during the whole scene, you've gotten out of your car to stand helplessly in frightened confusion.
"wait! why-" but the cars pull away, leaving you alone in the parking lot.
your phone buzzes in your pocket. you pull it out, hands still shaking as you read the text.
unknown:
i told him what would happen if he didn't pay. i warned him. but he never listened.
your breath comes out in shaky gasps, trying to understand what's happening. another text follows, this time a picture.
the photo flashes on screen: you, asleep in your bed last night.
unknown:
you left your window open, so i came to check on you. you were so peaceful.
a feeling in your stomach comes upon you rapidly, and drop your phone to rush over to a nearby bush to puke up whatever's left in your stomach.
who the fuck is doing this?
you pick up your phone from the ground where you dropped it, and immediately dial 911.
"this is 911, what is your emergen-"
static.
another text.
unknown:
let's not do that, darling. get in the car.
you look around, confused. you're the only car in the small parking lot. but then a rumbled engine sounds behind you, and you turn to see a car being driven into the parking lot. it stops just in front of you, blocking you and your car from leaving.
you think you might run around it instead, but you're still not sure what this mysterious person is capable of. they have access to your phone, and you're pretty sure they just kidnapped your only living relative- abusive or not. he's still family.
so, with extreme hesitance, you slide into the vehicle. black leather seats, modern tech- the car screams of luxury. a small partition separates you and the driver, not that you would've spoken to them anyway.
oh god, you might puke again.
the car drives further into the city, until you're surrounded by high skyscrapers and glass business buildings. the driver parks in front of a building, and you gasp when suddenly the door close to you flies open, and a hand reaches out to pull you out of the car.
it's another one of the henchmen.
you've started calling them that in your head- men who wear the suits and the shades and the emotionless facial expressions. the men in the movies who are always doing the dirty work for the boss.
you're scared to think whomthe boss is in this circumstance.
without a word or even so much of a glance, the man pulls you towards a high-rise building. the interior is opulent, affluent. through the lobby, across a hallway, up the elevator.
the doors open, and he gently pushes you into what looks like a wealthy private residence.
he stays in the elevator, and his eyes- devoid of emotion- lock with your terrified ones as the doors close, leaving you alone in a silent penthouse.
your eyes search around the elevator frantically. no buttons. you can't leave.
with shaking legs and short, petrified gasps that barely reach your ears, you step further into the space.
the penthouse is extraordinary- cold marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out upon the city, furniture so pristine they look almost untouched.
even the air smells like old money.
your sneakers sink slightly into plush rug as you enter another living space. your eyes glance around, and snag on a door that sits slightly ajar inside a nearby hallway. stepping closer, you push it open.
that's when you see him.
suguru geto sits calmly, casually, in a leather chair near large windows overlooking tokyo's magnificent cityscape. a mahogany desk sits in front of him.
he's dressed like you would expect- like you imagined him to. a tailored black suit, pristine leather shoes, hair pushed back but still halfway down.
his posture is relaxed, almost regal, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. his eyes lift to meet yours, and the smile he gives you isn't cruel.
it's fond.
"you came," he says, voice dark, smooth. as if he gave you a choice.
he sets his glass down on the desk, and gestures with a quick swipe of his fingers towards a chair in front of the desk.
"please, sit. i've been waiting for you to arrive. was the journey here to your liking?" his smile is soft, and you are reminded of how he looked at you in the museum.
you don't move. you can't move- your body feels frozen, mind screaming at you to do something. fight, run, anything. but your legs won't listen.
suguru tilts his head slightly, expression shifting to something almost hurt.
"you're afraid," he murmurs, looking up at you.
he stands, moving with a quiet grace around the desk. he kneels next to where you're sat in the chair, though he's still somehow looking down at you, even at this position.
you flinch when he reaches out a hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your stomach twist.
he hums, eyes outline your form. "you've lost wait," he observes, fingers now tracing against your jawline. your lip trembles at the touch, eyes wide and unblinking as your body remains frozen.
"you didn't eat today, did you?" he mutters, talking to himself more than you. "or...yesterday, i think." his thumb grazes your trembling lip, lightly pulling the soft tissue down.
you jerk your head back, but he only sighs, as if disappointed.
"you always forget to take care of yourself when you're upset." with a knowing smile, he gets up and walks back to his chair, throwing back his whiskey with a soft grimace before pouring another glass.
"would you like something to drink? water? tea? or..." he trails off, a grin forming, "...something stronger?"
you don't answer, just continue to stare at him. honestly- your mind feels blank. you feel stuck, trapped. you'd think by now you'd be used to the feeling. but not like this.
your fingers are clenched so tightly that your nails fig into your palms. suguru sips his drink, cunning eyes watching you over the rim of the textured glass.
"you don't have to talk," he says, eventually after a moment of silence. he sets his glass down again, your gaze tracking the movements. "but you do have to listen."
he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a small, velvet box. wordlessly, he hands it over, and waits patiently as you get your arm to respond- to grab it from his hands.
inside sits a locket. small, oval shaped. you open it to find a single photo placed gently in the clasps.
its you as a child, holding hands with a little boy close to your age. you were still happy then, you remember. it was before your parents died, that much you can tell by the photo. by your smile.
the boy, though, catches your attention. short black hair that reaches to his shoulders, dark eyes that glance to the side- set on you.
you look up at suguru, and immediately you can tell the resemblance.
"we've met." your voice comes at small, meek. the first words you've spoken. he hums, a low sound of approval.
he moves around the desk once again to grab the box from your hands. he gently pulls the long, delicate chain out, the locket gleaming under the soft lights. he steps closer, reaching for you, unclasping the chain and lifting it towards your neck.
you slap his hand away, and move to get up, but between the chair back and his figure, there's nowhere for you to go.
his eyes darken at your action, and for a second you can see the obsession that lines his expression, hidden beneath his carefully curated appearance.
"i've been patient," he croons, "but patience has it's limits."
he doesn't wait this time, pulling back your hair with slender fingers to clasp the locket around your neck. his breath his cool against your ear, his voice soft.
"it looks good on you."
the locket rests against your chest, cold and heavy.
he steps back, hands falling to rest by his sides. "you'll stay here tonight." something tells you it's not just going to be tonight. but you keep your mouth shut, once again.
"tomorrow, we'll talk properly. don't worry about your uncle. he's been...detained."
the color on your face drains, and you shiver. he continues.
"right, i almost forgot. speaking of your uncle," he chuckles, finger tracing the rim of his glass.
"how many bruises did he give you?"
you blink at his question, not quite understanding. he seems to pick up on your confusion.
"ah, sorry. should have been clearer. how many bruises do you have on, let's say, right now?" his sharp gaze tracks your nervous fidgeting.
"i'm..i'm not sure," you whisper. you are so utterly confused. he hums, shaking his head with faux disappointment, tsking. "i understand."
he sighs, as if it pains him to speak what he plans to next. it's all a lie.
"take off your shirt." you're not sure you heard him right. he waits, patiently, as you mull his words around in your mind. eventually, he smiles, tight lipped.
"do you need help?" he croons, condescendingly. "because i can."
you shake your head, softly at first, then violently. "no. no, no, no."
he laughs, gleefully. "well, i must know, either way. it affects how i'm going to treat your dear old uncle."
he's crazy. oh god he's actually insane. you move to stand up, but stop when he lifts a finger.
"ah, ah. sit. i'll only ask one more time before i help you, okay?" he pouts at you, talking to you like he would a pet.
"take off. your shirt." he enunciates, raising his eyebrow at you. with trembling fingers, you finally do as he asks, raising your shirt up and over your head.
you wince when his gaze finds your tattered skin. the bruises- they're everywhere.
your uncle made sure to not hurt you in places his peers could see, only places that could be covered up by clothes or a dress. but, they're constant. new bruises overline old, faded ones.
blue and yellow patterns tattoo your skin, a ghastly sight to behold.
you remember all the times your uncle would come home late, reeking of alcohol, knuckles splot and your ribs already aching at the sight. the way he'd always say "this is for your own good, you ungrateful little-" before the next strike.
his jaw ticks, and his eyes darken once more. you sit there in silence, minutes passing as he studies your form.
taking count, you realize.
you're not sure what he'll use the numbers for, and you're afraid to ask. you don't want to know.
he steps closer once again, his hand landing on your shoulder, fingers curling gently around the curve of your collarbone. the touch is featherlight, but you still flinch anyway.
he notices, a hint of a smile.
"such a fragile thing," he muses, softly, studying you. "so breakable. and yet, you're still standing. still...breathing." his thumb brushes over a particularly dark spot near your ribs, and you wince, squirming in your seat.
"he kept you so hidden." his voice drops, almost to himself. "but i see you. i've always seen you. all of you."
he steps back abrubtly, eyes burning with feverish intensity, obsession laid bare in the way his gaze devours you.
"tell me," he says, suddenly, "did he ever...apologize?"
you think for a moment. not for this. he seems to catch your answer in your expression.
"of course not," he mutters, almost to himself. "but don't worry, darling. i'll make sure he regrets it."
he turns away from you, pacing the room with restless energy. his fingers tap against his thigh, a sharp rhythm. with a sinking feeling, you realize that he's already decided what to do with your uncle.
why he counted the bruises. a mark for a mark.
eventually, he calms, but there's still tension in his shoulders. "you'll be more comfortable upstairs," he says, attention back on you. "i had your things moved."
you blink, caught off guard. "my..things?"
he doesn't answer. instead, he walks out the door, towards the staircase you hadn't noticed when you first arrived. you hesitate, before pushing yourself off the chair to follow him.
your shirt is still pooled on the floor where you dropped it, but you don't bother picking it up. you know enough about suguru now to know he wouldn't like it very much if you put it back on.
you follow him up the stairs of the penthouse, leading to the second-story of the apartment. he leads you down a hallway, passed a row of closed doors.
finally, he stops in front of a door at the very end of the hall. gesturing for you to enter, you open the door and venture in, eyes scanning the space.
a large bed, a dresser against one wall, a vanity with a mirror, a small desk, and a window that looks out upon the city.
traces of him are everywhere- hairties on the desk, a small stack of books on the dresser, dark clothes hung neatly in the closet.
"do you like it?" he asks. he's bent down slightly, cool air against your cheek as he tries to look at the room from your point of view.
it would have been cute if it wasn't coming from him.
something catches your eye- a crisp envelope, laying neatly on top of one of the pillows.
"open it," suguru says, voice low, once he notices that you've seen it.
you hesitate, grabbing the envelope, tearing it open with your fingers. inside is a single photograph- a picture of your uncle, slumped in a chair in what looks to be some sort of dark, cement basement.
his face is bruised, swollen, eyes closed. something black is written on his forehead, like sharpie messily scrawled onto his skin.
"paid in full."
you look up at him, heart pounding furiously in your chest. you might need to puke again, you're not sure.
he smiles, softly- almost apologetic, for your sake. his eyes are cold.
"sleep well," he murmurs. "i'll leave you alone for tonight. but tomorrow," he trails a finger down your jawline, "we start fresh. hm?"
he turns to leave, but pauses in the doorway, glancing back at you one last time. he just stands there, taking you in, before he finally leaves, closing the door behind him.
you hear a click.
the silence after the door locks behind him isn't empty. it's almost full- full to where your pulse is ringing in your ears, where the air feels like static.
and then you're screaming, all the fight that had forsaken you now coming back in full- fists pounding against the door as you demand to be let out.
eventually, after your short-lived fight-response drifted away, you stare at the photograph in your hands, the edges of the paper cutting into your skin.
your uncle's face stares back at you- a man who once looked so terrifying now looks so broken.
he looks like you, in that way.
the locket on your neck feels like a brand. heavy weight onto your neck. you tried taking it off- but it wouldn't budge. you're not sure how he managed it.
you exhale, slow and shaky, and set the photograph on the nightstand as you lay back on the bed. your body sinks into the mattress, cursing out the comfort of it all. the sheets are cool against your skin, the bruises on your ribs no longer throbbing.
for the first time in years, you're not falling asleep to pain.
and that might be the most terrifying part of it all.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
lmk what you think!
* 327,600,000 yen = ~ $2 million
* 681,056,812 yen = ~ $4 million
not proofread. picture from pinterest, quote isn't mine!
Tw: stalking, kidnapping, threats, mentions of physical violence, mentions of controlling your diet, home invasion kind of, Satoru is tragically sad in my head so if this doesn't fit your characterization of him I'm sorry but this is how I see him, he picks you up but be so fr your weight is irrelevant for that, isolation, not quite somnophilia but allusions/ideations of it, slight Stockholm Syndrome, implied masturbation, implied that he jerked it in your shampoo (bad Toru), he traps you in a closet, murder, very brief mention of you injuring yourself, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
Feeling very vulnerable; he's so hard to characterize for me so give me some grace if this feels all over the place...
WC: 14K
DARLING PROFILE:
Witty
In general, Satoru’s attention is difficult to ensnare.
He’s an important man with duties that demand every waking moment of his time, leaving very little space for any sort of romantic pursuits. Besides, he’s always known it’s just a matter of time before the clan forces him into some political marriage, an alliance based solely upon what increases the capital of the Gojo clan rather than any sort of emotional, intimate connection.
And he’s fine with that, for the most part – resigned, really, which is why there are a few key characteristics that his darling must have in order to truly force his obsession to take root. One of these characteristics is that his darling absolutely must be quick on their feet in terms of banter.
They don’t necessarily need to be the funniest or smartest in the room, but someone who can keep him on his toes and make him think a little harder would immediately pique his interest. Someone who can whip out all sorts of comebacks and remarks will have excitement hammering at his chest, the rarity of someone actually challenging him – even with such low stakes – intoxicating.
He loves the fact that his darling is capable of thinking on their feet, seeing patterns and connections well enough that the words are slipping from their lips before they can really think about it. He’s used to the people around him either catering entirely to his ever-increasingly obnoxious whims, or to find him so irritating and difficult to handle that they’re desperate to get away.
And so, to find a darling who embraces his own quips, remarks, and borderline-rude comments will have him eagerly seeking out more and more, loving the way talking to them is so exhilarating. It leaves him eager to see them, to constantly be anticipating what they could say next, what looks or snarky comments they could give him, and Satoru is only slightly ashamed to admit that once his infatuation really sets in, one simply funny or well-thought out comment will have him gulping hard, blood rushing between his legs and something warm pushing against his stomach because oh…
Of course, his confidence in interacting with his darling diminishes once he starts to care way, way too much about their perception of him, but it’s still a quality he finds himself allured by, and with every comment his darling only solidifies his interest.
So go on, insult his white hair and tell him to get home to the geriatric wing – just please, please keep looking at him like that.
Meticulous
In general, he’s looking for a smart darling. He’s looking for someone who is able to hold their own with their intellect and decision-making skills, if only because it slightly lessens the paranoia he experiences when he thinks of all the danger they’re exposed to on a daily basis.
It’s helpful to know that his darling is capable, and while their intelligence can manifest in many ways, one of the most appealing to him is someone who is detail-oriented.
There’s a sense of awe that he feels when they’re able to analyze something thoroughly enough to notice small changes. It’s impressive, perhaps because he’s always been much more focused on the big picture and not the practicalities.
Regardless, if his darling were to showcase this ability in some fashion, either in conversation with him or through their actions during one of the many nights in which he spends slithering through the shadows watching them, it only further solidifies his obsession. It only furthers his fascination with them, a genuine curiosity even leading him to notice them first at all.
Perhaps it’s because it’s so opposite to his own approach to life, or perhaps it’s because it’s reallynot that different after all; where they see details in patterns, Satoru sees details in everything he looks at. It’s a sort of mental coping mechanism in a lot of ways, because there’s some comfort in knowing that although his darling is surely not seeing what he himself sees with this Six Eyes, they at least can understand to a certain extent what that experience is like.
They can better understand when he returns back from missions with a splitting headache and eyes that will barely focus, overexertion causing him to collapse and nearly black out. They’re better able to relate to him when he describes the sheer volume of information he receive in a single glance, too much data to decipher in totality.
It’s a way that he feels he’s connected with his darling, and in a world where Satoru feels very much isolated, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. It’s nice to have someone to reach out to and clutch onto, even if they can’t reach back to him. It’s just endearing, really, and he’ll marvel at each and every instance of his darling showing off this trait.
Easily Flustered
This is more wishful thinking on Satoru’s end than anything else, really. Because he’s so terrified to somehow fuck up every interaction he has with his darling, it’s extremely doubtful that Satoru will really even capitalize on this particular trait until much, much later into his obsession. He’s just not able to muster up the flirty, suave lines he casually throws at most others, the words seeming to get tangled on his tongue and never making it past his lips.
And frankly, it’s beyond frustrating – prior to his obsession really taking a hold, it’s a characteristic that he notices in his darling quickly. Before he really cared too much about their opinion of him, he’d had no problem sliding in a flirty comment or making a remark that was sure to get them feeling hot and swatting away his hand.
But the moment his obsession develops, the memories of how his darling’s responses to the teasing of others begins to haunt him. He wants so, so badly to get them to giggle and be wooed, and the knowledge that it’s easy to do so only further sours his mood.
He’s too nervous to try it once he’s fallen heard-first into his infatuation, and this particular trait actually serves to drastically heighten his possessiveness. Seeing his darling getting flustered at another man’s comments will have Satoru’s blood boiling, rage clawing up his throat and making him absolutely livid that he doesn’t have the gall to do the very same thing.
Because it’s just so damn cute; the way they squirm slightly, how they bite their lip, how they have to turn away because the attention is just too much. It makes him want to reach out and pinch their cheeks, to coo at them and see just how far he can push them.
And so it remains the sort of memory and quality he thinks of every night when he imagines his darling’s face just to get to sleep, fading into dreams that feature them in every possible scenario he can come up with (no matter how innocent or depraved).
It’s just sweet, really, and many years into his darling’s eventual kidnapping, perhaps Satoru will grow comfortable enough to really take advantage of this quirk of theirs – after all, he’d do anything to get them feeling hot under the collar, no matter what context.
Independent
There’s something innately attractive about a person who can take care of themselves. Someone who is able to prioritize, to manage their time, to lean on themselves and not expect others to pick up what they themselves slacked.
It’s a product of twenty-some odd years of being expected to be perfect that leads Satoru to value this quality; the expectations and assumptions he’s had to live up to demanded independence of him from a very, very young age, and as a result he doesn’t have a lot of patience for those who haven’t quite caught up.
He’s not expecting his darling to be entirely self-sufficient, but getting along with only minimal help from loved ones or coworkers is something that he is very, very attracted to.
Besides, it makes it so much easier on him as his obsession continues on – his busy schedule and his hesitance to truly interfere with his darling’s life prior to stealing them away seem to offset by the fact that his darling doesn’t often put themselves into situations that he feels the need to remedy. He’s paranoid for their safety, but it’s nice to know that they aren’t constantly surrounded by people that would take advantage of them.
It’s nice to know that he can step away for a few hours to complete a mission or teach at Jujutsu High (on edge the whole time, of course, because every minute that he doesn’t see them it’s like a knife is twisting through his gut) and not have to immediately panic that they’re hurt or on the verge of death. It’s a small bit of relief, and it certainly doesn’t stop Satoru from imagining and assuming the worst, but it’s a subconscious pull that he feels.
It makes his life easier, and in Satoru’s mind, he can’t help but consider it to be yet another piece of evidence for why his darling is such a perfect match for him – fated, he even thinks on particularly lonely nights spent watching his darling from the dark corner of their room. And does destiny ever lie?
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Obsessive
In a lot of ways, you become Satoru’s salvation.
Prior to your entrance into his life, he’d essentially fallen into a sort of monotonous depression. After Getou’s betrayal, his world has felt numb and detached. Even with his goal to dismantle Jujutsu Society in its current state by training and supporting his students, he’s not completely there. He’d been going through the motions of life simply to fulfill a role – really, more surviving than living.
And so, once his obsession with you takes root and begins to wrap its tendrils around his heart and squeeze, Satoru’s dim, gray-scale life slowly begins to shift. It’s certainly not an overnight change, as his infatuation with you takes a while to really solidify and drive him to the brink. But once he begins to realize just how good you make him feel, it’s already set in stone.
Sure, he’s still passionate about raising the next generation of mover-and-shaker sorcerers, but oh, does he not deserve to have any more personal goals?
His attention slowly begins to shift away from his lofty Jujutsu agenda and more toward you you you. He slowly begins growing attached, depending upon you to get through the day. And it starts small - fleeting thoughts of you grace the edges of his mind.
He’s out running a quick errand for a mission in the outskirts of Tokyo one afternoon, and as he stands ordering at the sweets shop counter, the words are falling out of his mouth before he can even think about it. Your favorite sweet sits in his palm a few moments later, wrapped all prettily in white parchment paper with a nice bow tying it all together. He’s blinking down at the small package with slightly parted lips for a moment, confused himself as to why he’d ordered it (something that he doesn’t particularly like, no less), but only shrugs it off, placing the pastry carefully to one side of the shopping bag to keep it from being crushed.
(And when it arrives on your doorstep later that evening as the sun’s setting over the horizon, Satoru can’t help the way his breath catches as he watches from the end of your street. The way the pinks and yellows glimmer and shine off your hair has him struggling to blink, the way you tilt your head and draw your brows together making his fist clench. You’re too pretty, it almost makes him mad.)
He’s watching Yuuji and Kugisaki gang up on Megumi with conniving grins painting their faces, feeling his own lip twitch slightly at the sight. Once again, his mouth is moving before he’s even consciously forming your name against his tongue – hey, d’you think Megumi kind of likes all the attention? His voice echoes out to no one in particular, the empty space beside him giving no answer as he stiffens up. You weren’t with him. Obviously. Why would you be? You had your own job and duties to attend to – you’re not with him in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. It’s stupid and foolish and he’s almost embarrassed for a brief moment before Kugisaki starts ranting and yelling about something or another, his attention getting drawn as she growls out well it’s Gojo’s fault then! He shivers.
(In retrospect, though, Satoru couldn’t say whether it’s in response to Kugisaki’s rage or the thought of you being next to him, breathing in his air, your shoulder brushing his, the sound of your steady breaths lulling him into something sweet, calm, dangerous.)
His daily thoughts slowly begin to include you, and as time passes this habit becomes worryingly difficult to combat. It’s not until he’s mid-fight, the breeze brushing against his cheeks and eyes blown wide as his fingers curl, cursed energy swarming around him and buzzing up up up that the small, fleeting thought of whether you’d find him attractive when he’s performing such high-level cursed techniques flits through his mind.
It throws him off-focus, the cursed energy suddenly tapering out, the curse before him smirking and rushing forward to take advantage of the opening. Of course Satoru recovers a moment later, dark, viscous purple blood splattering onto the pavement below and against his shoes as his energy slices the curse’s head clean in half. And yet, it’s enough to have Satoru suddenly very, very apprehensive.
Because what the fuck was that?
It’s one thing that he’s developed a sort of puppy crush, a sentiment that he’d only minimally acknowledged and simply chalked up to repressed sexual needs and a desire for entertainment, but this is completely different. Thinking about you mid-battle – enough to let his attention slip and his cursed energy falter – isn’t simply a puppy crush.
No, it’s much, much more: enough so that it leaves Satoru frowning, something like dread settling heavy in his chest. He hasn’t felt this sort of distraction or hyperfixation on another person since his high school days – and while you’re certainly no Suguru (you’re much prettier, for one, and he’d never spent nights fisting his cock so hard and for so long that he’d been reduced to dry orgasms at the thought of Suguru), the incident is enough to leave Satoru uncomfortably aware that his feelings are veering into dangerous territory.
And from that moment on, you become not only Satoru’s salvation, but also his Achilles Heel. Because the feelings and thoughts come absolutely flooding. There’s no pseudo-mental block there anymore keeping him from realizing and confronting the fact that he’s grown nerve-wrackingly dependent upon your presence and attention.
Instead, everything is just gushing out of him – the yearning for your attention, pushing him to buy all sorts of things and learn each and every scrap of information about your hobbies that he possibly can just so that he can impress you and have something to talk about with you. He suddenly starts feeling everything in full force, like the dam has broken and his desire, desperation, and hyperfixation on you is rushing through him at all times.
He’s seeing you out of the corner of his eye on missions – you ducking behind a corner, teasing him with just a glimpse of your profile and hair. (He’s left immediately reaching out a hand, calling your name, even starting to run towards you because oh god, you look so good and he has to talk to you and see you and hear you say his name please please please-)
You’re not there, of course, the alleyway he’d imagined you turning into completely empty, and Satoru is only able to stare with wide eyes, lips parted slightly, chest heaving because he could have sworn he saw you and the Six Eyes never lies.
He’s feeling phantom touches of your fingers against his skin – laying alone in his bed at night, the lonely penthouse he calls home feeling cold and sterile. He’s once again failing to sleep, staring at the ceiling and trying desperately to not imagine your face when he closes his eyes, only to feel the brush of soft fingers against his calf. Then fingernails down the defined lines of his abs. Then fluttering breath against his cheeks, soft lips against his neck, something warm and wet against his boxers –
There’s no one in his bed besides him, but it doesn’t stop him from jumping out of it, heart racing, mind running a mile a minute because he’s torn between taking a freezing shower and jumping back into bed to sink into the touch – your touch.
(It takes everything in his willpower to not reach out and touch you when he teleports to your room later that night, mask off as he stares at your sleeping form, counting your breaths, heartbeats, the atoms that make you up. It takes every bit of self-control to not pull your sheets aside and slide in, to take your limp, unconscious arms and wrap them around his torso, to feel your warmth against his back, to have you wrapped around him like you’re keeping him whole.
He can’t – once he starts, he won’t stop, and so he instead placates himself with a single kiss against the crown of your head – it’s long, easily ten seconds, his breath uneven and stuttered as he tries to simultaneously calm his racing heart and inhale your scent. But eventually, he takes his leave – just as your breathing stirs and you see the shadow of a man at the end of your bed.)
As time passes, Satoru’s feelings for you become more and more ingrained into his every waking moment, his yearning for you starting to feel like a physical wound that no amount of reverse cursed energy or medical attention can seem to fix. It burns, throbs, aches, becoming so impossible to ignore that he eventually gives up the battle.
He’s the Strongest, yes, but underneath all those layers of techniques, cursed energy, and confidence is Satoru as he really is: starved for love and hellbent on getting yours.
Protective
Satoru has lived all his life believing – and rightfully so – that he’s the most powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer alive, that he’s too strong to really have to worry about something as trivial as low-level curses. He’s a proud man, and a rather cocky one as well; there’s no doubt in his mind that with the exception of a few very high-level special grade curses, he can take care of just about anything he needs to.
Which is why, when you come along, at first Satoru doesn’t even blink twice at the idea that he’ll be able to protect you, that he’ll not only manage to swoop in and save you like some knight in shining armor, but that he’ll manage to look cool while doing it, and perhaps even seem suave and talented and oh so charming, which is a win-win in his eyes on every possible level.
(And god, thinking about the way you’d be so eager to thank him gets his knees feeling weak. Would you clutch onto him, pressing yourself against his chest while you say he’s so strong, thank you Satoru, you saved my life, pressing a delicate, bashful kiss against his cheek that feels like burning hot fire? Would you say you’d do anything for him? Would you say yes to never leaving his side?)
And really, that line of thinking works just fine – until suddenly he’s confronted with the harsh reality that he just can’t always be there to protect you, that he can’t keep you safe and sound and without a scratch at all times without neglecting every other duty in his life. It’s a sobering realization, and it’s one that catalyzes his desperation for you tenfold, if only because the concept of you getting hurt is absolutely mortifying.
It’s a dark evening when he wanders through the city, meandering back to the area he knows you tend to be at this hour (walking home from the nearest store or work, and you should be just getting off the bus at this point, maybe a block or two down from the station), but the moment those startling eyes meet your cowering, terrified form as the curse in front of you giggles and begins winding up to send a massive blast of cursed energy your way, Satoru feels his heart literally freeze.
His jaw drops and the bag of groceries in his hand (filled to the brim with sweets and snacks he was planning on spoiling you with, along with a few products he knows you’re almost out of even though you haven’t mentioned it) falls to the ground with a dull thud, a cold sweat forming on the back of his neck.
Your pretty eyes meet his, a small whisper of his name and hope swimming in their depths, and at the whirring noises the curse is making while it ramps up, suddenly Satoru is slicing the thing’s neck off, mercilessly beating it with his bare hands and snarling at it, going so far as to spit down at it while he breathes heavily, shoulders trembling and fingers twitching. He’s quick to turn around and check up on you, frantic hands wandering your body as he takes in the blood staining your clothing, the sweat making hair stick to your forehead, the blood trickling out of your nose while you blearily blink up at him, whispering his name and weakly clutching onto his shirt, making his heart absolutely fucking break.
You end up being fine, just a minor concussion and a few deep bruises (and of course the curse placed on you to make you forget that night), but even that is enough to have Satoru sobering up in terms of his ability to protect you, realizing that he may be strong, but does it mean fucking anything if he isn’t there to protect you, if he isn’t around to keep you out of harm’s way?
His mental state regarding you is already rather precarious, shame and guilt eating away at him because he knows it’s selfish and wrong of him to harbor feelings for you, and all it takes is a single reminder that there is a target on your back for him to remember this. It’s a crash back to reality – a brutal shattering of the delicate fantasy he’d deluded himself into believing that you were his little secret, that no curses or curse users would ever touch you.
He blames himself fully for you getting in the line of fire from that curse, and in all honesty the memory is what drives a lot of his more extreme yandere tendencies – he moves from a bit of a lovesick puppy with a penchant for craving your attention and love, and more toward an anxious, creepy mess of a man who feels as if he’s the only one who can properly care for you, who can truly take care of you.
He feels guilty about the whole ordeal, and though he wants terribly to confess to you just how regretful he is that he’d managed to fuck up the single most important responsibility he’s imposed on himself as your self-proclaimed guardian angel, but he can’t. His inability to communicate with you and be vulnerable in front of you bar him from any meaningful confession of his fanatical urge to protect you, and so Satoru deals with it in the only way he can think of: amping up the level of care he puts into making sure you’re safe, and fully, completely convincing himself that you aren’t able to take care of yourself, that you need him.
It’s disturbingly easy to do, in all honesty – he’s truly talented, and so as you walk through the streets of Tokyo, shopping or chatting with a friend, eating or waiting for the subway car, there will always be a pair of crystal blue eyes following your every move, determination set in stone to make sure that you’re never put in harm’s way again, that he’ll always be there and ready to jump in a moment’s notice, to be your true knight in shining armor and make you fall in love with him like he so desperately wants.
He tries his absolute hardest to be there with you as often as he can, but even Satoru can’t watch your every waking moment – and so, Satoru becomes extremely good at getting things done as quickly as he possibly can, just so he can run off and see you, be with you, watch you, smell you, maybe even lick a bit of your hair if you’d just get closer, please… He can’t just shrug off his sorcerer and teacher duties, as much as he’d like to, and so Satoru learns to work around his rather cramped schedule to carve out as much time as he possibly can dedicate to you.
And while it’s mostly successful, in the end Satoru resorts to means he’s not especially proud of - the tracker is just so fucking easy to slip on you. One in your phone, your purse, even one that Ieiri reluctantly placed in the back of your neck (after much pleading and promises to buy her sake for the next five years, along with some rather creative lies and misdirection when asked why).
He’s constantly whipping out his phone when he’s forced to be away from you, watching the small dot marking your location slowly move as you go about your day. He’s connected it to your Health app, tracking the number of steps you take and your movements, mentally chastising you when you have lazy days where you don’t leave your apartment. (But god, does he wish he could be right beside you on your sofa, head resting on the soft plush of your thighs and your fingers carding through his hair, his tongue slipping out to kitten lick at the seam of your sweatpants, pouty blue eyes gazing up at you because oh please, he can practically smell you and it’s making his mouth water – won’t you put him out of his misery and just let him rip the pants off of you?)
He feels a bit guiltier when he eventually installs the hacking feature into the tracker as well, accessing your banking apps, camera roll, password manager, hell, even your notes app. And he’s pouring through it all with a steady, constantly scrolling thumb, blue eyes scanning the screen compulsively to pick up any clues about what you’re doing, who you’re with, if you’re in any immediate danger.
(And he really feels guilty when he learns that he can actively tap into the camera itself, able to watch your face as you scroll through your social media, as you distract yourself on public transit, as you whine and gasp while the shitty quality porn flashes across your screen. It makes his own skin crawl to be invading your privacy like this, but he just can’t help it – not when it’s so addicting to see your face as confirmation that you’re alive and unharmed. Not when it’s cathartic to hear your voice, even if you’re just making noises and barely audible over the buzzing noise of that damn vibrator you seem to love so much. Not when it’s the only thing he can seem to focus on as his mission carries him further and further away from you, the physical distance making him panic because how will you survive if he’s not there to save you?)
He’s lucid enough to understand that his protectiveness manifests in ways that aren’t especially healthy, but Satoru clings onto the belief that he’s the only one capable of truly taking care of you and keeping you safe. He becomes completely convinced that because he’s formed such an attachment to you, he’s automatically placed you in danger as a target for his enemies. And after doing something so terrible without you even knowing, how can he not think that his devoted dedication to your safety is the bare minimum? How can he not feel that he must keep tabs on you in person or virtually every moment of the day for fear that he’ll find you in bits and pieces rather than living, breathing, whole?
His obsession is many, many things, but he’s painfully lucid in understanding exactly what position you’re put into solely because of his attentions.
And so, Satoru takes all the precautions he can – tracking, stalking, keeping tabs on your grocery supplies and heating in your apartment. Anything and everything he can to ensure that you’re taken care of. It helps to ever so slightly ease the terror and guilt constantly plaguing him for having developed something as all-consuming and dangerous as his feelings for you, and becoming your overprotective stalker helps to calm the anxiety and dread he feels every moment that he’s not physically holding you against his chest and away from the world. H
e’s obsessive about your safety, surely, fueled on by the genuine self-imposed belief that you’re completely helpless against potential enemies without him, so congratulations – you’ve landed yourself a tall, terrifying monster of a man dead set on keeping you safe and sound and his, and making sure that you know just how much he cares.
Clingy
But in a very specific way – despite the aloof, confident persona he puts forward in his day-to-day life, deep down Satoru is incredibly lonely. He’s lived his whole life being revered, idolized, and ostracized for being the Strongest, and it’s left little to no room for him to form healthy, normal human attachments.
He’s a tool and weapon to his family and clan members.
He’s a formidable ally whose power is the ace in the hole for fellow sorcerers.
He’s an irritating, unpredictable sensei for his students.
He was a reliable, bratty friend in his high school years.
He wears many hats and fulfils them to the best of his ability, but this constant assumption about who he is, why he exists, and what he should do leaves Satoru a shell of a man. He has no real reference point for who he actually is – what he truly wants and desires, outside of the vague goal of reforming Jujutsu society. And with the exception of Getou and Shoko, he’s always struggled to form meaningful, genuine relationships with others because of this. He felt comfortable with the two of them, but the walls surrounding his true feelings and heart are thick, solid, and nearly impossible to break down.
(And though Satoru doesn’t want to admit it, he keeps them up more out of a sense of fear than necessity. He’s terrified that one day he’ll let the wrong person in and wind up with his heart wrenched out – physically or metaphorically – and devastated. And after Getou’s defection, this concern is only amplified because now he knows exactly what that it feels like and he’ll be damned before he sets himself up for that kind of hurt again.)
He’s difficult to crack simply because the shell that needs to be split open is nearly impossible to find, even for him. And so, once you step into his life, it’s almost as if everything else shifts. The level of warmth and desire he feels toward you is dizzying, his desperation and longing for you pathetic and embarrassing even to him, though he can’t stop it.
And as a result, Satoru is constantly waging a war inside his head – he wants to be around you, but he still struggles to put himself into that position of vulnerability. He wants to have you in his sight at all times – needs you to be close enough to touch, smell, hear, and even taste, just to sate the wild, untamable terror that grips him at the thought of what could happen to you. He needs you to be attached at the hip, your eyes constantly looking at him and only him, your voice caressing the vowels of his name in the way that only you can.
It’s pathological and pushes him to spend as much time as humanly possible with you, but the moment that Satoru interacts with you, it’s like something doesn’t quite click.
He’s so hardwired into portraying this image of the Satoru Gojo that he finds it incredibly difficult to discern exactly how he should act with you. He’s not sure what mask he needs to take on with you – perhaps The Strongest? All piercing blue eyes, too-wide smiles, voice low and resolute with a sort of manic desire for violence and victory?
No, likely not – though he idly wonders whether you’d find yourself driven by some primal instinct to be around him if you could see just how capable he is, how much of a provider.
The silly, irritating Satoru?
No, probably not – it’s a show, sure, but with each comment about how annoying he can be and how both students and fellow sorcerers alike sigh the moment they see him, he worries about giving you this sort of negative connotation, too.
The egotistical, arrogant Gojo?
No, probably not – his youth is far behind him, and while he knows he’s the Strongest, he worries that he’ll accidentally offend you – something he’s always actively tried to do with others.
And really, what’s left? What other identity can he wear in front of you? What other personalities can he adopt for you? He’s unsure, which is why you’ll often be put into situations with him that leave you entirely confused as to what’s happening. He’ll come to you, plastering on a smirk that doesn’t match his body language, palms wet with sweat and his heart racing as he forces out a compliment of you look lonely, need a big, strong man to keep you company?
It’s meant to be sweet, you think, but his delivery is oddly choppy, his weight shifting from foot to foot the moment the words leave his lips, immediate regret sinking into him because dammit, he knew he shouldn’t have copied the romcom lead’s lines.
And the awkwardness is so palpable and thick that it only ends up making you laugh, confusion lacing your tone but amusement still pushing you forward. You’re terrible, Satoru, you’ll say, and although it isn’t the bashful, flustered response he’d been aiming for, something in his knees go weak because fuck, when you say his name like that it takes everything in his power to not let his jaw go slack, a whine fall from his lips, and his body surge forward with the frantic goal of feeling your skin.
He’ll buy you all sorts of snacks and pretty trinkets, spending hours debating what he should write as a note – corny but rhyming? Serious but potentially melodramatic? He’ll practice his handwriting for a solid twenty minutes before he ever gets his pen to paper, perfecting the script to look casual but not messy, manly but not boyish.
He’ll briefly entertain the idea of giving it to you in person, keeping his gaze on you and watching the way you smile softly and thank him, but even the thought gets him swallowing heavily, panic and worry eating away at him because if you don’t respond that way he’s not sure what he’ll do, and what if what if what if?
(Instead, he’ll settle with leaving it outside the door to your apartment, a bouquet of flowers to match the pretty, sapphire bracelet he’d bought you, making sure to carefully remove the price tag before packaging it himself.)
And as time passes and his infatuation with you only grows stronger and more extreme, Satoru’s fear of being around you and potentially hurting or offending you grows more intense, too. He’s terrified that he’ll drive you away, that he won’t be able to connect with you in a normal, human way, that you’ll eventually throw him aside like the others he’s taken a chance on and let in.
It’s fear, but it doesn’t stop his desire to be around you – he fights tooth and nail, forcing himself through the fear because being away from you is somehow even more painful than the look of hatred on your face. And throughout the entire process even once he’s stolen you away, you’ll be left to blindly guess just what it is that Satoru Gojo feels for you. Obviously it’s something, but his behavior is so sporadic and difficult to interpret that you’ll eventually give up.
One moment he’s staring at you with his lips parted, a light pink dusting his cheeks as you laugh, and the next he’s curtly brushing you off, fingers skimming your hand as he smacks your arm away, fist clenched and shoved straight into his pant pocket, his expression almost looking pained.
It’s confusing, but his presence is a constant in your life – always at the edges, present even when he goes through bouts of being unable to look at you without falling to his knees. And really, that’s much more true than you could ever know – those eyes are always watching you, the very few free moments he has between missions and obligations spent entirely on settling into the quiet, dark corner of your apartment as you sleep soundly.
His entire body is still, simply watching and soaking in your presence, and it’s in these moments that his clinginess truly shines through – he’s whispering all sorts of things into the empty air of your silent bedroom. Compliments about the way you speak, the way you smell, how the sunlight hits your skin and hair just right, how you always stop to pet animals that pass you by in the street. He’s letting his imagination run wild with ideas of reaching out and touching you – innocent touches, really, like letting his fingers trace the curve of your collarbone, cupping the muscle of your calf, running his knuckles against your own.
(Of course, they’re not always so pure – every once in a while he has a strong, disturbingly vivid urge to reach out and rip the sheets off your body, crawling between your legs and hearing the way you cry out his name, tug at his hair, cage him in with your thighs to make sure he stays you with you forever and ever –
It doesn’t happen often, but when it does Satoru immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose and leaning against the wall for support, forcing his body to forget the phantom taste of you against his tongue and the not-quite-there feeling of your soft skin against his. It’s completely natural to fantasize, he’s nearly thirty for Christ’s sake – but the thought of fantasizing about you makes him queasy, guilt eating away at him because he feels as if he’s defiling you in some way, tainting you. When he returns back to his apartment the following morning, teleporting just in time to miss your sleepy eyes opening, he’s immediately grasping the edge of his sink, breathing so hard he’s nearly hyperventilating, hand already wrapped painfully tight around his cock as he pulls and tugs and tries desperately to think about anything but you.)
So really, while it’s not traditional in any sense of the word, Satoru is clingy in that he’s constantly fighting with himself to be around you more, to draw your attention to him where he really craves it. He’s awkward and entirely unused to navigating a situation where someone has such strong emotional sway over him, and he’s essentially caught into limbo up until he’s forced to steal you away.
It’s pathetic, really, but each time he tries to gather the courage and simply talk to you like a normal person, he freezes up, panic engulfing him as he imagines all the ways this could go terribly wrong. It’s sad, and he knows it – but when you just shake your head and chuckle at some lame bit he’d tried on you, something between a groan and a gasp slips out of him, the desperation to have you hitting him so hard that it physically hurts.
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
Jealousy is not a pretty look on Satoru.
It’s embarrassing, pathetic, dangerous in a way that you can’t articulate but feel acutely, and it’s something that happens to him frequently. Very frequently.
It stems primarily from the fact that he’s simply never really experienced envy in a significant way. As the strongest sorcerer with ample wealth, status, and influence, there are very few circumstances that Satoru finds himself in where he becomes jealous of another. He’s often the one calling the shots in some capacity, and although his persona is a façade in many ways, the self-confidence in his own abilities is entirely genuine.
And sure, perhaps there are fleeting moments where he idly wonders what it would be like to be a completely normal person, to not have jujutsu talent or even just less of it. There are times that he gets caught in his own head, downtime typically following the resurfacing of his high school days and Getou, where he finds himself wishing that he had a better family, a better network of friends, the leisure and capacity to choose his own actions and destiny away from the crushing, overwhelming duty he feels as the Strongest. It happens, but it’s fleeting and difficult to grasp at and hold close to his chest.
And so, Satoru remains largely inexperienced of how to navigate and deal with jealousy, and once the most precious thing in his life – you – are thrown into the mix, he becomes unstable. Unsteady, turbulent, unpredictable.
Because really it’s not just a terror that you’ll be wooed by some other man – that’s certainly there, his insecurities rearing their ugly heads and leaving him panicked that you’ll want someone less irritating, more tactful, better and more your type – but the main emotion that grips him is fear. There’s fear that you’ll abandon him, that your absence in his life will leave him to fall right back into the dark abyss he’d been drowning in prior to meeting you, and the concept is genuinely terrifying. You’ve become so important and central to his life that to rip you out of his grasp would be to rip out his very heart and soul; you’re his everything, and to lose you would mean a sudden, painful death.
But even if he sees you rejecting the would-be-suitor, your words harsh or biting or even unnervingly polite, it doesn’t subside the fear that grips him. Rather, there’s the ever-present terror that you’ll be swindled or stolen away by an enemy of his.
Satoru is no fool; he’s acutely aware that he’s not exactly beloved, that there are curses, curse-users, and sorcerers alike who’d actively prey upon his downfall, and he’s not deluded enough to think that they wouldn’t employ you as a weapon in this endeavor. Because really, you’re a weakness. You’re Satoru’s Achille’s heel, the thorn in his side that he cherishes and nurtures and wants so desperately to keep isolated from the rest of the world. And he’s certainly not the only one who knows of your existence, try as he might to be subtle, to remove himself from you, to keep you completely and utterly unaffected by him.
It’s the combined fear of you abandoning him and caring for your safety that gets Satoru’s heart racing so fast that he thinks he may die, his hands trembling and his eyes blowing wide, cursed energy flaring up so strongly that it makes every living thing around him shrink back. And even as his jaw ticks and every muscle in his body clenches so hard it nearly hurts, Satoru’s gaze is staying entirely and only transfixed on you, focused entirely on the way that you’re feeling, those eyes of his catching every micro change of your expressions or body language.
And really, it’s this tunnel vision on you that leads Satoru to act; he wants to simply walk up and tear the offending man apart limb by limb, to hear his screams and desperate pleas while Satoru cages you face first into his chest, your hot breaths fanning against his racing heart, but he holds himself back. He’s so, so painfully aware of your perception of him that to simply rush in and slaughter the man while compulsively chanting she belongs to me would surely derail all of the careful work he’s put into making you like him.
(And he’s not even totally sure if it’s working – how could be possibly backpedal any positive progress he’s made just because he lost his cool over a man asking for directions on the busy streets of Tokyo?)
It takes every ounce of effort he can muster, but Satoru will force himself to refrain from immediately resorting to violence, instead clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth nearly crack and keeping a very, very close eye on the interaction. He’s studying every small shift in your behavior, scanning the man’s every move and breath for any sense of ill intent, his own pulse skyrocketing as blood rushes past his ears.
He’s so on edge that he can only focus on the two of you, momentarily entirely blind to his surroundings, straining his ears and eyes to hear the words and read your lips.
He won’t directly approach, if only because he’s not stupid enough to barge in without a plan, knowing that he’ll slip up and reveal too much of the truth, his words tinged with possessiveness, desperation, a sort of neediness that will surely make you cringe and distance yourself. Instead, he placates himself on watching, plotting and thinking, trying to decipher if this stranger is a genuine threat to your safety – and your love.
But of course, there are times when Satoru’s jealousy is simply too strong to handle, or when his observation leads him to believe that the offending man is more dangerous than he appears. It’s in these moments that Satoru’s self-control slips slightly, the raw panic that grips him at the thought of you being stolen from under his nose impossible to control.
They’ve really expanded the flavor options, haven’t they? The man’s voice behind you startles you slightly, and for a moment you ignore him, unsure who he’s talking to you.
But then he continues, and you turn around with a small, polite smile on your face. Kind of overwhelming, huh?
His voice is deep, gravelly. Your smile tightens slightly when you notice the faint scars littered around the man’s face, and you subconsciously clutch at your purse a bit harder. The café wasn’t normally busy enough to have a line formed, but a quick glance at the wall clock tells you you’re running slightly late for work – right at peak morning time.
Yeah, sometimes I freeze up at the register. You’re not really sure why you answer him, some sense of discomfort urging you to placate what appears to be a rather tense smile on his face, but you turn back toward the front of the line after your mouth closes.
It’s silent for a few more blessed seconds, only the sound of coffee grinders and the acoustic guitar playing over the speakers. Then he speaks again.
What do you normally get?
Heaving a deep breath, you swallow. I like to mix it up, you answer over your shoulder, unwilling to open the conversation up further. His presence felt ominous behind you, like something wound tight and ready to pounce.
You hear him snicker, and feel him take a step closer to you. No need to lie, sweets. Your routine is awfully easy to crack, after all.
You freeze, eyes wide ahead, fear creeping up your spine. All too slowly your gaze is darting around the café, noting how far the door is, how many other people are around, who would see you if the man stepped any closer. Your nails dig into the leather of your purse strap, fingers shaking slightly.
You’re just about to step out of line – coffee be damned, even if the headache you’ll suffer later will leave you incapacitated – when his hand comes down and sinks against your shoulder, grip tighter enough that you feel bruises begin to bloom.
Don’t bother running, I know where you live. He rattles off your address smoothly, gravelly voice sounding far too pleased with itself. A sharp gasp rips through you, and for a brief moment your eyes squint shut, muscles flexing as you prepare to dart out of line and out the front door, practically already hearing the little chime ringing in your haste-
A different hand settles at your other shoulder. The grip is just as tense, though his nails dig into you slightly less.
You hear a distinctive thwack sound behind you as the stranger smacks at the creep’s hand, effectively removing the offender’s clutch on you. You’re still slightly frozen, but the savior’s voice cuts through you like a knife.
Weren’t you ever told women don’t like creepy? Though I suppose with a face like that you don’t have many options.
Your blood runs hot suddenly, and you’re turning around before you can really think about it, the familiar head of silvery white hair towering over the other man. Satoru’s eyes are wide, unblinking, and with a small start you notice he’s omitted his sunglasses today – showcasing the uncanny, too-bright gaze he keeps hidden.
Unconsciously, you take a small, nearly unnoticeable step toward Satoru, and something in his knees goes slightly weak, Adam’s apple bobbing as a twisted, bubbling surge of pleasure sparks through his gut.
The stranger scowls, attention completely focused on Satoru, the air feeling heavier and charged between them.
Damned sorcerer, shouldn’t you be out of the country right now? Skirting your missions just for a subpar piece of ass?
Satoru’s jaw works, another wave of rage bubbling up inside him at the curse-user’s gall to insult your appearance – to even acknowledge you, really.
Keep her out of your filthy mouth. Now run along, before I stop feeling generous enough to spare you.
The man glares at Satoru for a few more moments, before scoffing and – to your horror – spitting at Satoru’s chest. His blue eyes don’t even blink, fixed entirely on watching the way the stranger stomps through the café’s door, the little bell making you release your breath.
Satoru, I –
He cuts you off, his other hand coming up to grip at your open shoulder, only to flinch when you wince, the bruises already formed. Instead, the hand moves to cup at your chin, turning your head this way and that, blue eyes scanning up and down your body in a way that makes you almost embarrassed.
Did he touch you anywhere else? Are you hurt? His voice is robotic, though you can hear the slightest edge of something in it – something that sounds suspiciously like fear.
Shaking your head, Satoru visibly relaxes, though he’s still staring down at you, and you notice in a sort of far-off way that he hasn’t blinked once since you’d turned around.
Your lips part, the start of his name and a thanks slipping off your tongue, but suddenly he’s snatching his hands back as if you’d burned him, stumbling back a few steps and breathing heavier, that intensity in his eyes vanishing and instead being replaced with something more wild.
You call out his name again as he turns on his heel and all but sprints away, the bell chime ringing again and leaving you dumbfounded. You’re just about to follow him, to ask what the hell just happened, but the barista behind the counter is looking at you expectantly, flashing you a half-irritated half-genuine smile as they say next, please.
You step to the counter, once again glancing at the clock and trying to let your tardiness occupy the spaces the man’s threats and Satoru’s words won’t seem to leave.
And a mere fifty yards away, sandwiched between old brick buildings, Satoru’s face is entirely devoid of emotion, cursed energy wrapped around the curse-user’s neck in a vice grip three feet off the ground.
Where did you get your information. It’s not a question, and the man sneers before Satoru tightens the ring of energy, leaving him to splutter and cough.
Tell me.
It’s no use though, because at the man’s silence, something in Satoru snaps, and each of the man’s limbs are pulled clean off, his screams cut short by force decapitation. And as the heavy thunk thunk thunk of his body parts landing on the wet, dirty concrete ground fill Satoru’s ears, he can only scowl, cursing and kicking at a nearby puddle.
Fuck, he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing at his lips. Unease and paranoia seep through him as the adrenaline and rage slowly taper out, the anger he felt upon seeing the man’s hand on you and reading his lips slowly being replaced with terror. But as he slowly stalks back to the café, catching sight of your hurried figure rushing down the sidewalk toward the bus stop to make it to work, Satoru can only sharply exhale.
He swallows, leaning back against the building wall for a brief moment, before setting off, matching your pace as he follows you from a distance. He’d need to ask around once he got back to the school – interrogate the curse-users detained, see if anyone had any leads as to how the stranger had learned your address, connection to Satoru, and morning routine.
But for now, he keeps his gaze trained on your figure, lips twitching downward at the thought of those vile man’s hands touching you.
The man’s fingers touching you even through the layers of your jacket and shirt – touching you before Satoru.
His fingers flex, already resolved to spend the night stationed at the foot of your bed, reversed-curse technique flowing from his hands into the bruises bloomed on your shoulder. He scoffs.
Bastard.
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
As a general rule, Satoru tries to keep everything as consensual between the two of you as possible. He’s so incapable of building a normal relationship with you that everything moves very slowly, entirely stunted by his own crippling fear that he’ll move you too fast, that he’ll push you into something before you’re ready. He’s convinced that any sort of positive reaction you have to him can’t be completely genuine, that there’s some ulterior motive or force pushing you to feel any sort of fondness, attraction, or joy with him.
It’s paranoia at its finest, and perhaps a deep-seated insecurity that he doesn’t know how to process, but it leaves him with the compulsive need to make sure that you verbally consent repeatedly before he does literally anything. (With the exception of stalking you or any other task he deems necessary to maintain your safety and health, of course.)
And for much of your ‘relationship’, or at least the early parts, this is just fine – he’s texting if he can meet up with you for lunch, even though he knows which restaurant you’re walking to already and that you’re wearing that new pair of shoes you got and oh, you styled your hair differently today.
He’s inviting you over to his penthouse for a movie (he’d had the place meticulously cleaned, spraying his cologne throughout and then suddenly changing his mind in case it was too much), sitting next to you but not quite close enough to touch you.
He’s been thinking about it all night, but when he finally, finally gathers the courage to wrap an arm around you, he’s hovering his arm awkwardly, doubt settling in once you blink at him in confusion. It’s not verbally asking for your consent, sure, but it amounts to the same thing – and thank god for the throw pillows he’d fluffed up before you arrived, their cushiness hiding the tents in his pants well enough.
(Because when you’re this close to him he can smell you, heaving deep breaths in and out, and he can feel your body heat and even a bit of your cursed energy against his skin, the sensation making every nerve in his body feel alight and dangerously sensitive.)
And so, Satoru does genuinely want everything between the two of you to be desired on your end. He wants to be wanted by you – he needs to be wanted by you, and so the thought of pushing you into something serious like living together genuinely terrifies him. Hell, he can’t even ask you to be his girlfriend or admit that he has romantic feelings for you out of fear of scaring you or driving you away, and so the concept of moving in together is far, far more than he can reasonably bring up. His obsessive and possessive sides would be absolutely thrilled – to have you under his roof, waiting for him to come home from grueling missions with your arms and legs wide open for him is a wet dream come true.
But in actuality?
Well, he hasn’t even held your hand or kissed you yet – he’s never done this before, sure, but even he knows that it’s a little early to ask you to move in with him. And so, Satoru silently suffers, wallowing in his fantasies but never acting, trying to play the ‘long-game’ to keep you from rejecting him and to keep himself from doing something that can’t be undone.
But, like always, Jujustu society is never so kind to him. He thought he’d done well at keeping his festering obsession at bay; artfully dodging questions from his students and coworkers about why he spends so much time smiling at his phone “like some middle-school twerp who’s never even seen a girl’s underwear before”, as Kugisaki so eloquently put it.
He thought he’d done a good job at finishing his missions as quickly as possible without sacrificing thoroughness, just to maximize his time spent following you without cutting into his duties as a sorcerer.
He’d thought he was being discreet, balancing his time as teacher and sorcerer well with time carved out for you, and yet that all comes crashing down in a single sentence.
Satoru detested going to the annual clan meetings, always scowling and purposefully trying to irritate and derail the conversation, but it’s only in a lull that he hears it.
Seems you’ve been failing to live up to your namesake, eh Gojo? He could smell Naobito Zen’in’s breath before he even turned to face him, irritation already settling in his gut.
Satoru smiled, icy sharp, and kept his voice as condescending as possible. When the quality of all the infamous clans starts lacking, why should I have to be the difference?
Naobito’s eye twitched at that, his smirk turning into a scowl. They say it’s a girl draggin’ you down. Say the whore’s slowing you down, distracting you, and that maybe she’s a curse herself – though intel suggests she’s nothing even remotely special in terms of Jujutsu.
And though he’d kept his face completely neutral, the weight of his words weren’t lost on Satoru. If Naobito – drunkard that he is – knew about you, it was too late. They knew about you.
They knew about you.
The rest of the meeting had been a blur – muffled voices and pointless arguments, the Gojo heir uncharacteristically silent. All Satoru could think about was you – they knew about you, and he had no doubts they knew your name, address, weaknesses, anything and everything. No doubts that his attachment to you would be capitalized on, used to control him, your life simply becoming leverage to manipulate the weapon that is Satoru Gojo for the higher-ups’ whims.
Sleep eludes him that night, and he spends the long hours settled on your bedroom floor, sitting and staring unblinkingly at your sleeping face, allowing himself to edge closer and closer, until your soft, warm breaths fanned across his face.
No tears slipped down his cheeks, only a feeling of bitter, resentful acceptance ebbing through him like waves.
But even as he pried himself off your floor right as the sun rose through your window, finding himself in the medical bay with Shoko a mere hour later, her words are the final nail in the coffin, punctuating the hours of silent, fretful contemplation. Are you doing okay?
It makes him bark out a laugh, sounding strained, and Shoko merely sighs, turning around to put something away in a wall shelf. You look like shit, so don’t bother answering.
It’s silent for a moment, and Satoru clasps his hands together tightly, sitting hunched over on the chair in the corner of the room.
You know you can’t keep this up, right? Shoko’s voice is hard, and Satoru closes his eyes. I don’t care if she’s your own personal Mairlyn Monroe. Either you get your shit together and remember you’re the most depended-on sorcerer, or they’ll kill her.
Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette, and Satoru stares blankly at the floor.
He’d left some twenty minutes later, Shoko’s voice carrying him out with a if you love her, you won’t do that to her.
And later that same night, Satoru finds himself once again stationed beside your bed, your breathing even and deep, little groans and sounds slipping past your sleeping lips that make something in his chest ache. Guilt eats away at him as he quickly reaches out and swipes at the pressure point in your neck, your sharp little inhale making him bite his lip. And yet it doesn’t stop him from carefully gathering you in his arms, taking care to keep you pressed securely against his chest as his arms loop behind your back and knees.
Transporting you is simple, the familiar walls of the small home he’d quietly purchased months ago greeting him. It’d been a plea to placate some of the overwhelming paranoia eating away at him, the knowledge that he have a small, remote home already prepared for you making him feel ever so slightly calmer, ever so slightly more sane.
And it’d been an outlet for a long while to help funnel his obsessiveness into something productive, useful – the completely outfitted home was evidence of that.
Closets full of clothes in your exact size with luxurious materials, all in your favorite colors, styles, and fabrics. (Lots of baby blue and white items, too, regardless of whether you like them, simply because he subconsciously couldn’t resist the mental image of you in his colors, the thought making something pleasant and possessive curl in his gut. Like he’s staking a claim on you. He hasn’t put the pretty, white lingerie set into the closet yet, keeping it stashed away safely in his own closet, but one day you’ll wake up to find it there. Probably. Though the off-white stains are a bit embarrassing.)
Your favorite snacks and sweets stuffing the kitchen cabinets full, waiting for you to devour. (And god, what he’d give to hand feed you – to see your pretty lips open wide, to let him drop a piece of candy against your tongue, the let his fingers linger and press against the insides of your teeth, only to return them back to his own mouth and suck, trying to taste every bit of you he can.)
He’s bought an exact replica of your bed, all the way down to the mattress, sheets, pillows, and blankets. (He’s slept in them before, clutching the pillow to his chest and murmuring your name lowly under his breath, fantasizing about the moment that he’ll finally have you slipped under these sheets, too, your face smoothed into the pillow, into his chest, against his lips.)
Your favorite shampoos and body products, even the ones you eyed in the stores but ultimately deemed too expensive. (And no, not every single one has been tampered with. Only a few. Well, most of them, but even Satoru Gojo can’t finish into every single bottle of your products – he has to save some for you, after all, even if the thought of fucking you is far, far too much for him right now.)
Your favorite books, movies, and shows all sitting around, filling every nook and cranny of the small home, the TV set up to access streaming devices but nothing live or connected to the greater world. (With a small couch to match, so that you can be completely comfortable while watching and so that he can join you, if you’d let him.)
The house is even built in the style he knows you love – regardless of expense, he’s pulled out all the stops to make it as comfortable as possible to help ease a transition into captive life that he knows you don’t want. And this sense of lucidity and shame for his actions and feelings becomes very apparent once he’s stolen you away.
That is, Satoru is not a suffocating captor. Of course, his presence is a constant – always hovering in doorways or in the corners of the room, always looking at you (often without any eye coverings, but you can still feel it even through the blindfold or glasses, as much as you try to ignore it). He’s always just sort of there, lingering and basking in the pleasure of seeing you and being physically near you, even if he’s not speaking to you or touching you.
He has very minimal expectations of you, instead allowing you to do whatever you so please so long as your safety isn’t in question. And speaking of, that’s another major component of being Satoru’s captive: he absolutely will not allow you to anything potentially dangerous.
He’s not especially patronizing in most aspects of his feelings (aside from the very obvious power and strength imbalance between the two of you), but he’s removed all the knives, peelers, scrapers, and graters from the kitchen. The stove is set to only reach the lowest possible temperature needed to boil water, and there’s a kid-proof lock sitting in the neighboring cabinet that he doesn’t want to install but will should you need your privilege to safely use the heat revoked. Even in the restrooms, he’s purposefully keeping the shower water just hot enough to be refreshing but not hot enough to burn, and the toilet seat is purposefully angled so that your head won’t fit no matter how hard you try.
It makes him feel guilty, yes, but he’s able to excuse it as simply caring for your safety. Because while he knows he shouldn’t have stolen you away from your old life, the threat of other sorcerers and curses coming after you is only slightly more terrifying than the thought of you managing to injure yourself. He cares too deeply to let even a scratch mar your pretty skin, so it’s really in your best interest to just deal with the rather humiliating task of asking him to chop vegetables for you, or to shave your legs.
(He’s terrible at chopping vegetables and will blanch slightly at the ask, but he’ll actually have the gall to look genuinely offended at the latter request. It’s not often that you see him truly at a loss for words, but how can he possibly convey to you that your body is absolutely perfect? That he’s simultaneously endeared and aroused by the shape and curve of your legs, every hair, blemish, and scar included? How can he possibly tell you he’s had dry orgasms to the thought of those legs wrapped around his waist, your hair feeling soft against his lower back as the muscles clench and squeeze, his thrusts turning harder and faster and more and more desperate as his orgasm draws closer and closer?)
‘Living’ with Satoru is really more a matter of getting used to the monotony of captivity and staving off the loneliness during bouts where he’s feeling especially unworthy and unsure of how to interact with you. You’ll never be placed into danger, and frankly he spoils you more than you’d thought humanly possible. With the highest quality foods just to your liking, the best entertainment he can provide you without allowing you to connect with others besides him, and the presence of an over-eager, terrified man following you like your second shadow, there’s a very good chance that your resentment and hatred of Satoru will slowly ebb into something duller, then something apathetic, and then perhaps even something warm, sickly, wanting.
Because while he may be terrifying in his own way with his excessive knowledge of you and penchant for stalking you even in the home he’s forced you into, eventually Satoru will wear you down. Knowingly or not, it doesn’t matter. You’re safe with him, after all – he tells you as such, when he thinks you’re asleep, curled up on the floor and staring eye-level as you softly snore.
Safe from anyone and everything, locked up where neither man nor curse can harm you – the only one you really need to watch out for is Satoru himself, for as his obsession eats him whole, eventually it’ll devour you, too.
PUNISHMENTS:
Though Satoru slowly grows more comfortable with the idea of emotional intimacy, it’s a very, very gradual process. His walls are shrouded so high around his heart, and the idea of crumbling them down little by little is equal parts daunting and terrifying. He’s just too afraid of rejection, of pain, of the very possible reality that you won’t ever want someone who is as emotionally scarred and alien as he is.
The longer his obsession goes on, festering and sinking its claws into him, the more Satoru is convinced that he genuinely can’t love you like a normal man could. He wants to – god does he want to – but he’s simply not wired for it. He’s feeling something closely resembling love, sure, but it’s like looking in a distorted mirror. It’s the right shape, soft and fragile in the palm of his hand, reverent in the way his lips round and edge around the syllables of your name like a prayer. But there’s something ever so slightly off about it, something uncanny and strange and uncomfortable, like a poison dressed as a perfume.
Where other men are flustered and nervous to approach the woman of their dreams, Satoru is terrified – what does he say? How does he start the conversation? How should he act, behave, speak, look, how does he make himself appear more human?
Where other men are able to casually reach an arm around their partner’s shoulders or press a teasing, soft kiss to their temple, Satoru’s tongue only lamely jerks against the inside of his teeth, pushing and trying desperately to escape, only to no avail.
Where other men are easygoing, natural, and calming, Satoru is only empty, blank, needy.
He’s entirely unsure of how to even go about developing your loose friendship into something more, and as a result nearly every aspect of his infatuation with you is tinted by this fact. He relies more on stalking than actual conversation. He bites his lip and fumes when other men approach you rather than immediately cutting in and saying some suave line, simultaneously marking his claim over you and coming off as cool in your eyes. He aches and nearly sobs himself to sleep some nights alone in his too-big, too-cold bed before he’s stolen you away, clutching at the sheets and trying desperately to not think about your smile, lips, body, or voice.
He’s pathetic, really, so wrapped up in his own head and how you’ll perceive him, and nothing shows this off worse than once he’s finally stolen you away, keeping you under lock and key in the house he’d purchased specially for you. And specifically, Satoru’s inability to communicate and approach you in a normal, healthy way will really show when it comes to how he handles your uncooperative behavior. As a kidnapper, he’s generally pretty hot-and-cold, unpredictable to the extreme in whether he demands your attention or skirts away from it. And so, while he certainly isn’t trying to be difficult, you’ll be left to wonder exactly what it is that Satoru wants from you.
He constantly sends you mixed signals. One moment he’ll be biting his lip and staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes, the muscles in his fingers twitching every once in a while, his knee bouncing from where he sits on the other end of the sofa from you.
(You could swear you saw him lick his lips, too, his blue eyes flashing down to your own mouth for a split second, but it’d happened so fast you can’t be sure, and you’re still not entirely sure what that meant. Does he want to kiss you? Rip your tongue out? Some unknown third option? You’re not sure, so it’s best to just ignore it.)
But the next second he’s staring past you, almost through you, not listening to a word you’re saying and instead clenching his jaw tight, guilt eating through him because he can physically see how distraught you are at being trapped here. With him. With him.
And this whiplash will lead to there being very few hard and fast rules under Satoru’s dominion. He’s not strict with you by any stretch of the imagination, and rather is almost too hands-off. He’s not telling you what you can and can’t eat, what television programs you can watch. (Of course, he’d curated the selection in the first place, tending to avoid your favorite picks where he deems the actors to be too attractive, and any containing intimate scenes with actors who are particularly well endowed. Not that Satoru has anything to worry about, really, something you’ll be more than aware of the first time you see the way just your smile gets those slacks of his fitting very, very snugly, but Satoru insists.)
He’s not even threatening you against attempting to escape or lashing out at him, his lucidity forcing him to bear the brunt and pain of knowing that you want to leave him and hate him. And because he doesn’t enforce any sort of rule-based system once he’s stolen you away, it’s very rare that anything resembling a punishment for your ‘misbehaviors’ will occur. So rare, in fact, that it takes a catastrophic situation for him to really even consider any sort of negative action against you in retaliation for something you’ve done.
It’s the sort of situation that would only happen if multiple things go wrong – maybe Satoru is gone away for a mission (something he hates having to do once he’s taken you if only because his paranoia eats away at him all the while), maybe you’re feeling particularly rebellious and angry, and maybe the curse that manages to edge its way in has some sort of object distortion ability that lets it phase through the very heavily reinforced walls of the house. It has to be the perfect storm to ruffle Satoru’s feathers enough to make him panic and take such extreme action, because his punishments are always the result of an extreme emotional reaction on his end.
But even then, he’d never, ever hurt you – he worships the ground you walk on, and so no fleck of cursed energy or touch with the intention of violence will ever land on you. Rather, his panic will drive him to rely on something less tangible, something more psychological – forcing you to recognize that although you may hate him, and although his love for you may be the root of many dangers, you need him. He’s sworn to protect you better than you could ever hope to protect yourself, and he’ll make good on that promise – he’ll show you as much.
In retrospect, perhaps you’d been just a bit too loud. Yelling and screaming through the empty house, the dozens of padlocks and curses placed on the doors much too strong for you to every have any chance of breaking through. After three days of Satoru’s absence, the hallways had grown less euphorically empty and more annoyingly boring, the sensation of being not only stuck in the same building but stuck with only yourself driving you insane.
It’d been stupid to taunt the curse, you know that. Satoru had told you as much, really, during the very brief and very hesitant spiel he’d given you about the world of Jujutsu when you’d continued to ask over and over again. His words hadn’t prepared you for how truly vile the creature would look, though; sickly, pale skin dotted with flecks of black and blood red covered its eight limbs, some thicker and longer than others. Rows upon rows of jagged, cracked teeth set against three independently moving eyes making bile rise up the back of your throat, the high-pitched gurgling noises it’s emitting making it hard to breath.
It’d appeared when you turned around, and immediately you’d backed up to cower against the nearest wall, panic gripping you and making your breathing come in harsher. Satoru had been away for work for nearly 72 hours, and for the first time in many, many months you find yourself almost wishing he’d return just so you wouldn’t have to look at this thing or smell the putrid scent of death wafting off of it.
It takes a step closer, then another, then another and another and another, the uneven scrape scrape sound of its limbs dragging against the wooden floor making you yelp.
It’s close – much too close, and without a second thought your hand blindly reaches out to grab whatever was nearest, the paperback book shaking in your hands. The creature’s hot breath fans against your calf, something like a sick grin twisting up its thin, bloody lips, and with a scream you bring the book down, hoping and praying that you’d at least manage some damage through sheer brute force –
Contact isn’t made. Instead, a sudden piercing, bellowing scream fills the house, and the creature’s suddenly slumped down, limp. The book falls to the floor, and only then do you hear the ragged breathing at your side.
Cold hands grasp onto your shoulders, a thumb roughly running over your cheek and eyebrow bone, Satoru’s eyes frantically darting all around your face and chest, his own heaving much too quickly to be safe.
A moment passes before he’s placing two trembling hands at your sides and hauling you up, ignoring the way your half-hearted pleas bounce across the room. Fast steps bring you down the corridor and to the small broom closet under the steps, and before you know it darkness shrouds your eyes.
The door slams shut behind you, a lock resounding and making something cold and icy trickle down your spine. It’s not a fear like the curse had given you, but something much, much worse. Something manmade, something human.
Satoru, let me out! I didn’t let the curse in, I don’t know what happened, please just let me out! Your fist bangs on the door, the wood shaking but not budging even a centimeter. Please! You can’t keep me in here!
You continue on for what feels like hours, your voice growing horse and your fists on the verge of bleeding, before eventually sliding down the back wall until you were sitting, bringing your knees up to your chest.
The door is still locked, no sign of Satoru on the other side. Burying your face into your hands, it’s not long before the tears start up.
Your sobs are quiet, but not quiet enough to slip by Satoru unnoticed. Kneeling on the other side of the door, ear pressed tightly against the wood, each cry slices through Satoru deeply enough to ache. His fist is clenched so tightly that his nails draw a bit of blood on his palm, his other hand completely flat against the wood. Flat against the part closest to where you’re sitting.
His eyes are closed, a grimace spread across his lips and a familiar tingling sensation building up in his nose. It hurts, the hand fisted up moving to instead clutch at his ribs. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
Listening to you cry is agony, every nerve in his body lighting up and begging him to bust the door down and wrap you in his arms, to keep you tucked against his chest and erase the memory of the curse from your mind, to tell you that he’d never, ever let something come that close to you again, his missions and duties be damned.
But he can’t. Not until you get the message – not until you realize just how damn stupid you could be sometimes.
What were you thinking? His voice is barely above a whisper, yet still slips through the cracks in the doorframe well enough for you to hear. You could have died.
He’s met with silence for a moment, before your bitter, hiccupped laugh. And who’s fault is that?
He winces, a muscle in his jaw flexing. What were you thinking? A book? Are you fucking serious?
You don’t respond, and he bangs his fist against the door. His voice is louder this time. The curse would’ve killed you. It would’ve ripped you apart limb by limb, dug holes into your stomach, pried your eyes out one at a time. It would’ve slaughtered you, and you thought a damn book would be enough to save you?
His hand comes up to wipe down his face, his shoulders starting to wrack slightly. You would’ve died.
You’re both silent for a few minutes, Satoru’s silent tears slowly rolling to a step, before he feels something slump against the door from your side. He tenses, blue eyes watching your body through the wood of the door, the familiar sight of your body and cursed energy making something slightly softer edge into the sharp, jagged edges of panic and anger sitting in his chest.
And perhaps it’s your body reeling from the sheer terror of the curse, exhaustion from the last few months of being stuck in this godforsaken cabin, or perhaps it’s the way you can see the outline of Satoru’s knees and legs in the thin patch of light between the door and ground. You’re not really sure what brings you to say it, or what forced you to move to the other side of the closet. Perhaps some combination of all three, or perhaps the traitorous, filthy part of you that feel something dangerously close to relief at the sound of Satoru’s voice and the familiar crushing feeling of his physical proximity.
You’re not sure, but the words are slipping from your lips before you can stop them, your voice barely even a whisper. I’m sorry, Satoru.
He hears it anyway.
His hand freezes, and for a moment his heart does, too.
When he eventually unlocks the closet, some twenty minutes later, it’s still quiet. You exit without looking at him, hugging yourself and slowly, gently settling onto the couch (your favorite color and style, of course). Satoru’s eyes follow you, staring openly, before hesitantly following you. He sits on the other side of the couch, body stiff and flexed, licking his lips absentmindedly.
Neither of you speak again the rest of the night, but this time, when he lingers at your doorframe as he watches you pretend to sleep, you scoot over to make slight room on your mattress. It’s an invitation, and for one brief, tantalizing moment, Satoru’s heart leaps in his chest, a rush of euphoria shooting through him at your blatant offer, but he only allows himself to walk over and press the back of his knuckles to your cheek.
He watches your eyelids flutter but stay closed, and slowly exhales. I’m sorry, too.
You don’t talk about it in the morning, and Satoru declines the next multi-day mission Yaga sends his way. Give it to Nanami, I don’t have time. I’m a busy guy, y’know?
OVERALL DANGER:
3/10
Satoru is less of a danger and more of a living wreck. His feelings for you are so foreign to him, so unshakable and overwhelming and terrifying that he’s genuinely at a complete loss as to how to navigate them. There’s a desire to have you, of course – an all-consuming desperation to see you and feel the touch of your skin at all times that settles deep into his bones.
But yet, there’s also the terror of letting you past his emotional guards that makes Satoru borderline hyperventilate, because it spells not only disaster for his own sake should you eventually abandon him just like Getou, but it also places you in grave peril with a target on your back. And really, that’s what a lot of Satoru’s obsession is – a push and pull between his heart and his head, a tug-of-war between what he knows is right and what he knows is wrong.
He’s hyperprotective over you, excessively aware of just how dangerous the world can be for someone who doesn’t have his prowess over Jujutsu or combat. He’s clingy in a half-present way, depending on you to get the rush of dopamine that gives him a sense of purpose in his otherwise dull life, while simultaneously blocking himself off from further connection with you because he’s convinced he can’t give you what you deserve. He’s obsessive because he fills the empty void this self-imposed distance creates with compulsively learning everything he can about you, becoming greedy to understand you in ways that no one else possibly can.
He’s a walking juxtaposition, and because of this he’s less inherently dangerous and more pitiful. You’ll be confused for a good portion of your time spent as his darling, unsure what is going through his head at any given time, and from this aspect Satoru does represent at least a bit of danger. Because where there’s pity, there’s care, and eventually you’ll find yourself almost feeling bad for him. Sure, he’s kidnapped you, stalked you for months, repeatedly broken into your apartment and has done very, very invasive things with your pillowcase, but there’s something about those pretty, alien eyes and too-perfect smile that’ll leave you soft on him, even for all his flaws.
And eventually, as Satoru warms up to the idea of fully baring his soul to you, that pity will even turn to fondness – because you’ve really never been able to say no to a stray, have you?
୨୧ — Sukuna watched as you tended to the herbs just outside his temple, your movements carrying that same gentleness as always. You hummed softly while working, a melody that seemed to make even the weeds lean towards you. The swell of your stomach was prominent now, a visible reminder of how you had changed everything, and something in him always urged him to be closer to you- a possessiveness that had only grown over the past few months.
He hated it. But above all, he hated the way his curse energy would flow around the surrounding area, like a protective shroud meant solely for you… And he refused to acknowledge how his multiple eyes would track every subtle shift in your expression…
"Sukuna! Look at this one!" your voice held nothing but genuine delight as you held up a particularly vibrant herb.
"Tch. Still wasting your time with these worthless weeds?" he scoffed, but his eyes never left your form. He took notice of the way your fingers carefully caressed the delicate thing and the small smile that tugged at your lips, and it was only then did he realize that your hair had grown a little longer...
"One day," he heard you murmur, your voice carrying in the evening breeze, "you might need these."
The mere suggestion that he, the king of curses, might need such mundane remedies should have enraged him, and to a certain degree it did, but he was so transfixed on your fingers, the same fingers that always dared to trace his black markings, that his retort lacked it’s usual venom.
"Someone like me has no use for such worthless things." the mouth on his stomach grinned, "You are aware of the difference between us, aren't you? Or has that brat inside of you softened that brain of yours?"
His gaze flickered to your stomach, where his child grew stronger each day.
That’s when you turned to him with that damn smile, it was like freshly fallen snow, untouched and pure… And it always awakened two warring instincts within him. The first was to destroy you, to corrupt, and to taint that purity until nothing remained and you were left bloody in his arms… And then there was the second, the newer, more terrifying one that made him want to preserve it at all costs…
"Oh? No use for such worthless things?" you tilted your head playfully, reminding him of that first day in the forest where he met you, "Hmm~ Is that why you still wear my scarf? If you have no use for such worthless things, then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I took it back."
The memory of how you had wrapped it around him had been burned into his memory... like a fucking curse. How you approached him in the forest while bodies lay scattered around him, your eyes full of concern rather than terror. He didn’t know at the time the men he slaughtered were after you- didn’t know that his fun little killing spree would leave him stuck with you like a thorn in a wound.
A thorn he couldn't be bothered with removing...
"You’re bleeding," you had said then, as if he were some ordinary injured traveler. Before he could slice that pretty head of yours clean off, you had already removed your scarf, standing on your tiptoes, tongue sticking out in concentration as you tended to the wound and wrapped it around his neck even though it would heal in moments…
His four arms hung beside him at your audacity, as you dared to care for the King of Curses.
"It’s not much," you had whispered, "but it should help keep the wound clean until it heals" then you had smiled- that same one you wore now.
So lost in the memory, Sukuna hadn’t even noticed you were now standing before him, reaching out towards him with the intent of tugging your scarf free from his body and he reacted. Faster than he should have been and snatched your hand away before you could even graze the fabric.
"Do. Not."
His eyes were narrowed, and his voice was low, a growl that echoed across the temple grounds, but you had become immune to the sound. His other hand unconsciously rose to touch the now worn fabric at his neck, it still carried traces of your scent after all this time.
"Watch yourself, woman. I could still slice that fragile neck of yours. Devour you where you stand. Don't be mistaken, you're not safe just because you're carrying my child."
"Mmhmm," you hummed, entirely unafraid as you leaned into him so that you could place a chaste kiss against his jawline, "Is that why you let me sleep in your bed? Why you allow only i to say your real name... And why you-"
"Be silent." he spat, and yet his grip on your hand loosened, allowing your fingers to slip through his and intertwine, "Insolent creature…" but his other hands were merciful as they settled on your waist.
"If you wanted to kill me, Sukuna, you would have done so a long time ago."
"You think too highly of yourself. You're a means to an end, a tool."
Your smile never wavered for a second, "Is that so? Then I must be a very special tool. I don't believe anyone else would get away with the things I do."
"Foolish little lamb." He let out a low grunt, pressing his forehead to yours in a gesture that had become as natural as breathing, "I will admit," his lips curled into a smirk as he pulled you flush against his body, "you've made the last few months a little less boring. But if I tire of your presence, I won't hesitate to kill you."
"Your foolish woman." You corrected, and with a soft chuckle, you pulled back slightly so that you could cup his face, "And you won’t kill me before the baby is born, right? That would be a shame."
Sukuna scowled, "Don't test me."
"Never." you promised sweetly, but he knew you’d continue to do so regardless.
The King of Curses would never admit it, but the thought of you dead- the thought of anyone daring to harm you or his child was enough to awaken a a whole new kind of bloodlust, unlike anything he had felt in centuries. He would paint the lands red with the blood of any who tried, would hang their entrails from the highest trees as a warning, would burn the world to ash before letting harm come to what was his.
Buried deep in the guts of a grueling engine overhaul, Sukuna has lost all sense of time. Right now, he's wedged halfway under a lifted sedan, sprawled out on a rolling creeper with only his massive boots jutting out from beneath the bumper. Low, gravelly curses rumble from somewhere under the car as he wrestles with a bolt so rusted it might as well be welded in place.
Easing through the side door, you catch it with your hip, making sure it shuts quietly behind you, unwilling to tip off your husband just yet. One hand clutches a brown paper bag heavy with takeout from his favorite burger place, while the other grips an ice-cold drink that beads condensation onto your fingers. Without a word, you tuck both out of sight on the bottom shelf of a rolling tool cart, careful not to let even the smallest sound give you away.
Showing up in your nice clothes was never an option. You know him far too well for that. If you’d walked in wearing something fresh, his stubborn streak would have kicked in, and he’d have spent the whole visit keeping his hands to himself, too worried about getting grease on your outfit. So you planned ahead, pulling on a pair of faded, soft sweatpants and one of his old, oversized graphic tees that had long since been retired from his wardrobe. The message couldn't be any clearer if you'd said it out loud.
Navigating the concrete floor as quietly as you can, you weave past stacks of heavy tires and loose equipment until you reach the front of the sedan. Dropping into a low crouch beside the front wheel well, you lean down to peer beneath the chassis, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
"Need a hand down there, mechanic?" you call out, grinning with way too much energy.
At the sound of your voice cutting through the space, the frantic scraping of his wrench stops cold. A socket clatters onto the concrete somewhere beneath the car, and with a sharp, impatient shove of his boots, Sukuna rolls out from beneath the car and sits up, eyes already searching for you.
His heavy canvas coveralls are peeled down to his waist, with the sleeves knotted carelessly in front, a concession to the thick summer heat. What's left is just a dark ribbed tank top clinging to his broad chest, leaving the ink across his arms and shoulders on full display. Sweat beads along his skin, catching the light, while grease smears his forearms and a bold streak of grime slices across the sharp line of his jaw.
The moment his eyes find your face, every trace of irritation from that stubborn bolt disappears. A wide grin splits his mouth, and his gaze immediately drops to the soft collar of his old shirt slipping off your shoulder before settling on your sweats. As he takes you in, he realizes exactly what you've done, and his smirk turns wicked, thoroughly pleased.
Without hesitation or bothering to wipe his hands clean, he catches you by the waist in one effortless, powerful sweep of his arms. Grease-stained fingers dig into your sweats, rough and insistent, and with a sudden, needy tug, he pulls you straight down to him. A startled gasp escapes as you tumble, landing hard and ungraceful, sprawled right across his lap.
"Sukuna!" you laugh, swatting at his bare shoulder, though you instantly wrap your arms around his neck anyway.
His grip on your waist tightens, drawing you in until his racing heartbeat hammers against your ribs. He leans in, crashing his mouth into yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless and reeling. Rough stubble scrapes your jaw as he tilts your head, deepening the kiss and holding you as if he’s been starved for weeks. His large, calloused hand slips beneath your shirt, tracing a slow path up your spine until it settles warm and heavy against the nape of your neck.
“Didn't know you were coming, angel," he rasps after he finally pulls back, just barely, a helpless grin tugging at his mouth as his thumb traces a streak of black grease along your collarbone. “Fuck—needed this," he murmurs, closing the distance again to peck your lips before letting his forehead rest against yours.
You laugh brightly, eyes crinkling as you tip your head back, fingertips absently gliding over the tattooed circles on Sukuna’s right shoulder as you settle comfortably across his lap, letting him feel every bit of your joy.
His eyes drop to where his arm has shoved the hem of your shirt up, leaving a broad strip of your waist bare, and a low, drawn-out groan rumbles from deep in his chest at the sight.
"Ruined your shirt, by the way," he purrs, not even bothering to lift his gaze from your exposed skin.
"It's your shirt," you point out, fingers of your free hand toying with the ends of his hair as you shake your head at your hopeless husband. "And I wore it on purpose."
Another quiet, utterly pleased sound rumbles low in his chest as his free hand wanders lower, slipping beneath your shirt from the other side, his thumb absently brushing along your waist.
Only then does he finally drag his eyes back to your face, and whatever smug amusement had been there melts away. His chest rises with a slow, shaky breath as he just stares at your smiling face, completely undone by you wearing his old clothes just so he wouldn't have to think twice about wrapping his grimy hands around you.
His grip on your waist tightens, but then his eyes drift past your shoulder, catching sight of the brown paper bag and the drink resting on the bottom shelf of the cart. A loud, dramatic groan escapes him as his head falls back against the sedan's front wheel well, gratitude written all over his face.
"Tell me that's food," he groans, his stomach growling on cue. "Please tell me you brought me something. I haven't had a damn second to eat all day. I'm about five minutes away from eating a customer."
"Yeah, I figured," you laugh. "You're impossible when you're hungry."
Sukuna stretches out one long arm, tearing eagerly into the top of the paper bag. The scent of burgers hits the air, but then he catches sight of his own hands—palms nearly black, grease caked under his fingernails and smeared across his knuckles. He lets out a defeated, annoyed sigh, tossing the crumpled top of the bag back onto the cart. His hands drift back to your waist, giving you one last firm squeeze before he gets ready to hoist you to your feet.
"Hold up a sec, angel," he mutters, slouching in exhaustion. "Gotta wash this shit off before I get it all over the food."
"No, you don't," you cut in with a knowing smile, batting his hands away from your hips before he can push you off his lap.
Surprise flickers across Sukuna's face as you twist to the side and your clean hands dive into the bag, fishing out his massive double smashburger. Peeling back the last layer of paper, you fold it neatly beneath your fingers and hold the hot, juicy burger well out of reach of his dirty hands before offering it to his mouth.
"Bite," you command softly, unable to hide your triumphant grin.
For a moment, Sukuna just stares, crimson eyes going wide before a slow, helpless grin tugs at his mouth. The deep, gravelly chuckle that follows rumbles straight through your lap, shaking you with its force, rich with affection as he lets you take care of him. For once, he doesn’t argue or posture—he just leans in, jaws closing around the burger as he takes a massive bite, satisfaction written all over his face.
Chewing, he wraps those thick arms loosely around your waist, settling you more comfortably against him. A deep, contented hum vibrates against your neck, his whole body melting under your hands.
While he works through that bite, you pull a few hot, salty fries from the bag and pop them into his mouth one by one. Sukuna takes them eagerly, his rough tongue grazing your fingertips as his gaze locks on yours, the heat making your chest ache and swell all at once.
One of his hands reluctantly leaves your waist to reach for the drink on the cart, and he takes a long, slow sip, his throat working as he swallows.
"You're too damn good to me," he mumbles against your fingers, voice going all soft as he sets the cup back down. "Seriously."
"Oh, I know," you say with a tiny, pleased smile, reaching into the bottom of the bag to pull out your own burger and peel back the wrapper. "I wasn't going to make you eat alone."
A low, deeply contented rumble escapes Sukuna as he waits patiently for you to offer up his next bite. The radio hums somewhere in the background, the shop floor still as dirty as ever, but neither of you pays it any mind. Sitting in the middle of the bay, sharing burgers and fries while tucked comfortably in his lap, feels so wonderfully, perfectly normal that neither of you has any intention of moving anytime soon.
a/n: so, this is a little thank you drabble for @aenn00 for supporting me from the start <3 thank you so, so much!
summary: when your boyfriend abandons you on the side of a mountain you find solace in the form of a pink-haired mountaineer who comes to your rescue
word count: 11k
content: 18+ mdni, smut, modern au, mountaineering/hiking, reader is dating naoya :(, abusive bf, misogyny, injury, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, cheating (kind of? reader's relationship with naoya is essentially done), semi-public sex (in a tent), piv, fingering, soft!sukuna
a/n: thinking about this scenario was the only thing that got me through my own miserable mountain experience and food poisoning last week :(
You’d joined the mountaineering club out of a desire to connect more with your boyfriend.
He was an experienced mountaineer - the type of person who’d been climbing peaks with his family since he was a kid, and you’d thought he’d be happy to be able to go on those adventures with you. You’d figured it could be one of those interests that you shared. Something you could do together.
Dismissal had been the emotion you’d been met with when you first told him you’d joined. It had been a scoff paired with an off-handed statement about how you weren’t cut out for all that.
Maybe, if you’d had more sense, you would’ve broken up with Naoya in that moment and saved yourself a whole lot of trouble. Instead, just like always, you made excuses for him. You figured he was just having a bad day - that you just needed to prove yourself to him and then he’d be happy to have you as a climbing buddy.
He was just concerned about your skill. That was all.
So you’d worked hard at the club - learned plenty of skills, did plenty of hours in the gym, made dozens of friends with the other club members to ensure you weren’t dependent on Naoya to teach you everything.
You tried to ignore how uninterested your boyfriend seemed in your progress, tried to ignore the way he’d flirt with the other women at the club - you were sure he’d be so impressed with you on your first major outing to Mount Hotaka that he’d forget about everything else and be pleased with you for once.
That was all you wanted, for him to be proud of you outside of the offhanded thanks he’d give whenever you’d make him dinner.
Your first trip out to the mountain had several people in attendance. Beyond you and Naoya there were a handful of women from the club who you’d grown close with: Shoko, Utahime and Yuki, and then a few men. There were a couple of older guys you didn’t know very well, and then a few in your age range who had been helping develop your skills - the most notable of that group being Sukuna, who had dedicated lots of time to teaching you knowledge that Naoya had brushed aside.
It had surprised you at first, that the hulking pink-haired man had any interest in helping you do anything. Others in the club had claimed that he tended to be aloof, harsh and generally unfriendly - and while he was harsh in his teachings, unfriendly was certainly not the word you’d use to describe him.
He’d gone out of his way to help you, chasing away others like Satoru with the claim that they were ‘too stupid to teach you right’. Spending hours at your side, he’d taught you all you needed to know about equipment, rope skills and climbing. He wouldn’t provide praise unless it was deserved, but once you’d finally started getting things right he’d always made sure you knew he was pleased with you.
It was praise you were desperately starved for, praise you’d love to receive from your boyfriend, and you were ashamed to admit that Sukuna’s simple compliments lingered in your mind for longer than they should have.
You’d grown rather fond of him since joining the mountaineering club, even despite his somewhat prickly demeanour to everyone else, you felt he was someone you could rely on, someone who wouldn’t call you stupid for asking him questions. Even if he’d sometimes tease you for getting upset or frustrated for not understanding something, he’d still take the time to help you understand.
Unlike Naoya, who would roll his eyes and once again point out how unfit you were for something as involved as mountain climbing.
The comparison between the two was something you found yourself making more and more often, eyes straying over to your pink-haired friend when he wasn’t looking, your stomach flipping when he’d speak to you, or when he’d place a large hand on your shoulder in congratulations at a task done well.
You knew it was wrong, chastising yourself whenever the thought of Sukuna would stray into your mind late at night while Naoya was snoring away next to you. Not only did you have a boyfriend, but you were certain Sukuna didn’t think of you in anything beyond a friendly manner anyway.
So you kept those feelings locked deep within your chest and tried to focus on why you were in the club in the first place - to prove to your boyfriend that you’d make a good partner for his mountain expeditions, to prove that you were worth more to him than being a glorified maid in his house.
The first few hours of the hike, starting in the early morning, had gone by fairly uneventfully. Your training had paid off and your legs felt good as you winded up through valleys and fields, trailing a little behind the group of boys, favouring a slightly slower pace and jovial conversation amongst the girls.
Despite Naoya’s reluctance for you to join the club, you felt like it was where you were supposed to be. You loved being out in nature - taking in the fresh air and drinking from mountain streams, wandering along with like-minded people and encouraging each other along through the gruelling uphills.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that things started to get more difficult, with the altitude creeping steadily up, and the group stumbling across snow fields that still hadn’t melted in the late spring air. It was nothing you weren’t prepared for, but with everyone feeling a great deal more tired than they had in the morning hours, the pace slowed considerably.
A group of the more experienced men ended up going on ahead at a quicker pace, saying they’d get the next big section of uphill completed and scout out a good camping spot for the night, since the plan was to make a summit push in the early morning to watch the sunrise.
You didn’t mind that so much - you didn’t like the feeling of slowing them down and that arrangement meant that you could keep going at a comfortable pace without feeling stressed about it. The girls you were with were perfectly experienced in their own right, and Naoya had chosen to hang behind with you anyway rather than going on ahead.
That was a decision that you’d convinced yourself was on account of him wanting to keep an eye on you, but a part of you believed it was really because he didn’t get along with any of the men at the club.
Or perhaps it was just so he could keep staring at Yuki’s ass like he had been for the entire hike up to that point.
The next couple of hours were difficult, and everyone grew more withdrawn under the effort of a constant uphill - facing switchback after switchback with no clarity on how far you had to go beneath a freshly settled blanket of fog lowering the visibility. Shoko had been struggling for a while, and after an extended rest on a rock decided that it was best if she turned back and camped somewhere lower in the valley.
She’d been having issues with her lungs and didn’t think it was wise to keep going.
At her decision, Utahime also suggested that she wanted to go back, mentioning that she also didn’t feel in the best physical condition, and Yuki insisted on going back with the two of them to make sure they got back down safely. You’d considered joining them, but you were still feeling good both physically and mentally and were keen to continue upwards towards the peak.
Considering Naoya’s experience, you were certain that the two of you would be fine even without the girls, so you waved them off and continued upwards into the mist, eager to reconnect with the other half of your group and get settled with Naoya in the tent for the night.
—
Sukuna had found a pretty good camping spot. He was pretty sure it was in a similar position to where he’d set up on his solo winter ascent a couple of years before - a location that should be downright comfy in the mild spring weather.
Assuming that weather stayed mild.
It was hard to tell through all the fog, but he was almost sure he could see dark clouds rolling high in the sky. He hoped he was wrong. There hadn’t been a storm on the forecast, and if one was to roll in that could make for a very harrowing evening, especially for people like you who’d had little experience of the mountains.
He hoped one bad night wouldn’t be enough to put you off entirely.
“Yuki just radioed.” Satoru called out to him. “She, Shoko and Utahime are all going back down. The others are still coming I think.”
Sukuna hummed in affirmation as he moved to set up his tent. He wished it could’ve just been you coming up, rather than you and your shithead boyfriend, but he supposed he’d rather you have a buddy in the mountains than be out there alone. If he’d had things his way, he would’ve hung back with you for the whole duration of the hike, but he didn’t need people casting suspicions on his actions.
He’d already received some strange looks over his eagerness to teach you - the last thing he needed was the rumor mill in full operation.
Even if the rumor mill was right in this case.
He liked you. He really liked you.
Feelings that he needed to keep to himself, because your boyfriend was one jealous asshole, and he was almost confident that any sign of flirting on Sukuna’s part would have Naoya taking out his anger and jealousy on you, which was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t sure what you saw in that guy, but god, Sukuna wanted to bash his teeth in.
He’d been watching it for months now - the depressing life you lived in which you’d excitedly bound over to Naoya to show him something you’d learned only for him to react with total disregard. Sukuna had watched the light in your eyes flicker and die each time, doing his best to control the rage boiling in his chest.
You deserved better than that fucker.
But he got the sense that you weren’t able to see that.
Almost everyone had set up their tents, laughing and joking and tearing into provisions by the time Naoya appeared from the mist. A couple of hours had passed since the group first found the camping spot, and Satoru welcomed him enthusiastically as he stepped into the clearing. He looked surprisingly exhausted for a man who was supposed to be experienced.
Sukuna’s red eyes scanned the fog, waiting for you to appear behind the man. His chest squeezed when only silence followed, no sign of your presence in the mist.
“Is it only you?” Satoru asked, voicing the very question that was on the tip of Sukuna’s tongue.
“Yeah, the girls went down,” Naoya responded nonchalantly, shrugging off his backpack. “Is there a good place for me to set up?” Satoru’s lips parted, as if to question the man’s statement, considering Yuki had relayed specific names, but he clearly thought better of it, nodding and pointing Naoya in the direction of a clear patch of dirt for him to pitch his tent.
Sukuna wasn’t so happy to shrug it off.
“Yuki only said she was going down with Utahime and Shoko,” he called out to Naoya. The man turned to look at him, irritation shining in his amber eyes. Sukuna was well aware that Naoya despised him just as much as he despised Naoya.
“They all went. Think I don’t know where my own girlfriend is?” Naoya snapped.
Sukuna stared him down for a moment before leaving him be, heading over to Satoru and asking for the radio. Speaking into it, he called out for Yuki, praying that they were still within a reasonable range to pick up his voice.
He was met with only silence, cursing under his breath at the realisation that they were probably all the way back in the valley by that point and likely impossible to reach. His crimson gaze fell to Naoya once more, watching him hum as he set up his tent without a care in the world.
Something in the pit of Sukuna’s stomach told him that there was something wrong. You hadn’t gone back with Yuki. You’d been so happy all day, so excited about your first major peak. Not only that, but you’d been in good condition - he’d been watching you whenever he could, he’d been proud at how well you were doing.
You wouldn’t have turned back. And if you had, Yuki would’ve listed your name when she was heading down. Yuki was no newcomer to the mountains - she was responsible and experienced and she always emphasised the importance of good communications. And if you’d have turned back any later, Naoya should’ve gone with you - it's what any sensible person would’ve done.
But he was here, and you weren’t. And you hadn’t gone with Yuki. So you were alone.
Sukuna’s first instinct was to bash Naoya’s head in. He wanted to walk over there and silence that bastard’s humming with a well placed rock to the head. What kind of a man - an experienced mountaineer, no less - would abandon their inexperienced girlfriend on the side of a mountain?
It wasn’t like Sukuna doubted your ability. He’d taught you all you needed to know, but putting those things into practice alone, at altitude, and in adverse weather was a whole other thing.
Instead of doing anything about Naoya, he parked that issue temporarily and quickly moved to dismantle his own tent. He wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing while your location was unaccounted for. Even if you had gone down shortly after Yuki, even if you’d made it back to the valley by yourself, he wasn’t going to roll the dice on your life.
He’d go back the way they’d come and he’d walk until he found you - even if that happened to be safe and sound at the bottom of the mountain.
“What’re you doing?” Satoru asked, hovering as Sukuna put his stuff back into his pack. Naoya had stopped to watch, a sneer on his already ugly face.
“I don’t think she went down with Yuki. I need to make sure the boyfriend of the year over there didn’t leave her in some bad situation,” Sukuna explained.
“Oh my god, she’s fine.” Naoya snapped from across the campsite. “Yuki just misspoke, she went down with them. Why is it your problem anyway? It's not like she’s your girlfriend.”
The defensive edge to the man’s voice told Sukuna all he needed to know, and he ignored the jabs in favour of packing up more quickly. He didn’t want it to get too dark - if something bad had happened and you didn’t have your headlamp on it would be impossible to find you at night.
Unfortunately, Naoya seemed to have no interest in letting up. “I mean seriously? You’re actually doing this? I know you wanna fuck her but she’s always been a loyal little thing - she ain’t gonna put out for you because of this. I think she’s realised that she isn’t cut out for this type of shit - she went back down to safety with the rest of the girls and I think she’ll probably quit the club. She can get back to what she’s good at.”
Sukuna’s hands stilled as he zipped his bag shut, his expression calm as he finally looked at the man before him. There was malice in his expression and a clear, guilty desire to keep Sukuna from trekking back down the mountain path.
“‘She can get back to what she’s good at’?” Sukuna asked, drawing himself up to his full height. “And what would that be?”
The smug grin Naoya shot him was sickening. “Making me dinner.”
Sukuna laughed, a deep unpleasant sound rumbling from his chest. “Right.” He took a step forward, towering over your boyfriend who he deeply hoped would be your ex-boyfriend after that expedition. Before Naoya could react, Sukuna grabbed him by the front of his raincoat. “Listen. I’m going back down that path. If I find her out there, abandoned and alone, be assured that I’ll beat you so badly that you’ll never climb another mountain again. Do you understand me?”
Fear flickered in Naoya’s amber eyes, but he pushed it down quickly, replacing it with a scowl. “Get the fuck off me.”
Sukuna let him go, revelling in the way he stumbled about off balance, barely keeping himself from careening onto the floor. If he was being honest with himself, the desire to enact justice on Naoya in that moment was tempting, but he could wait. Every moment he spent in that camp was another moment of peril for you.
And unlike Naoya, he wouldn’t leave you to a night alone on a mountain.
—
You weren’t sure when you’d lost Naoya.
He’d been picking up the pace significantly while you’d been getting slower and slower, and despite calling out for him to wait for you to catch up, eventually he just disappeared off into the fog - the sound of his footsteps fading entirely.
It had left you at a loss, unsure as to whether you should keep going or turn back. You were certain that the summit camp probably wasn’t too far off, but you had no real idea of how far that distance might actually be, and had a vague concern that you might take a wrong turn in the ever-thickening fog, leaving you stranded for the night. You and Naoya were sharing a tent which he’d been carrying, and subsequently ending up alone for the evening wasn’t ideal for you.
The most you’d be able to do is wrap yourself in your sleeping bag and find a sheltered place to hunker down for the night.
But it shouldn’t come to that.
Getting down to the valley would take too long, and you weren’t sure where Yuki and the gang would’ve settled anyway. Naoya had the radio. He had everything really, which meant that the only thing you could do was continue upwards and hope that you stumbled across the other half of your group.
It was a plan that was going okay until you’d carelessly stepped on a loose rock, sending you tumbling back down a hill of scree you’d spent the past half an hour climbing.
At first you’d thought only your morale was damaged, your mind exhausted at the prospect of having to get back up and reascend a slope you’d already climbed once. But as you struggled to get to your feet, you realised that it wasn’t only your mind that had undergone damage.
A hot pain spread through your ankle as you tried to stand, sending you straight back down to the floor with a yelp. Panic instantly overcame you, the sudden realisation of where you were hitting you like a tonne of bricks. Naoya, your boyfriend, had abandoned you on the side of a mountain. He’d left you in the fog, beneath the setting sun, without a tent and without a radio. And now you were injured.
If you didn’t know better, you would’ve said he was actively trying to kill you.
But what was more likely was that he was just proving the point he’d been trying to make all along - that you weren’t cut out for the life of a mountaineer.
And considering your condition, could you really disagree with him?
Soft sobs overtook you, and you began to spiral. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, shivering as the cold grew more intense, mumbling incoherently to yourself about how you should’ve gone back down to the valley with Yuki.
Perhaps you never should’ve tried facing the mountains in the first place.
Maybe Naoya was right.
They were thoughts that fled from your mind at the blessed sight of a headlamp cutting through the fog from above, footsteps crunching evenly on scree, picking up in speed the moment the light shone upon your sorry figure huddled on the ground.
“Fuck, are you okay?” Sukuna’s voice had a tremor of relief shooting through you, and more tears swelled at the corners of your eyes. He was crouching down in front of you, expression laden with concern as he scanned your cowering form. One of his hands reached for your face, wiping away tears carefully while he waited for you to answer him.
“My ankle…” You mumbled. Everything was too overwhelming for you to articulate any further, your words already coming out all choked and shaky. Sukuna didn’t need to hear any more, attention instantly shifting to your foot. His hands moved to prod gently at it, watching your face for a grimace which came quickly under his touch.
“Does that hurt?”
You nodded. He bit down on his lip and quickly moved to untie the lace of your boot. A soft whimper left your lips as he pulled it from your foot, but he was right to pay your reaction no mind since you were overcome with relief once your ankle was freed from those rigid confines pressing down too tightly upon it.
It had swollen up significantly in the time you’d been sitting there waiting for someone to come for you.
“Right. I’ll deal with the ankle soon but I want to get us to someplace better first before it gets fully dark.” It was only just occurring to you that the wind had started to pick up a little, your clothes ruffled by air rushing against you. It would be best to be in a less exposed place - Sukuna had taught you that exposure made all the difference when dealing with bad weather.
“There was a plateau back down at the bottom of this slope,” you mumbled, remembering the slight respite you’d had from the seemingly neverending onslaught of uphill.
Sukuna gave you a proud smile and it made your heart flutter. “Yeah, that would work. I’m gonna carry you down there, if that’s okay? I don’t think you should try walking on that ankle until we give it a proper look.”
You wanted to collapse into fresh tears at the suggestion. While your boyfriend, the person who was supposed to look after you, had abandoned you on the side of your first big mountain, Sukuna was here offering to carry you to safety. The feeling his offer was giving you had a risk of overwhelming you entirely, utterly grateful that he was the person who’d come back to look for you.
Naively, you wondered if Naoya had sent him down to look for you. It was a weak hope, a desperate, delusional belief that your boyfriend wasn’t as cruel as he truly was.
“Yeah, that’s okay,” you said, quietly. You tried to ignore how pleasant it felt when Sukuna crouched down to scoop you up into his arms. His touch felt warm against your body which had grown cold over the past few hours of inactivity. The arms holding you were strong and secure, building a feeling of safety knowing he was there with you.
Naoya would’ve taken issue with it, but you wished you’d asked Sukuna to stick with you throughout the whole trip. Things would’ve felt better if it was him you were relying on rather than your boyfriend. In his lessons he’d always emphasised the importance of matching your pace with a mountain buddy - always checking that they weren’t far behind.
Rules that a supposedly experienced mountaineer like Naoya should’ve been well aware of.
Sukuna strode down the rest of the hill with ease, keeping you tucked close against him in a princess carry. Considering that you had your pack still on your back you were surprised at how easy he made the whole thing look, because he wasn’t exactly carrying a light load between you in his arms and his own bag on his back. But he didn’t complain or demonstrate any signs of struggle.
Outside of the fact that he was largely silent until you reached your destination.
You didn’t mind that. It wasn’t like you were in the mood to talk either, your mind swimming with all kinds of things now that you were in safe hands. Naoya had left you behind to die. You could’ve died if no one had come back for you. Exposure could’ve gotten to you, or an animal, or some person with ill-intent prowling the mountainside.
He’d left you helpless and defenceless.
And, as rain started to drip from the sky above, you realised that if Sukuna hadn’t come for you, it would’ve been an evening out in the storm, at altitude, with nothing but your rain jacket and sleeping bag to huddle within.
You could’ve died.
Sukuna found a well sheltered area and placed you down while he set up the tent. You were in awe at how quickly he got it done - the same actions would’ve taken you three times the time it took his experienced hands to get it sorted. You were grateful for the speed, because it meant the two of you made it inside before the worst of the rain began to hammer down from the sky above.
“Okay. First the ankle. Then everything else.”
You tilted your head a little at his statement, not quite sure what he meant by everything else, but you assumed he was referring more to your mental condition and questions around how you’d ended up in your terrible position in the first place. You hoped he wouldn’t be mad at you for failing to make it up to the peak after how much time he’d spent teaching you things.
You thought maybe he’d chastise you for things like not having your own tent or radio, but Naoya had been insistent about carrying those items for you, assuring you that he’d stick at your side and claiming his actions were out of a desire to keep your pack as light as possible.
You were stupid to have believed him.
Sukuna knelt by your foot, removing your sock and inspecting the damage carefully. His fingers pressed delicately against the skin and you found yourself admiring his concentrated expression in the lamplight. “I don’t think it's broken,” he said. “Probably just twisted.”
Reaching into his first aid kit, he found a bandage which he wrapped around the problem area, before pulling out an ice pack and snapping to activate its effects. He placed the pack down on your ankle, earning a little hiss from you which pulled a small smile from his otherwise serious face.
He’d been really serious since he’d found you, his expression all irritated and stormy.
Was he angry with you? Frustrated that he’d had to come back down the mountain to your aid? You didn’t like the idea of being his burden.
“Endure the cold for a bit - it’ll make you feel much better.” he said, placing a warm hand on your calf. Your breath hitched involuntarily at the contact and Sukuna quickly withdrew from you, a tinge of guilt flickering across his handsome face. He instantly busied himself before you could question it, moving onto the next stage of tending to your injury.
He fumbled about in his pack and withdrew some clothing, bundling it up into a small pile and wedging it beneath your foot to elevate it a little. Nothing he was doing was particularly revolutionary - on the contrary, his actions were all things he’d taught you to do in the event of an injury.
You’d just been too panicked to do anything on that scree slope.
Perhaps he was mad at you for that too.
Sukuna laid out his sleeping mat next to you, his nose wrinkling at the revelation that you didn’t have one because it was in Naoya’s possession. He slid his mat beneath you, keen not to have you lying on the floor, before pulling out his sleeping bag and sitting on top of that for some amount of comfort.
“So, what happened?” Sukuna asked. His voice was a little clipped, as if he was holding himself back from saying what he really wanted to say.
“I was rushing and lost my footing on some scree-”
“No. I mean, why are you alone?”
“Oh.” You shrugged, taking a deep breath and avoiding his eyes. There was a sticky feeling building up in your throat, keeping your words down. If you said the truth aloud you were certain you’d burst into tears again. “I don’t know,” you mumbled finally.
“You don’t know?” He echoed.
“It just sort of happened. The girls went back down the mountain and Naoya kept going quicker and then we got separated somewhere in the fog. I imagine he was probably waiting somewhere up ahead for me but then I slipped.” You weren’t sure why you were trying to defend your boyfriend. You weren’t naive enough to truly believe he’d been waiting up ahead for you.
He’d left you.
But the idea of airing out just how stupid you were to be in that relationship in the first place felt humiliating. You wanted to at least pretend that Naoya didn’t leave you for dead - that you weren’t the fool who had stayed for years with an abusive boyfriend when you should’ve just left.
You didn’t want Sukuna to think you were completely pathetic.
“Naoya arrived at the camp hours ago,” Sukuna said, his tone detached, as if he wanted to avoid projecting any of his own emotion onto you. “He said you’d gone back down with the rest of the girls.”
The horrified expression on your face must’ve said it all, because Sukuna’s impartiality quickly faded, rage burning within those crimson eyes. Naoya really had abandoned you. And not only that, he’d also attempted to sabotage any retrieval attempt that might be made for you. He’d outright claimed you were safe when he knew no such thing.
It was a thought that made you sick, and once again the tears started to flow, dripping down your cheeks. You’d spent years with that man, feeling like you were less than good enough. You’d let him break you down, put up with his endless bullying and tormenting, all because he’d been sweet to you at the start.
You’d always thought you weren’t good enough, always thought that it was your fault he was so unpleasant with you.
Now it felt like your eyes were open for the first time.
He’d left you on the side of a mountain. He couldn’t care less about your wellbeing. He couldn’t care less about you unless you were making him dinner.
And you’d put up with it.
You were a fool.
“I knew that fucker was lying,” Sukuna hissed. “Yuki didn’t say your name when she radioed in to say she was heading back. She’s always good with that sort of thing. Fuck, I’m glad I came down to check, who knows what would’ve happened if-”
He cut himself off, faltering before he could finish the sentence. It was clear that he didn’t want to scare or upset you further, not when you’d already reduced yourself to a puddle of tears. You didn’t want to imagine what fate the night would’ve brought if not for Sukuna arriving as your saviour.
Falling silent, he shuffled a little closer to you. Reaching out delicately he began to wipe away your tears with his thumb. The touch of his skin against yours felt pleasant, and you found your sobs faltering at the new found comfort he was providing. A deeply loyal part of you urged you to pull away, reminding you of your boyfriend. You immediately pushed the thought aside.
Naoya wasn’t your boyfriend.
Not after what he’d done.
“Don’t cry. You’re okay. I found you and we’ll make it through the night together. I’m not going anywhere.” Sukuna’s words were soothing, and you found yourself nodding between sniffles, your tears gradually drying up. You hadn’t realised you were shivering until Sukuna tentatively wrapped an arm around you, pulling you up and close to him.
The storm had worsened outside, and you huddled down in your jacket, letting yourself lean into Sukuna’s chest to keep the shivering at bay. If this was how you felt inside a tent with another human to warm you, you hated to think how you would’ve felt still stuck all alone on the scree.
It didn’t bear considering.
“You should report that asshole to the police once we get down. Nothing will come of it because it's hard to prove intent, but this was an active attempt on your life. He had a duty of care he ignored, stripped you of shelter and then tried to prevent a rescue. I have half a mind to kill him myself.” Sukuna’s voice rumbled through his body.
No one had ever really stood up for you before. Naoya was always good at being charming when it mattered. Your parents and the rest of your family had always seen him as a good prospect - a polite and handsome man from a well off family. With your friends, you’d done the damage on your own, always defending him, manipulated by him to act like the perfect picture of an abused girlfriend.
“I’m so stupid,” you whispered.
“What?” Sukuna asked, pulling back ever so slightly so he could look at you properly. You hadn’t spoken at all since the reveal, and your quiet words clearly caught him off guard.
“I’ve wasted so much of my life with him. Spent so much time defending him like he was some good guy. I only joined this club to impress him and all he ever did was tell me how useless I was at stuff like this - at everything. Did you know that he spent most of this hike staring at Yuki’s ass? And yet, when I’d tell him about how much stuff you’d taught me he’d get all mad about me talking to another guy and verbally berate me until I cried. And I just let it all happen. You must think I’m an idiot.”
Sukuna hesitated, searching for the right words. It made you smile in a twisted sort of way, because he was definitely trying to find something to say that wouldn’t indirectly call you stupid - an impossibility considering the circumstances. Now that your eyes were open you could finally see how foolish you’d been.
You just wanted to go home. Forget mountaineering or anything else you’d tried in an attempt to bond with that asshole.
“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he said finally. “I think guys like that are very good at getting their way, and you happened to be his victim.” The words were uncannily gentle, and at a glance at Sukuna’s face you could tell he was out of his comfort zone, but trying his best. He tightened his grip on you as a sudden gust of wind battered the tent.
The touch had your heart fluttering, and you wondered how Sukuna felt about your current position. It was probably just a necessity in his eyes - a bid to warm up a tired and stressed woman, nothing more than that.
With your loyalty to Naoya stranded somewhere on the mountain never to be recovered, you found yourself wishing the contact was something more than that.
But considering your woefully pathetic attempt at summiting this relatively easy peak, you doubted Sukuna held you in high regard at all. His type was probably some strong, confident girl who already knew all her outdoor skills without Sukuna’s input. The type of woman he could rely on to partner with for dangerous and difficult peaks.
That wasn’t you.
You weren’t sure you’d step foot on a mountain again after this.
“Maybe you don’t think I’m an idiot for that, but you probably think I am for all this.” You gestured in the general direction of your foot, still humiliated at the thought of Sukuna having to rush down the mountain to your rescue, like you couldn’t be left unsupervised for a single moment without finding yourself in need of rescue.
Much to your chagrin, Sukuna laughed. “An idiot for getting injured? No, that’s practically a rite of passage. You were doing great through most of the hike - I was keeping an eye on you before the group split in half. We’ll get you down the mountain and get your ankle sorted, and then you can try this peak again another time.”
Sukuna’s optimism had butterflies swarming in your stomach, but years of insults and abuse weren’t so easily displaced. You lowered your gaze, staring down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know. I just wonder if Naoya was right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”
Sukuna pulled a face, clearly displeased by that statement.
“Do you like being in the mountains?” He asked simply.
He made no statement on your skill, no attack on anything your boyfriend had told you. Asked nothing more than whether you liked being out in the fresh air, doing what you’d been doing before your ankle had been injured.
And you did.
You really did like it.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Then you are cut out for this. Enjoyment is literally the only requirement,” he said earnestly. “Besides, that guy’s full of shit. I taught you everything you needed to know and I have faith in your abilities. If you need to listen to someone else’s opinion to determine your value, how about you consider mine instead of his.”
A flush appeared across your cheeks. Those were the kind of compliments Sukuna would always pay you. Nothing particularly special or flowery, but deeply genuine in a way that had your whole body bursting with pride, pushing the rot of Naoya’s insults from your veins and replacing it with Sukuna’s approval.
“We’ll come back here together in a few weeks, just the two of us, and we’ll do this peak. I can promise you it’ll be better. I won’t abandon you in the fog.” You believed him, nodding a little in agreement. Even in your fragile mental state that evening, you couldn’t help the excited flip of your stomach at the thought of Sukuna wanting to do something alone with you.
The mountaineering club had been a means for you to learn your skills to climb alone with Naoya. You hadn’t expected that it would leave you excited at the prospect of climbing with another man.
Still, you tried not to get ahead of yourself. Your little crush on Sukuna, which had been present for several months more than you were really willing to admit, seemed to have finally found the freedom to really take over your thoughts. Your heart was practically in your throat at your current proximity to him, a desire coursing through your whole body.
You needed to push it back down even with Naoya out of the picture, because you were certain Sukuna was just being friendly, just being a better person than Naoya was. You couldn’t afford to let your mind run wild with fantasies.
At least, that’s what you’d told yourself.
The two of you had sat in silence for a while after Sukuna’s offer of climbing alone together, still huddled together and listening to the wind and rain outside the tent. You found yourself calmed by the steady rhythm of Sukuna’s heartbeat, basking in the warmth of his body which took your mind off the cold compress burning at your ankle.
“Do you mind if we share the sleeping mat? It's okay if not, but it would be warmer for you and more comfy for me that way.” Considering that the two of you had been cuddling for a while, you didn’t see the issue. Anything was fine in matters of survival and you were more than happy to remain close to Sukuna.
“Yeah, sure. We can zip our sleeping bags together.”
Sukuna’s lashes fluttered and you swore you could see a dusting of pink on his cheeks, but you were quick to disregard it. It had been a long and exhausting day, and you were likely just seeing what you wanted to see.
The cold compress had started to lose its effect, and Sukuna removed it from your ankle while the two of you shuffled about to get ready for bed. Your ankle was feeling much better after a period of rest and elevation, and you found you could move it again without excruciating pain. Getting back down the mountain might still be an issue, but it was one you could leave to figure out in the morning.
Zipping your sleeping bags together and settling down on the sleeping mat, Sukuna made space for you beside him. You had to half lay on him for you both to stay on the padding, but with how warm his body seemed to run, you really didn’t mind. He wrapped his arm around you, nestling you close against him under the guise of conserving space - an action that had your whole body thrumming with electricity.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that way. For months, maybe even years, the only thing you’d felt under Naoya’s touch was mild dread. This was something nicer, something more exciting - a feeling you wanted to experience over and over again.
“Warm enough?” Sukuna asked, giving you a reassuring squeeze. The tent was relatively cool, the fabric being battered by the storm outside, all of which seemed distant as you lay there in Sukuna’s grip. It was a safe and warm place to be, one where you could take your mind off troubles and anxieties knowing he was there to keep anything and everything at bay.
Troubles which Naoya had actively brought upon your life, were effectively chased away by Sukuna.
How you wished you’d met the pink-haired man earlier in your life.
“Warm enough,” you echoed, your voice coming out muffled as you buried your face into his chest.
Again, the two of you fell into comfortable silence, listening to the whistling of wind and basking in the feeling of your bodies pressed close together. You were half asleep and almost convinced that Sukuna was already asleep, when his deep voice cut through the darkness and silence.
“I don’t usually go on these things, you know,” he confessed quietly. “This is my first one. I’m only in the club because it gives you connections for exhibition funding and learning new skills. Usually I do mountains solo and usually I do stuff much harder than this.” He waved his hand in the direction of the tent’s exit.
A guilt blossomed in your gut at the speech, recalling similar words from your boyfriend when you’d brought up the trip. He’d said that climbs in the Japanese Alps outside of wintertime were nothing special, and that the whole thing would likely be so easy that he could do it in his sleep. He’d only agreed to go after you’d begged him, reminding him that you didn’t have the experience he did.
“I’m only here because of you,” Sukuna continued. The guilt within you only grew sharper. Was Sukuna trying to imply that he was only present out of concern for your inexperience? Had you forced him along because he knew something like this would happen? Had he known he’d need to come to your rescue?
“Sorry. I must be such a burden,” you mumbled quietly, burying your face in your sleeping bag.
Did Sukuna really want to commit to climbing alone with you knowing that you were so much less experienced than he was? Or was he just doing it because he felt bad for you? You were likely a pitiful sight with your messed up ankle and an abusive boyfriend who had abandoned you.
Sukuna blinked rapidly, astute enough to swiftly connect the dots. “What? No, that’s not- I was trying to say something nice. I was saying I only came along because I enjoy spending time with you. I don’t like these group things and I prefer to do harder stuff but I’m here because you’re here, and I like you.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears, completely drowning out the sound of any thoughts on how you were supposed to reply to that. You were too caught up on the word ‘like’, on the way Sukuna shifted ever so slightly against you, pulling you more firmly against his body.
“What?” You asked, dumbly.
“I like you,” he repeated. “I think you’re so cute and I love how happy you get whenever you learn something new and I’m so fucking exhausted of watching your boyfriend ignore you and take you for granted when I’d cherish you.”
Again, your stomach flipped, your ears growing warm.
“And when that fucker showed up at the top of the mountain without you, I wanted to kill him. When I found you all cold and alone on the slope I just- fuck. I want to keep you safe. I want to be the person who looks out for you, I want to take care of you in a way that guy seems unwilling to. He has no idea what he has- had, while I understand exactly what you’re worth. I want to take you to the mountains at my side because unlike him, I’d be thrilled to have you as my hiking partner.”
Before you knew what was happening, you were crying again, wetting his clothes immediately with your tears. Your shoulders were shuddering and you could feel Sukuna’s heartrate picking up. It seemed like he was starting to panic - concerned that you were upset by his words when the reality was the total opposite.
You’d never heard something so romantic from Naoya and you never would. To have someone speak such beautiful words to you felt surreal and your body had no idea how to react beyond sobbing from being so overwhelmed with love and affection.
“Sorry,” Sukuna said quickly. “I know it's been a long day, now probably wasn’t the time to say anything. You don’t have to respond-”
He faltered as you peered up at him, your face wet with tears. He usually looked so confident, and even then there was still some atmosphere of certainty about him, but he couldn’t fully hide the glimmer of anxiety in his lovely red eyes. There was a fear of rejection buried within him, a fate that he seemed almost certain he was going to face.
If only he could step into your shoes for a moment and feel all the emotion rushing over you at his confession
You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t think of anything that would suffice as a response to his outpouring of desire. Instead you tilted your face upwards, lips parting softly in a clear signal - one that Sukuna caught onto immediately. He closed the gap swiftly, lips slotting perfectly against yours with a warmth you’d never experienced before.
Naoya’s kiss had always been domineering - a wet and unpleasant experience. Sukuna’s kiss was gentle and exploratory. His lips took the time to appreciate yours, to linger on that lovely shared warmth and soak in the feeling of being connected so intimately for the first time.
His tongue ran along your lips carefully, requesting for you to open your mouth. You complied easily, letting him hold you ever closer as his tongue pressed into yours, deepening the kiss in a way that felt so natural despite the fact that you’d never kissed each other before.
A rumble of thunder overhead had the two of you parting for a second, and you found your shivering renewed as a particularly cold wind blew through the tent. Sukuna’s red eyes went to the entryway, the space illuminating for a second as another flash of lightning ripped through the sky above. His hands rubbed your back soothingly at a louder rumble overhead.
“I’m so glad I came down to find you,” he whispered.
“Thank you for coming to find me,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on his handsome face, your mind still struggling to catch up to all that had transpired in the past few minutes. Thoughts of Naoya and all the suffering he’d put you through seemed distant in the intimacy of that tent. “I feel so lucky. Injured ankle aside.” You giggled softly, heart jumping at the way Sukuna grinned back at you, pressing another soft kiss to your lips.
There was a gratefulness to his expression, a soft affection in his gaze which made you feel seen and special in a way you’d never felt with Naoya. It had you sinking deep into another kiss, your lips locked against his in a deeply intoxicating manner. All the stress and the anxiety of the day seemed to wash away beneath his grip.
Even with the storm raging outside, you felt safe and warm with him there beside you.
You should’ve known about his feelings for you - should’ve understood the moment Yuki had made a comment about how Sukuna never usually spoke to anyone. He’d spent so much time on you, being so gentle in his teachings, making sure you knew what you were doing, making sure you were praised.
He’d liked you from the start and you’d been too blind to see it.
Too beaten down by your own experiences in relationships to believe that any affection directed towards you would be legitimate.
You wished you could’ve puzzled it out sooner. You wished you could’ve noticed the soft look that always sparkled in Sukuna’s eyes whenever he looked at you. You wished you’d dumped Naoya several years ago, because it shouldn’t have taken an abandonment on the side of the mountain for you to realise how truly awful your ex-boyfriend was.
But what was done was done. Sukuna’s hands were on you now, and that was all that mattered. You’d made it in the end, even if it had taken you a little longer to get there than you would’ve ideally liked.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered as the two of you broke apart for breath, red eyes scanning your face like he was committing your features to memory. “How Naoya could be so stupid, I have no idea.”
“He’s not a smart man.”
“No. He really isn’t.” Sukuna agreed. “But his loss is my gain.”
You hummed, leaning against Sukuna’s chest once more, listening to his heartbeat beneath you. Despite the excitement, you were suddenly aware of how tired you were, and how much the cold was still seeping in through your clothes and down into your bones. Altitude was no joke, and the pleasant spring warmth was nowhere to be found on the mountainside that evening.
“Are you still cold? You’re shivering.” It wasn’t possible for Sukuna to physically pull you closer to him than you already were, but he gave it an attempt all the same, practically crushing you in his grip.
“A little, yeah.”
“Shit. Once sec.” Moving away from you for a moment, he reached out of the sleeping bag and rummaged about in his bag, withdrawing his down jacket and draping it around your shoulders like an additional blanket. You were grateful for the added warmth, coccooned in between that and Sukuna’s warm body.
For a few moments you lay there, your shivering finally subsiding, only for all the hairs on your neck to raise at the feeling of Sukuna’s voice vibrating against the top of your head. “There is another way I could keep you warm.”
His tone was suggestive and perhaps a little amused. The comment had heat billowing throughout your body, your gut tightening at the suggestion of something you’d never allowed yourself to think of before. Sukuna was very attractive, and sometimes your mind had drifted in his direction when your hand had been caught between your thighs. But you’d always scolded yourself for it, had always driven away the idea of picturing a man you actually knew when you had a boyfriend.
Now the suggestion was right there on the table as something real and tangible, and your mind was conjuring all sorts of exciting imagery.
“O-oh. Yeah, that could be nice,” you said with a sudden rush of confidence. It was Sukuna’s turn to falter, red eyes suddenly wide with surprise, as if you’d called some bluff without even realising it.
“I don’t have a condom,” he murmured, pushing you back ever so slightly so he could look properly at your face. “Sorry, I wasn’t actually expecting…this.”
“I am on the pill,” you offered a little bashfully, embarrassed to have reacted so enthusiastically to what you were now realising was a joke. “But we can wait if you’d rather use a-”
“No, no-,” his face was definitely a little red this time, seemingly caught off by your willingness. “If you want to, I’d like to. I just…” He rubbed his neck a little awkwardly. “I was just teasing and you surprised me, I guess. You’re always surprising me.”
Before you could backtrack or come up with some witty response, Sukuna recovered himself and his lips were on your neck. You let out a soft whimper at the sensation of his teeth dragging against your sensitive skin, his lips latching onto you and sucking purple marks onto you with no concern for who might see them the next day.
As far as he was concerned you were his. Naoya could rage all he wanted. If he wanted to keep his girlfriend he shouldn’t have discarded her on the mountainside. Bitterly, you hoped Naoya found out exactly what you and Sukuna had done that night. Let him seethe. Let him reflect on all that he’d lost.
The bastard deserved all that misery and more.
Sukuna’s hands found their way beneath your clothes, calloused fingers pressing against your skin with care. You hadn’t realised how much your whole body was aching until he was touching you like that, your muscles flexing at the new contact.
You took his actions as a sign to do the same, sliding your own fingers beneath his shirt and pressing them against his abs. You knew he was well built - on hotter days he’d been shirtless when working on teaching you to lead climb, and you’d pretty shamelessly stared at him until your mind had reminded you of your boyfriend.
It would be nice for him to be shirtless now, but neither of you felt like removing any layers of clothing in the cold, so for the time being your touch would have to suffice. That was a freedom that Sukuna seemed to be taking full advantage of, mapping out your body with his hands, his fingers moving to your breasts and squeezing, red eyes lighting up at the little moan it earned him.
“Really shouldn’t be doing this now,” he whispered huskily against your ear. “Had the whole thing planned out. Figured once you’d broken up with Naoya that I’d take you out on a nice date and then bring you back to my place so we could do this properly. But here we are.”
You giggled softly at the dismay in his tone. “We can still stop.”
“No. I want this now. You aren’t so easily resisted. But mark my words, once we’re back home, I’m going to take my time with you. I want to look at you properly beyond just fumbling about in a dark tent - as hot as this is.”
Giggling again, you nodded, in total agreement with his sentiment. Doing things like this, while a little limited, did feel exciting in its own way. It felt like you were keeping some secret with each other, doing whatever you could in the dark without anyone else knowing about it. There was an allure to it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
With Sukuna’s attention on your breasts, you were the one that ended up making a major move first. Your hand slid down beneath the waistband of his trousers, finding its way into his briefs. He let out a groan at the feeling of your hand brushing against his cock, which twitched erratically at the slightest touch.
It felt big beneath your fingers, and you hadn’t realised that your breath had hitched until Sukuna was letting out a chuckle.
“Impressed?”
“Maybe,” you mumbled shyly. You didn’t have much of a point of reference for such things. Naoya was the only man you’d ever been with, and you imagined that he wasn’t packing anything particularly unique down there. Not if Sukuna’s size was anything to go by. You wrapped your fingers around the shaft, enjoying the way Sukuna shivered in pleasure.
Meanwhile, Sukuna mirrored your actions, his fingers moving down your body until they were grazing against your panties. It was a little embarrassing how damp the fabric had grown, your pussy desperately slick from the events of the evening. Your body wanted Sukuna just as much as your heart and mind did, and it was making that fact glaringly obvious.
“So wet,” he said with a chuckle. “There I was all nervous that you wouldn’t feel the same. Shows what I know, huh?”
You flushed, glancing away from him in embarrassment as his fingers pushed your panties to the side, giving him free access to your pussy beneath. His fingers moved deftly through your folds, moving the slick around before rubbing at your clit, leaving you whining his name and squeezing his cock a little tighter.
“Cute,” he hummed, his nose brushing against yours. One of his fingers prodded at your opening, pushing in with a little effort. He took a few minutes opening you up with two of his fingers, languidly stuffing you full with them to prepare you. You didn’t want to admit to how emotional the whole thing made you feel, because Naoya had always said that foreplay was a myth.
Never before had you been prepared for anything, and Sukuna taking so much time to do so had your heart fluttering.
You tried your best to return the favour, stroking his cock as best as you could while it was still confined beneath his clothes, but he didn’t seem to pay that too much attention - completely fixed on making you cum around his fingers before moving onto anything else. That was another thing that Naoya had never done. Cumming with him was so infrequent that you’d almost grown certain that you couldn’t do it with another person.
And yet, Sukuna had you doing it in a matter of minutes - your toes curling in desperate pleasure as you gushed over his fingers with a sweet little gasp.
There was no time for you to catch your breath before he was pushing your trousers and panties down ever so slightly to give him access whilst still keeping you dressed and warm. He did the same for his own clothes, gently displacing your hand from his cock and repositioning the two of you so that he was on top.
The sleeping bag was still wrapped snugly around the two of you, keeping the warmth in effectively while he lined himself up over you, his muscular body keeping you pinned down beneath him in a position you’d be more than happy to remain in for the rest of your days. It was so nice to be under him like that, to be so surrounded by his body and heat and scent.
It was where you were supposed to be. In some uncomfortable tent on the side of the mountain feeling happier than ever because he was there with you.
You’d gone to the mountaineering club for Naoya, but you couldn’t help but think fate had guided your actions and really led you there for Sukuna.
“All good?” He asked, hot breath brushing against your ear. The tip of his cock was pressed up against your opening, and you realised that he was giving you a chance to back out - showing you a level of consideration that Naoya never would.
“Yeah,” you breathed, lashes fluttering as you peered up into lovely red eyes, letting out a whine when he finally pushed into you.
You hadn’t been prepared for just how big he was, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your skull as he pressed his way into your tight pussy. Your nails dug into his arms and a whimper left you at the intensity of the feeling. You felt like you were aware of every ridge and vein on his cock, your pussy squeezing around him each time he’d involuntarily twitch within you.
It didn’t take long for the uncomfortable fullness to give way to pleasure once he bottomed out inside you. It had a pleasantly warm buzz running through your body once he started to thrust within you, the weight of his body keeping you still and secure, keeping you warm even as the storm picked up outside.
Any fears of the thunder and lightning were pushed aside in favour of focusing on the feeling of being split in two. Sukuna’s lips found your neck once more, overstimulating you as he bit and sucked on the juncture between your neck and shoulder, bringing tears to your eyes beneath all the pleasure he was giving you.
Even through the stretch it felt right to have him inside you, and it was downright heavenly each time one of his long strokes hit that one specific spot inside you, bringing stars and light to your vision each time.
This was where you were meant to be.
Neither of you lasted particularly long. Not after the day you’d just had, and certainly not after months of mutual crushing. You’d cum first - your body already sensitive from the previous orgasm and totally overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all. Sukuna had reached down to play with your clit while he fucked you, and that set you on a high unlike any other.
If Naoya had known where the clit was, he’d certainly never touched it.
And yet, there Sukuna was utilising it. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d cum from penetrative sex, but Sukuna had pulled an orgasm from you like it was easy.
And maybe it was easy.
Maybe Naoya just fucking sucked.
Sukuna wasn’t far behind you in reaching his release. When you’d cum you’d clamped down around him tightly, locked in a spiral of pure pleasure unlike that which you’d experienced before. It felt better than anything you could achieve with your own hands - infinitely more intimate and lovely.
The way you’d squeezed him so tight had sent Sukuna over the edge, prompting him to groan your name in that low tone of his as he filled you with his seed, riding out his own release to the point where you were growing overstimulated and begging him for mercy.
Mercy which he gave you with a gentle smile and a kiss planted atop your sweaty forehead.
The two of you lay then in the darkness, soft pants drowned beneath the howling of wind. Sukuna was holding you tightly, keeping you secure in his grip like you might vanish if he didn’t cling to you with all his might. He was still inside you, softening but present in a way that felt blissfully intimate. Whenever you’d laid with Naoya, you couldn’t wait to escape his grip and get cleaned up.
With Sukuna, it was different.
You could stay there with him sheathed inside you for hours - connected in a way that just felt right.
His lips were ghosting against your hair, soothing you with kisses, running his hands over you repetitively in a bid to ensure you stayed warm at his side. Your ankle was throbbing a little from all the movement, but with Sukuna’s legs intertwined with yours you found yourself able to ignore it. All thoughts and discomforts overridden by how happy you felt in that moment.
“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll look after you.”
“I know,” you whispered.
He smiled softly. “Just making sure you know it. Apparently you can’t take for granted that everyone will look out for you.” His tone came out a little bitter, but instead of feeling anger at the reminder of Naoya’s actions, you felt a warmth blossom across your chest at Sukuna’s display of care.
You liked that he was angry about it. It was nice to have someone care about you for once.
In hindsight, it was a blessing that you never made it out into the mountains alone with Naoya like you’d intended to at the start of your mountaineering training. If you had, perhaps you would’ve ended up left for dead - freezing on the side of the mountain while Naoya summoned some crocodile tears and dismissed your fate altogether.
You were lucky to have Sukuna. Lucky to be able to continue going into the mountains with someone who actually wanted you there. Someone who would really take care of you.
“I’m glad you’re here to look after me.” Your hand reached for his face, tracing his tattoos with great care. As pleasant as your evening with him had been, you were looking forward to making it down the mountain - to spending time with him outside of that tent. It would be nice to see just where those tattoos disappeared off to beneath his clothes.
But that would have to wait.
You knew that the next day would be long. An arduous trek back down the mountain was ahead of you, along with a no doubt vicious confrontation with your ex. One that you were sure Sukuna would take the lead on, but still not something you were looking forward to experiencing.
Either way, you wouldn’t dwell on it that evening.
Because for the time being, there was nothing you needed to worry about. The storm could rage on outside for as long as it needed to. You were safe in your tent, in the arms of a man who would never leave you alone on the side of a mountain.
And it was possibly the happiest you’d been in a very long time.
a/n: after getting down to the bottom of the mountain the next day I promise reader slapped naoya and sukuna beat the hell out of him :)
had such a fun time writing this its literally the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written as I love being in the mountains hehe
hope you enjoyed! reblogs and comments are appreciated as always!
⡴ gym teacher!sukuna has an embarrassingly known crush on school nurse!reader
lowkey wanna turn this into a full oneshot
if he heard one more twelve year old’s squeaky voice whispering to one another, saying he’s ‘got a crush on the school nurse’ he swears he’s gonna write up the whole grade.
god, it’s even worse when one of the eighth grade girls come up to him when he’s on lunch duty.
“mr., mr. ! did you know the nurse mentioned she likes tall guys when i went into her room for a tylenol !”
“what does that have to do with me ?” he grumbles, scrunching his face while the girl and her friend stare up at him.
“well everyone knows you like like her—”
“GO SIT DOWN!”
he swears the whole lunchroom conveniently goes quiet when he yells that as the girls squirm away back to their tables and start whispering around gossip.
and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.
“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”
“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.
“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.
he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”
“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”
“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.
you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.
the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.
the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.
he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.
“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.
you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).
“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.
“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.
and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.
“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”
yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.
“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”
“is it cause you have a crush on her—”
sukuna tenses before cutting him off.
“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”
yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.
“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.
he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.
yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.
sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.
just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.
“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”
▶︎︎︎︎︎︎ Someone Else? (starring . various jjk men)
synopsis . What happens when they find out you have a friend that’s a little too comfortable with you. pairings (separate) . Choso x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader, Toji x f!reader, Gojo x f!reader.
content . afab!reader, possessiveness, toxic men, rough sex, reader is oblivious to someone flirting with her, praise, overstim, degrading, non-curse au, dirty talk, filth, they’re all pretty mean & grumpy, slight edging, mention(s) of squirting, spitting, etc.
word count . 7.8k || author's note: this is a repost from kamitv, so if it looks familiar that's why (also the writing in this is like 2 years old). banner art from “hachisuka’s family kotoribako”
☆ Choso Kamo
“Mine, mine, mine, mine,” Is just about all Choso could grunt against your lips as he fucked you down into the mattress. “You understand that, no? All this belongs t'me, princess.”
Panting heavily, nails scraping at his back, pussy stuffed full of cum that was dripping out and down onto the bed so messily—Choso had you ruined all because he found out you had some guy friend who may have flirted with you today.
“Answer me, c'mon,” Choso groans. His lips are right against yours, cock buried inches deep into your cunt as your legs remained sprawled out for him.
“Y-Yes, Choso-, fuck!” You moan into the air, eyes watering at how rough your husband was being with you.
His head tipped to the side, “Who the hell did that guy think he was, huh? Flirting with you like you’re not my goddamn wife.”
“Choso, p-please—”
“Please what?” He growls, voice just as rough as his thrusts were with you, “Told’ you I didn’t like that guy months ago.”
Your jaw simply hangs open, eyes hardly on your lover above you, “M’sorry.”
Choso scoffs, “I know you are. You should be.” He huffs as his balls slap against your skin with each thrust.
Panting, you gasp out his name, “Choso…” You utter just as a big pout pulls at your lower lip, eyes doe-like as you gaze up at the man.
He cocks his head to the side and his eyes narrow at you, his dick twitching wildly inside you, “Don’t fuckin’ pouttt,” He coos, “Y’let that guy hug you like that today ‘nd you thought I was gonna be okay with that?”
You shake your head and a whine slips out, “N-No, but-“
“Shut up. I wasn’t done talkin’.” Choso cuts off meanly, rolling his eyes afterward, “Months I’ve been tellin’ you to distance yourself from him and yet here we are...” His body presses into yours and you whimper, feeling his hands grip your thighs tight enough to leave marks.
“Choso.” You call out, as if that’ll give you a second to escape him.
He holds back a whine that nearly escapes his throat due to how pretty you looked beneath him. Even upset with you, his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you by the mere sight of you whimpering below him.
“Fuck, I love you baby but damn,” He almost smiles at you, “I thought we talked about this?”
You take a deep breath, “W-We did, I just-“
Choso’s cock hits in deep, pelvis smacking against you constantly, “If you make another excuse for him m’gonna stop,” He tells you, hips slowing for only a second.
“N-No. Don’t stop, please.” You beg before moving your arms to wrap tighter around his neck and tug him closer.
“Mmmh,” He pouts to mock you but can’t deny the fact that the way you tugged him closer to you has his mind growing hazy for a second, “Don’t stop?” Choso asks.
He continues to slow down anyway, not yet coming to a halt but thrusts turning languid and listening to how your pussy messily slicks up his skin.
“Please, Cho, m-m’close.” You whisper, eyes silently begging him.
“Are you?” Choso questions, voice deeper than ever as he smirks, “Y’gonna cum f’me again? Wet up my cock so I can send that asshole a picture ‘nd show him whose dick you’re beggin’ for every night? Huh?”
Your back arches up off the bed a bit and your legs begin to cage around Choso’s waist, “Hahh, mmgh, t-that’s so… mean, Cho,” You whine in response, pouting again as your eyes water.
His pace had picked back up and you were being fucked into the mattress, a filthy mess of cum dripping down onto the bed below where the two of you were connected.
“Mean?” Choso echoes, the coldness of the wedding ring he’s got on his finger pressing further into your legs and making you shudder, “Baby… I can show you mean.”
You slide a hand up into his hair and pull his face closer to yours, attempting to kiss him, “Choso…”
He avoids your little gesture and teases you with a smile as he pulls up a little, “I could send him a video.”
“Please,” You frown at your husband’s sudden suggestion.
His dripping tip knocks against the hilt of your cunt, stuffing you full over and over before he finally let out a sigh, “Tch, fine. I won’t,” Choso hums, leaning closer to your face just like you originally wanted him to before whispering, “But don’t let me catch you around him again, okay?”
You nod and your eyes drop to his lips, “Okay.”
“Mh,” Choso hums against you as he finally gives you a slight kiss, feeling how you whine at the loss of the gentle contact when he pulls away, “Now tell me you love me, baby.”
You’re saying it faster than you could even process, “I love you, Cho.”
Oh his entire body reacts to that—hips drawing back, tip teasing your folds for a moment as he taunts you, “Yeah?”
“Mhmmm,” You hum eagerly.
His head tips to the side and he smirks, angling himself so that his cockhead bumps up against your clit, “How much?”
“Love you s’much,” You mumble, a slight whines leaving your throat after.
“Aww, do you? Y’love me so much?” Choso coos. His voice was as deep as ever but soft with you nonetheless before he moves his lips to your ear and shifts his cock back down to your twitching hole. Easing himself back in, “Or do you jus’ love gettin fucked like this?” Choso whispers.
The delicious stretch his cock created as it pushed back inside you had you gasping, “B-Both.”
“Both, huh?” Choso scoffs and his lips press against the shell of your ear, “Fuckin’ slut.”
Then he’s dragging his hips back and rutting them down into you with haste, listening to how each thrust makes you gasp and moan. You were so cute when you couldn’t handle him.
Your nails scratched at his scalp and his upper back, leaving bright red marks on his skin and making him hiss. Bulging cock sinking in and out of you so hard that all you could do was hold onto him and moan.
“H-Hhgnn…” You cry out—cunt tightening around him and earning a deep groan.
“Fuuuck, almost forgot you love that,” Choso huffs, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk, “Y’like it when I’m mean t’you, huh?”
“Ah, mgh, y-yeahhh,” Your voice comes in a sultry whimper and Choso groans again with how tight your pussy was clinging onto his cock, sucking him in deeper than he could handle.
His breath grows hot against your ear, “S’that why you let him hug you? You wanted to piss me off?” Thrusting harder and harder with his questions, your eyes begin to roll back.
“M-Maybe,” You manage to respond with a fucked-out smile taking over your expression.
“Maybe? Fuck, you’re so cute, baby.” Choso purrs, “If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you and call you a slut, all you had to do was ask.”
And then he’s doing just as he’s described—plump cockhead abusing your sweet spot by hitting it over and over, “H-Hahh, ah, t-that’s-, fuck, embarrassing Cho.”
Choso chuckles, “Askin’ for me to do somethin’ I’ve done before during sex isn’t embarrassing, baby. Y’know I’ll do anything you ask of me.”
You start pouting all over again, babbling an “M’sorry,” Without really understanding why you’re still apologizing.
“Mhm. Prove it by squirtin’ on me again,” Choso tells you before moving to sit up. He then tugs your thighs over his and fuck does the tip of his dick make you see stars for a second as he repositions himself slightly.
His hands grip onto your hips and he continues his rough pace like it’s nothing, hair disheveled with a few dark strands sticking to his forehead.
“Cho,” You say in an attempt to convince him to slow down for a moment.
Unfortunately for you, your voice only drives him crazier. You were so whiny, it caused blood to rush to the head of his cock and his balls to ache—everything about you was intoxicating.
“I’ll send your lil’ friend a picture of these messy ass sheets afterward, ‘kay?” Choso pants, lips parting as he releases a slight moan from your pussy dripping all over him. Such a messy girl you were, not that he’d prefer you any other way.
“Choso.” You manage almost sternly, sending him a pointed look.
He pouts and decides to play innocent as if his cock wasn’t currently tearing you apart, “Don’t scold me, I gotta do something, baby.”
Rolling your eyes, you reach a hand down and graze his pelvis—making a fail of an attempt at pushing him away, “S’not nice.”
Choso snaps his hips forward as if to make a point and fuck his frustrations right into you, “Good thing m’not tryin’ to be fuckin’ nice then, right?”
☆ Nanami Kento
Who swears he was never a jealous man. He's seen the way people look at you time and time again and never has he batted an eye—why would he? Nanami's confident in himself enough to know that no other man would come in and steal your heart the way he has.
And such confidence has remained up until today.
After a long day of work, there's nothing he wants more than to come home to his lovely girlfriend whom he's been infatuated with for years now. Yet, today was different.
Walking into the shared apartment, unlike normal, you didn't come running up to him with a hug and a million kisses. Odd, he thought to himself, followed by a call of your name that echoed throughout the home.
"In the kitchen, Ken," You replied back, the sweet sound of your voice making him smile as he puffed out a sigh.
He's not sure where the momentary worry came from, but it subsided as he figured you may have been busy with something. As Nanami takes his jacket off, he moves a hand to loosen his tie, soon raking a hand through his hair afterward.
The house was awfully quiet, void of sounds of cooking or your voice—which was, again, odd. Stepping out of his shoes, Nanami steadily makes his way to the kitchen, soon spotting you and feeling a thousand pounds of stress lift off of his shoulders at the mere sight of you.
And in a sundress no less. You were on your phone, fingers tapping away at the screen with a slight smile on your face, your body bent forward against the kitchen counter with your back arched ever so slightly as you stood comfortably.
The sound of footsteps approaching you made you turn your head toward you boyfriend and flash him a loving smile. "Hi Kento, how was work?" You chirped sweetly.
"Fine, my love. How was home?" Nanami replied sweetly as he leaned down to you. A sudden buzz from your phone made you move your gaze and Nanami found himself giving you a slight peck on your lips but your eyes were elsewhere.
Whatever was on your phone must've been quite intriguing. "Home was wonderful. I did some cleaning today so..." You trail off and Nanami just gazes at you as your words fade away.
His brows begin to push together, "So...?"
You blink a few times, fingers tapping away at your screen yet again, "So uh," Trying to focus on both your boyfriend and the male you were texting at the same time was proving to be rather difficult for you.
Hence why Nanami sighs heavily and moves a hand to your back, caressing you gingerly, "Everything alright, love?"
You nod, "Mhm... Sorry about that, Ken. What was I saying again?" You ask as you turn to him with curious eyes.
He gazes at you, wondering how your attention could be so diverted. This was unusual coming from you but he shrugs it off, "You were telling me about how you cleaned up today?"
"Oh! Yes, I was gonna say I felt rather productive today," You finally get out before, again, turning away and to your phone.
Nanami nods his head, "I see. Is there something going on, sweetheart?"
You chuckle, "What? No, why?"
For a moment, your boyfriend does nothing more than watch how consumed you are by the conversation taking place through text on your phone. "You seem awfully distracted, is all," He sighs.
"Ohhh, no," You smile, "It's just this coworker of mine was wondering why I didn't show up today and then he and I-"
"He?" Nanami echoes aloud mistakenly. He hadn't meant to voice that, it was more of a thought.
Slowly, your head turns to your boyfriend yet again and despite the smile on your face, your brows push together and your expression is skeptical, "Yes, Kento, he. Is that an issue?"
"No, of course not," Nanami shakes his head before glancing off to the side with a shrug, "I just wasn't aware you were so close with any of your male coworkers."
You blink, "I'm really not, it's just him."
For some reason, his heart pangs a bit as you say that, "Just him, huh?" Nanami hums to himself.
"Mhm," You nod. Then, ignoring the clear attitude this has brought on, you turn to your phone and return to your texting.
Steadily, Nanami's eyes trail back over to you and he watches you type before rolling his eyes. He's not even sure why this is bothering him but he then moves to stand behind you, his crotch pressing into your ass as he begins to crave more of your attention.
He's truly not used to it being on anyone else that's not him.
"And what are you two discussing now that's so..." His words trail for a minute, eyes dragging along the slight curve in your back as you remained arched perfectly in such an effortless way, "...Important," Nanami soon finishes with a sharp narrow of his eyes.
"Well, he asked to come over for some reason and I'm not really sure how to respond," You reply honestly as you stare at the most recently received text.
Nanami's head cocks back a bit and he scoffs, "He's asked to come over?"
You nod, "Yes."
There's a pause but then your boyfriend leans forward and you can feel his muscular thighs press into the back of yours as his torso leans over. A hand is placed on the counter beside your waist and you look back over your shoulder to see Nanami nearing you.
His gentle eyes meet yours, "Can I see?"
You grin innocently, having nothing to hide from him whatsoever, "Sure," Handing him your phone, Nanami doesn't hesitate to read the messages exchanged from the past hour or so, seeing that this coworker of yours has been trying to flirt with you for some time now.
"Hm," He hums, "Does he always refer to you as uh," He clicks his tongue and scoffs, "Pretty girl?"
You shrug, "Well, yes and I've asked him to stop-"
"And yet you keep talking to him instead of blocking his number?" Nanami cuts off faster than he means to, eyes flipping up from the phone and to your face.
You flash a sheepish little smile, not exactly understanding the issue here, "I mean, he is my coworker."
For a moment, the two of you just stare at one another. Nanami seems to be bothered but not exactly upset just yet, his brown eyes boring into yours as you have this completely clueless look on your face.
Weighing his head to the side ever so slightly, "...That enjoys flirting with you despite knowing you have a boyfriend?" Nanami finishes your statement for you questionably.
You bat your eyes at him and your brows go up, "W-Well-"
"Y'know what," Nanami places your phone down, "Why don't you invite him over?" He suddenly suggests.
You’re taken all the way back by the sudden statement, giving your boyfriend nothing more than a blank stare before uttering a baffled, "Huh?"
"Tell him he can come over,” He repeats, sliding the phone toward your hands and then moving his own to his belt. There’s a slight shuffle as he unbuckles his belt, the simply clacks making your heart skip a steady beat as you realize where he’s going with this. “I should be done by the time he gets here,” Nanami says.
Again, you blink in a confused manner before taking your phone up and doing as he’s just suggested—telling your coworker he can make his way over to you.
After which, you turn off your phone and return your eyes back to your boyfriend whose hands were busy tossing his belt onto the nearby floor. Your eyes then dropped down to his crotch and you swayed your hips to the side a bit to get a better look—spotting the heavy tent in his pants and gulping at the sight.
“Kento…” You hush out, earning a hum from him, “Is everything alright?” Your tone was so very soft and sappy with him, the sound making his heart ache in emotions beyond comprehension.
“Of course, my love,” He replies gently, sending you a quick smile, “I just need you right now, is that okay?”
Your gaze lifts and you meet his pretty brown eyes, lashes fluttering at how handsome he looks standing behind you, “You know that’s okay Ken, I’m all yours.”
He just about forgets the idea of restraint after that statement of yours. Of course he knows you’re all his but hearing it come out of your mouth with zero hesitation even after having another man flirt with you was…
Well, it was reassurance. Reassurance Nanami didn’t realize he enjoyed hearing.
Which is why he has you repeating similar phrases like that within the next few minutes as he fucks you into the kitchen counter.
Hips bruising with the way they were pressed into the counter edge, panties tugged to the side and nearly ripped off of you, back arched like a goddamn slut for your boyfriend, and messy folds stretched open as Nanami pounded his heavy cock into your tight hole—you were soon on cloud nine.
“Repeat that for me love,” Nanami grunts, breath coming out in heavy pants as his hips clash into yours over and over and over again.
You could hardly breathe properly and your mind was all frazzled, nearly everything that came out of your mouth was a moan and yet he still expected you to speak to him.
“K-Kento,” You gasp his name in erotic breathes, “Fuuuck, hahh, I… I said m’all yours,”
A sharper thrust is given in response to you, one of his hands gripping onto the bundled part of your dress at your lower back and the other coming down hard on your ass, “Yeah? All mine to ruin, right?” Nanami huffs out.
All you could do was nod, “Uhuh.” His hips were to damn harsh against your ass, thick cock drilling into your hole despite how lovingly he was speaking to you not too long ago.
“All mine to fuck senseless,” Nanami continues, his aroused tone making your cunt tighten around him.
Your jaw falls open as he starts knocking into that sappy spot inside you, each thrust making your legs quake and the fat of your ass ripple against him, “Yes Ken-, f-fuck.” You stammer, eyes watering and your nails scraping against the counter.
“Oh darling,” He groans, tossing his head back and then moaning at how wet you were for him, how easy it was for his cock to slide in and out and in and out, “Do you have any idea what you to t’me? Huh?” Nanami huffs.
“Mhmm,” You barely whine in response, your body jerking forward with his every mean thrust.
Steadily, he rolls his head back into place, eyes glancing down at the obscene stretch of your pussy lips around the shaft of his cock, “Are you sure? Y’know it upsets me to see another man flirt with you,” He says, voice surprising sturdy despite how well you’re taking him.
“M’sorry Ken,” You’re quick to apologize as if you’ve done something wrong and your boyfriend frowns at you.
“Huh. No need to be sorry, sweetheart,” Nanami coos, and god you feel your legs drawing together at how gentle his tone is with you. “S’not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong,” He whispers.
Followed by which is the slight shift in his hips, angling his thrusts a little and causing your entire body to twitch below him. Nanami knows every inch of your body like the back of his hand.
How could he not? He’s studied you very closely—hence why the slight shift causes the curve of his cock to just drill into you so hard that you’re seeing stars.
“Mmgh, ahh, hahh, K-Kento,” You whine, your torso beginning to lift from the counter as if to try to escape his thrusts for a moment.
Jaw gone slack, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth, nails scraping for some kind of hold, and legs shaking as they drew together—you were losing your mind.
“Hm?” Nanami replies so simply, too simply, as if he wasn’t currently fucking the air out of your lungs.
You gasp and your voice grows airy, “Fuck-, oh fuck… m’gonna cum again.”
He tilts his head and smiles, “Again? Aw, you’re so messy for me today,” Nanami says before his hand shifts into the arch of your back and he presses you down onto the counter.
Pinned, you could no longer try and escape his mean thrusts for even a second. Nanami was relentless with you, cock fucking you full, pussy drooling against him, coating his veins—you couldn’t even formulate proper sentences anymore.
“Hhggnh, hahhh, ah, ah…” You moaned loudly with not a single care in the world, eyes rolling back as your cheek pressed into the cold kitchen counter.
“So loud too,” Nanami comments. Then he’s leaning closer to you, cock bottoming you out and making you gasp and whimper.
“Kenn,” Is all you could say for a moment, eyes watering and breath leaving you.
His voice is suddenly next to your ear as his muscular frame leans over yours, “Yes love? I’m right here.” He emphasizes that last word with a deep thrust, making your legs nearly give out for a second.
“I know, I know-,” You babble, trying to pull your head away from his to escape his deep tone in your ear. “Fuck, fuuck, I feel you s’deep.” You whimper again, pouting while trying to catch a moment to breathe.
“Mmhmm, feel me riiight there, huh?” Nanami asks. And god was he right where you wanted him, fat cockhead jerking into your sweet spot and turning your legs into utter mush beneath him.
“Y-Yes, yes, m-mhmm,” Your squeeze shut and a tear rolls down your cheek, heavy pants leaving your throat, “Shit.”
Nanami moves to kiss the crown of your ear lovingly, “Aw, look at you. You close, pretty?”
You’re quick to nod without second thought, “Yes.”
“C’mon then,” His lips move and press against your ear, “Give it to me.”
And then you’re coming undone, repeating his name over and over, “K-Kento, Kento fuck-, Ken.” He loves it too, smiling against your ear as he grunts at the way your cunt throbs and twitches as you cum on his cock.
“Hahh, you sound so pretty moaning my name like that,” He comments before pulling away from your ear, “Look at me while you do it this time,” He utters, earning a steady turn of your head as you angle it back to meet his gaze. Then he smiles at you, hips rolling into you and tip smearing against your gummy walls, “Mhm, thaaat’s it—good girl.”
“Mmh, mmgh!” Your eyes flicker as he slows down to you can really feel him. “Ahh… K-Ken,” You whisper.
His cock aches inside you, “Repeat that, what’s my name?”
Struggling to keep your eyes open, you try your best to maintain eye contact, “Kento.”
“Whose cock are you makin’ a mess on right now?” He questions, tone a but harsh with you as he drags his hips back.
Snapping them forward just as you answer him, you end up stuttering, “Y-Yours Ken.”
“Mhm,” His brows tense as he pulls back yet again. This time, he moves a hand around and grabs ahold of your jaw, tugging your body up off the counter a bit and your face closer to his, “Last question. Who do you belong to, hm?”
“Y-You Kento, m’all yours,” You pant, lips wet with drool and eyes glossy from tears.
All Nanami does is flash a slight smile before he’s rutting his cock right back into you, watching and listening to the way oxygen leaves your lungs, “That’s right. All fuckin’ mine.” Nanami groans, lips nearing yours with the way he pulls you closer to him. Then he’s whispering, “And your little coworkers gonna understand that after today.”
Just before his lips are on yours, you manage a staggered little, “W-What?” In question.
He chuckles, “Oh, you didn’t hear him? He knocked on the door a few minutes ago,” Nanami tells you, watching your entire face twist up as you’re too fucked out to really understand that. “I’m sure he heard you moaning my name…”
☆ Toji Fushiguro
“So, you hate me, huh?” Toji dramatically huffs out as soon as the two of you enter your home again.
You groan and stomp off to your shared bedroom, trying to escape your annoyingly jealous husband due to what’s recently occurred. You’re apparently not allowed to be friends with his friends—or at least, not Shiu Kong allegedly.
Toji’s quick to stride into the bedroom behind you, hands stuffed into his pockets as he watches you storm around the room with a smirk on his face. You were so cute when you were annoyed with him.
Tipping his head to the left, his eyes narrow at you snatching your jacket off as you tried to give him the silent treatment, “Not sure why you’re so upset, y’know. I wasn’t the one pressin’ my tits into someone’s face,” He scoffs.
His hands lift out of his pockets and he crosses his arms over his beefy chest, eyes yet to leave your overly annoyed figure standing by the bed.
You send him a pointed glare before openly rolling your eyes at him, letting him know you’re upset.
Toji cocks his head back at the gesture and his brows raise, “Fucks’ your problem, huh? Mad at me ‘cause of somethin’ you did?”
“No, Fushiguro. Leave me alone,” You huff, frustrated frown etching its way across your lips.
“Ohh, now she decides to speak? And she uses our last name to address me too?” Toji’s baffled by your little attitude, a bit entertained, but baffled nonetheless.
You sigh loudly and move to grab your nearest sweatpants, “Leave me alone.”
“Why, huh?” Toji scoffs, “Y’mad about what I said to Shiu?”
Your eyes move to a slow blink before you click your tongue, “Well, seeing as you told him never to come around us again and that I’m, apparently, ‘not his fuckin’ friend’, maybe.”
Toji doesn’t react much to you mocking him and his expression stays relatively the same, “The hell is wrong with my statement?”
“I made a mistake and you took it out on him,” You explain as you tug your sweats on and move to take your shirt off.
“No, you both made a mistake ‘nd I’m takin’ it out on both of you.” Toji corrects. He was a bit more upset than he led on, “Your dumb ass leaned over him for some stupid fuckin’ water bottle and his eyes went to your tits as if it were second nature.”
You grit your teeth, “It was an accident Toji.”
“Nah, fuck that. Accident my goddamn ass, how many times has he looked at you like that, huh?” Your husband suddenly questions, sounding like he was implying something more as he took a step closer to the bed.
Your brows push together and you shrug, “I don’t know-“
“Oh and let’s not forget the way he grabbed your waist to, what?” He scoffs, “‘Help’ you? ‘Keep you steady’?” Toji continues, hardly giving you a second to even try and respond, “Not sure where ya’ brain’s at today doll, but Shiu is way too fuckin’ comfortable touchin’ you and I don’t like it.”
You shoot him nothing more than a blank yet frustrated stare, “Toji.”
His eyes are already on yours, giving you the same energy through his looks, “What?”
Sighing, “You’re being dramatic.” You tell him.
That ticks him off just right because then his face is twisting up into a scowl, “Dramatic? I’m being fuckin’ dramatic? Don’t piss me off,” Toji warns.
You find the nerve to laugh at him, “Don’t piss you off? Toji you’ve been whining about this all damn day. It’s over now, isn’t it?”
He decides to ignore your little jab at him and he steadily walks over to the side of the bed you’re standing at, “No, it’s not. You haven’t even apologized.”
You chuckle, “For what?”
He finds himself standing not too far from you, glaring at your confused facial expression, “Bein’ mad at me for no damn reason, that’s what.”
You roll your eyes at him again, “Toji you told me I can’t be friends with your friend.”
“Maybe because he wants to fuck you?” Toji fires back.
Another scoff leaves you and you start shaking your head at your husband's ridiculous claims, “He doesn’t.”
“Soo, he just looked at your tits for no reason?" Toji asks, leaning toward you a bit and tilting is head as if to intimidate you, "He grabs your waist ‘nd says, 'I got you sweetheart' for no fuckin’ reason, right?”
Your throat runs dry at that. You may have forgotten Shiu said that to you, having not really paid much attention to it when he did, “I-“
“Do you not know what the fuck flirting looks like?” Toji lectures, taking one last step toward you so that his body was hardly an inch away from yours.
Your head tips back a bit so that you could look up at him, swallowing hard at how upset your husband seems to be and all your confidence on the matter nearly fading. “I do, but-“
“There is no but. He wants to fuck my wife," He interrupts, "Why the hell would I let you two be friends knowing that?”
That's when you sigh again, “Toji, you don’t know that he wants to fuck me, you’re assuming things-“
One of his hands flies up to his face and he starts rubbing his temples out of pure frustration, “Woman, he checks you out at every chance he gets when he thinks I’m not payin’ attention.”
“He-“
“He touched you all too inappropriately, right in front of me," Toji reminds you.
You try to take up for Shiu's actions, still not seeing what the issue behind it was, “He was making sure I didn’t fall over.”
A little pissed of smirk tugs at the corner of Toji's scared lips and he turns his head to the side as he looks away from you, scoffing, “Riiiiight.”
“I’m serious!” You utter pleadingly.
“So..." Toji slowly returns his gaze to you and his voice gets stern, "You don’t see anything sexual behind a man holding your waist and saying 'I got you sweetheart'?”
“No.” You reply confidently.
“Hm. Alright, then." Your husband nods before he's moving to pull his shirt up and over his head, your eyes widening at the man as one of his hands then go to your waist and he tugs your body to his, "Lemme show you somethin’ if that’s the case...”
And then you’re on the bed with your husband moments later—bouncing up and down on his hard cock as Toji fucked up into you, your tits jumping in his face, jaw hanging open, and his hands holding right onto your waist.
“See what I mean now?” Toji huffs, “See how fuckin’ sexual this shit is?”
“T-Toji-, hahhh, fuck, t-this is so much different," You moan at the constant stretch of his fat cock rutting up into your swollen folds, one of his thumbs at your clit as rolling circles over the twitching bud.
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m doin’ what he fantasizes about," Toji tells you, smiling a bit as he watches your face twist up.
Your brows tensed and your jaw fell as his leaky cockhead drilled deep into you, “M-Mmgh, s-so… big.” You whine with your hands at his shoulders and nails scraping him as his harsh thrusts made your body jerk upward.
Toji's steel grip on your waist was the only thing keeping you from falling off of you, his fingers digging into your skin. Every time he thrusted his hips up, he'd use his grip to tug you back down—forcing your cunt to spread open over his aching cock over and over, “Aww, don’t worry sweetheart, I gotchu’."
You gasp at his words, core throbbing due to his heavy tone, “Fuck-“
“Yeahh, see how fuckin’ wet that shit made you? Knew’ you weren’t fuckin’ stupid," Toji grunts out. He was so mean to you, taking out his frustrations from earlier on your pussy by soon spitting down on the, already, filthy mess below, adding to the slickness of it all and making you twitch.
Your hips try their best to keep up with him, rutting and rocking forward to keep his cock sucked deep inside you, “S-Shut up,” You tell your husband only to earn a scoff.
“Nahh," Toji begins to move his hands and your heart jumps. He tugs your torso near his before he's wrapping his big arms around your waist, locking you into place above him with your chest sandwiched against his, "Apologize t’me."
Your brows furrow and your eyes gloss over as his hips begin to pound his swollen cock up into you, obscene squelches of your cunt following as he does so. Your words come out in a whiney stammer, “F-For what-“
“Playin’ fuckin’ dumb, that’s what," Toji cuts off, eyes staring right into yours as he watched your face sink into that pretty fucked out state.
“Shiit," You gasp at how you couldn't move an inch, couldn't pull away or slow his thrusts down for a moment, forced to take every thick inch of his cock, "O-Okay, m’sorry-,”
Toji smiles, “Again.”
“M’sorry Toji," You whine. His arms were wrapped around you so tightly that you couldn’t even look away from him. You were both embarrassed and being fucked to tears simultaneously.
“Mmmh, without the mumblin’ this time," Toji instructs, gaze dropping to your wet lips so he can watch how you struggle, "Talk proper to me, girl.”
And of course, right after he he says that to you, he decides to then flip you both over so he's on top. “I-, hahh," You pant at the way his hands move to your legs and press them down against your chest, folding you up just how he wants to. "I’m… s-sorry Toji," You cry out.
With the way he's bucking his hips down into you, suddenly calculated with his thrusts and making your eyes go wide. You were on the verge of screaming his name with how good his cock felt splitting you open.
“Close, but y’still stuttered," Toji tells you. His breathing was growing just as heavy as yours but that didn't stop him from teasing you for even a second.
“Fuck you-," You breathe out, earning a smile from him, "...I’m sorry.” You end up saying anyway because how could you disobey your husband when he's got you folded up like this, his veins throbbing against your gummy walls as you squeezed the life out of his cock.
Toji tilts his head a little, “Sorry what?”
“I-I’m sorry Toji," You correct yourself before he's leaning his weight onto you and god his cock pushes impossibly deeper. You were so full of him that air was getting hard to come by.
“Oneee more time f’me, baby," Toji whispers all of a sudden, his face close to yours and your legs practically over his shoulders. "C’mon, you can do it.”
“Hhgnnn… oh-, mmgh… I…" Your jaw falls open again and you struggle. His cockhead was hitting your insides right where you needed him, you could feel your core tensing and your legs going numb, "...I’m sorry Toji.”
Your husband smiles at you, “There ya’ gooo, atta’ girllll.” He praises, feeling the way your pussy narrows tightly around his cock just as you start cumming on him.
“Fuck.” Is the most you could get out of your mouth that wasn't an incoherent moan.
Then Toji notices you trying to move your hands to push him away a little and he softens his tone, “Hey, stop thaat, don’t give out on me," Toji coos, the sudden softness making your stomach churn before he moves a thumb to your clit again, "I gotchu’, pretty girl.”
“F-Fuck. Ohmygod-“ Your back arches up off the bed a bit and you whimper.
Toji just gawks at you, “Uhuh, now… y’won’t talk to Shiu again after this, right?” He questions, juuust to be sure you got the message after all this.
You nod in agreement, “N-No, I-, mmh, I won't t-talk t'him again…”
Fat cock rolling down into your pussy, your slick making his cock slid in so easily, “Y'sure?”
You nod, “Yes.”
Toji pouts a little just to mock the face you were making, “Yes who?”
Your eyes just barely meet his and his thumb presses against your clit, making your voice come out in a moan, “Yes Toji.”
“Mh," He hums, leaning down to kiss you tenderly, "Good girl.”
☆ Gojo Satoru
He doesn’t even let you explain yourself.
One ninety-second hug with some guy you claim you’ve known since college, his arms around your waist and yours wrapped around his neck—was just about all it took for Gojo to get the picture.
Then there was the way the guy whispered into your ear and you laughed-, no, giggled at whatever was said.
What else does Gojo need to know after that? Clearly you forgot who you’ve been dating for the past few years…
Which is why Gojo reminds you through rough backshots in the backseat of your car as soon as you return to him. He hand a heavy hand on the back of your head, pressing your face down against the carseat as his toned hips clashed into your ass.
Swollen cockhead pushing past your twitching folds for the nth time while he bullies into your pussy. The loud smack of his balls against you fills the entirety of the vehicle, Gojo’s free hand pressing down into your arch and furthering it for him so he could angle his dick into that spot that makes you utterly weak.
“Wonder what the hell was so funny,” He huffs. He’s breathless by this point, having been dirty talking your ear off and giving you no time to respond—telling you how pretty your pussy looks taking every inch of him and how cute you sound crying his name into the seat.
“M-Mmgh, hnngh… ahh, S-Satoru,” Your voice was muffled against the carseat but neither of you cared, he heard you clear enough.
“Hm? What was so funny, baby? Tell me,” Gojo requests, not slowing his thrusts down for even a moment.
Merciless, he was. Fucking you like you were a goddamn slut off the street and he was a sex-deprived man, his pelvis was so angry against you, leaving marks with how harshly it met your ass, a hand moving every now and then just to palm the fat of the slight curve.
You were too busy drooling onto the carseat, cockdrunk out of your mind and fucked out beyond belief. You don’t think Gojo’s ever fucked you this hard before—the car was rocking with his every thrust and you’re pretty sure your muffled moans could be heard from outside the vehicle.
Sure, your windows had tint on them but it still wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what was going in within the car.
“What was he sayin’ t’you? Huh? Was he tellin’ you how badly he wants to fuck you? S’that why you laughed?” Gojo scoffs, still giving you no time to respond whatsoever, “I’d laugh too, shit… No one gets to fuck you aside from me, after all.” He finishes off with a cheeky little shrug.
You hated how much he was rambling right now but your brain was too consumed in pleasure to really care, “Toruu, fuuck-, oh, mmh…”
“No one else gets to feel this pussy wrapped all pretty around their cock, right?” Gojo groans, tossing his head back and drilling himself into the hilt, almost as if he were trying to reach deeper, “Jus’ me?”
All you can do is hum messily, “Mhmmm.”
He lets out a breathy chuckle and his hand lands across your ass again, head moving to look down at the marks he’s left thus far before he cracks a smile, “Say it.”
“J-Jus’ you, ‘Toru.” Your voice was small, hardly audible but Gojo didn’t much care, he’d heard enough anyway.
So, he smiles at your struggle in speech, finding you nothing but adorable in this state, “Yeahh, that’s my girll.”
Then he’s moving his hands, feeling every inch of your body like he always does. There’s never a single part of you that goes untouched by Gojo Satoru when he fucks you. And as of right now, his large hands were taking place on your ass, spreading you apart to get a better look at your wet parted folds sucking in his cock.
“Pussy’s soooo fuckin’ pretty taking my dick like this too. I mean damn,” Gojo lets out a moan in between his sentence, unable to help himself at the sight before him, “Look at her drip all over me. She’s nasty, baby.”
Then he’s slowing his thrusts, but not stopping. Instead he gets calculated, fucking his cock in slow but pointed, top poking at your gummy spot and making your legs quake.
Drool smears across your cheek and your face was a goddamn mess but, you’d worry about all that later, “S’toru…”
“Mhm, I know, you’re about t’cum again, huh?” Gojo hums sweetly, the wet sounds of your cunt taking him in making his brows tense.
You were in complete disarray—debauched and filthy just how he liked. Shooting a glop of spit down onto his cock, he watched with a smile as he eases forward before there’s nothing more than an inch left out of you, only to thrust the last bit in and watch your fingers curl as you scrape against the seat.
“Uhuhh,” You breathe helplessly.
Gojo cocks his head to the side, “Gonna make another mess on me, pretty girl?”
“Y-Yeahh.”
“Mhm, good,” Gojo praises lightly before pulling out. He takes his cock into one of his hands and taps it against your pussy folds, listening to the light and wet smack his cock made against you and biting his lower lip, “But y’know… I wonder what had you so wet, baby.” He teases.
That was the only chance you got to catch your recently lost breath and you angle your head back a little to look at him, “Hm?”
Gojo’s eyes were down as he watched himself play with your pussy, smearing his leaky his tip in between your folds, “Was it him? Did he tell you how pretty you looked today? Hm?” Gojo wonders, “S’that why your cunt was droolin’ before I could even get your panties off?”
Your brows tense and you try wiggling your hips back a little, “N-No…”
“No? Aw, so what was it then?” Your boyfriend questions curiously. He’s now pushing an inch in and out of your cunt, watching how your pussy twitches every time he pulls out and chuckling at you, “Surely it wasn’t the way I was rubbin’ my fingers against you… Nah, you were too busy thinkin’ about that other guy, right?”
You groan, “No, ‘Toru.”
He snickers, “No? Buut, you guys looked like you had a great convo.”
“W-We did but that’s only cause… hahh… mmmh, I-,” Gojo starts inching more of his cock into you and you struggle to finish explaining. After taking a deep breath, “I spent the whole time talkin’ a-about you.”
“Aww, really?” His hips snap forward after you say that, “Fuck, you bragged about me?” Gojo moans out, face growing hot with arousal.
Nodding, you hum in response, “Mhmm.”
“Shiit, that almost makes me feel bad,” Gojo pouts a little before shifting his palm over your ass, caressing your skin tenderly.
He’s still rutting his dick in and out of you but his voice and his touch is much softer.
“W-Why?” You ask.
“Cause’…. I’m fuckin’ you like you did somethin’ wrong for no reason…” Gojo whispers, seeming to be disappointed in himself for a second.
Then, he sees the way your eyes go back as his cock hits that one spot again, “Mmgh.. S-Satoru, r-right theree…”
And with that, he’s no longer disappointed and shrugs off all his doubts, going on to fuck you like he’s mad at you, “S’okay tho’, you like me like this anyway…”
in which gojo accidentally finds out ryomen sukuna had a wife in a million year old book hahah,hi everyone,english isnt my first language,but i love the idea of sukuna and his wife actually being recorded and not only him as the king of curses! enjoy:)
The archives beneath Jujutsu High had never been particularly exciting.
Most of what survived from the Heian era consisted of brittle scrolls, incomplete temple records, and the sort of historical documents clearly written by people who considered punctuation an unnecessary luxury. Dust lingered in every forgotten corner, clinging to shelves so old they seemed to sag beneath centuries of accumulated history. It smelled faintly of old paper, ink, and cedar.
Gojo Satoru had been there for nearly an hour.
He was already bored.
Another page turned.
Tax records.
Another.
Rice exports.
Another.
A local lord complaining about border disputes to another local lord who was, apparently, equally interested in complaining.
"...If I have to read one more sentence about agricultural taxation," Gojo muttered, lazily resting his chin against his hand, "I'm voting we let Sukuna win."
Silence answered him.
The archives, predictably, lacked a sense of humor.
He sighed dramatically before reaching for another volume from the stack Yaga had insisted might contain "useful historical context."
Useful.
Right.
Ever since Itadori Yuji had swallowed Sukuna's finger, Jujutsu High had begun collecting every surviving document that mentioned the King of Curses. Museums reluctantly opened their vaults, private collectors suddenly found themselves entertaining visits from sorcerers, and forgotten temple archives were being translated for the first time in generations. Somewhere among thousands of years of records, there had to be something. A forgotten ritual. An overlooked weakness. A detail everyone else had dismissed.
Gojo wasn't particularly optimistic.
Still...
If history had somehow preserved a diary that read Dear Journal, today I discovered my one fatal weakness is being stabbed specifically through the left side of my chest, he'd happily spend the afternoon reading ancient calligraphy.
Unfortunately, history appeared determined to be profoundly unhelpful.
He reached for another book.
Unlike the others, this one wasn't a military record or a religious manuscript. Its leather cover had faded almost to gray, softened by centuries of careful handling, while delicate illustrations peeked from between yellowed pages. There was no clan insignia stamped into the binding, no official seal declaring it royal property.
Instead, the first page bore only a careful introduction written in elegant brushstrokes.
A record of remarkable observations gathered throughout the Eastern Dominion during my residence within the palace of Ryomen Sukuna.
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
"...Finally."
This looked considerably more promising.
The anonymous author wasn't a historian, nor a monk, nor a military advisor. Judging by the first several pages, they had simply spent years documenting unusual things worthy of preservation. Ancient weapons. Ceremonial armor. Imported artifacts whose craftsmanship had no equal. Rare medicinal herbs cultivated within the palace gardens. Strange animals presented as tribute from distant kingdoms. Cursed objects too dangerous to be handled without careful supervision.
It wasn't a chronicle of Sukuna himself.
It was a catalogue of everything the painter had considered remarkable enough to immortalize.
Gojo settled more comfortably against one of the archive shelves and turned the page.
The first illustration stretched across nearly two sheets of parchment.
The palace.
Even rendered only in ink and faded mineral pigments, it was immense. Layer upon layer of rooftops climbed into the surrounding mountains, connected by covered corridors, open courtyards, hanging gardens, and terraces that overlooked forests stretching far beyond the horizon. Tiny handwritten annotations surrounded the painting, noting architectural techniques, imported timber, the placement of ceremonial halls, and the irrigation system responsible for feeding the sprawling medicinal gardens.
"...Rich bastard," Gojo murmured.
He turned another page.
The eastern armory.
Another.
The medicinal gardens.
Rows upon rows of unfamiliar herbs spread beneath carefully constructed trellises, each labeled meticulously by the painter. Several paragraphs described their uses in treating fever, poisoned wounds, and cursed-energy exhaustion. It was the sort of obsessive documentation only someone completely fascinated by their subject would bother recording.
Gojo skimmed most of it.
Then his eyes caught something near the corner of the illustration.
Someone.
A woman knelt between the rows of herbs, entirely unaware she had become part of the painting. She held several freshly cut stems in one hand while examining another beneath the afternoon light, her attention fixed solely on the plants before her. There was nothing ceremonial about the moment. She wasn't posing. If anything, she looked as though the painter had simply happened to capture her while documenting the garden itself.
She was... striking.
Not in the exaggerated, idealized way noblewomen often appeared in commissioned portraits, but with the effortless sort of beauty that felt almost accidental. The painter had somehow preserved the softness of an expression never intended to be remembered, the faint smile of someone completely absorbed in whatever occupied her thoughts.
There was no caption naming her.
No explanation.
The accompanying notes continued discussing medicinal herbs as though she weren't there at all.
Gojo frowned for only a second before turning the page.
Interesting.
Probably someone's wife.
Or a servant.
Whatever she was, she clearly wasn't what the painter had been trying to preserve.
At least...
That's what he thought.
The next several pages were exactly what Gojo had expected.
Ceremonial naginata gifted by a northern clan. Bronze incense burners cast in the likeness of dragons. Imported lacquerware. Silk dyed with pigments so expensive the accompanying notes spent nearly half a page explaining their origin. Whoever had ruled this place had clearly never been told the meaning of moderation.
"...Yeah, yeah," Gojo muttered as he turned another page. "Very rich. Very terrifying."
The painter certainly thought so.
Every object had been rendered with painstaking care, accompanied by meticulous observations written in an elegant, restrained hand. There was no embellishment, no mythology, no exaggerated admiration—only patient documentation by someone determined to preserve what they had seen exactly as it was.
Gojo almost missed her the second time.
The painting itself depicted one of the palace's inner courtyards. Stone pathways wound between shallow streams that carried water toward the medicinal gardens, every bridge and carved pillar labeled neatly along the margins. Near the edge of the page, almost hidden beneath the branches of a flowering tree, the same woman from the herb garden crossed the courtyard with a woven basket resting comfortably against her hip.
Different robes.
Different season.
The same gentle expression.
He paused only long enough to convince himself it was a coincidence before turning another page.
The palace infirmary occupied nearly two full illustrations. Shelves climbed from floor to ceiling beneath carefully painted bundles of drying herbs, rows of ceramic jars, handwritten remedies, and instruments whose purpose Gojo couldn't even begin to guess. The accompanying notes remained as methodical as ever.
The palace infirmary contained an unusually extensive collection of dried herbs, prepared tinctures, and medicinal texts.
Several labels were amended during my stay by the lady of the inner residence, whose familiarity with the apothecary exceeded my own understanding.
She received servants and laborers seeking remedies with notable patience, regardless of rank. Such interruptions appeared to occasion no objection from His Majesty.
Gojo frowned.
"...She was treating servants?"
The sentence lingered with him longer than he expected.
Not because someone within the palace knew medicine—that wasn't unusual.
Because whoever this woman was, she seemed to move through the palace with remarkable freedom. Servants sought her out. Physicians accepted her corrections. And apparently, Ryomen Sukuna himself had never objected.
"...Huh."
He turned another page.
Then another.
Without realizing it, he stopped looking at the artifacts first.
Instead, his eyes searched for her.
She appeared beside an aviary housing brilliantly colored birds brought from distant kingdoms, one perched comfortably along the wooden railing as she watched it with quiet fascination. Another painting captured a covered corridor after heavy snowfall, the architecture clearly intended as the subject, yet there she was again in the distance, carrying fresh bundles of firewood alongside two laughing servants. A study of the palace gardens at the beginning of spring placed her kneeling beside newly planted herbs, sleeves rolled neatly above her wrists as she worked with soil-stained hands while gardeners carried tools around her as though the scene were entirely ordinary.
She never acknowledged the painter.
More curiously, the painter never seemed particularly interested in her either.
She simply... happened to be there.
Again.
And again.
Gojo flipped back several pages.
Then forward.
Gojo turned the page with considerably more enthusiasm than he had intended to admit.
Another illustration unfolded across the parchment, this one depicting one of the palace's inner courtyards surrounding a wide koi pond. The painter had devoted remarkable attention to the water itself, carefully reproducing each reflection of the surrounding architecture and every ornamental stone lining its banks. Bright carp drifted lazily beneath lily pads while flowering trees arched overhead.
Near the edge of the painting, almost hidden beneath one of those trees, Sukuna stood with his arms folded while the same woman crouched beside the pond, one hand extended over the water.
Several koi had gathered around her.
One had practically climbed into her palm.
The accompanying note read in the same restrained hand.
The eastern pond houses carp of uncommon size imported from the southern provinces.
The fish proved unusually receptive to the lady's presence, gathering readily whenever she approached the water.
His Majesty was observed accompanying these visits with surprising regularity.
Gojo stared.
"...You followed them to the fish."
Another page.
The painter had chosen to document the palace kitchens during preparations for one of the seasonal banquets. Servants hurried between enormous iron cauldrons while trays of elaborate dishes disappeared toward the dining halls. Every utensil had been painstakingly sketched and labeled with almost obsessive precision.
Near one corner stood the same woman.
She held a small porcelain cup toward Sukuna with unmistakable skepticism painted across her face.
He appeared... unimpressed.
The note beneath explained nothing and somehow everything.
Among the imported goods presented during my stay was a variety of mountain tea said to be favored by western nobles.
His Majesty expressed no opinion regarding its quality.
The lady declared it comparable in flavor to boiled bark.
It was not served again.
Gojo lowered the book.
"...She bullied the King of Curses into changing tea."
He snorted.
"...Good for her."
The next illustration depicted one of the open verandas overlooking the palace gardens.
Several palace cats had claimed the afternoon sun for themselves, sprawled shamelessly across polished cedar floors without the slightest concern for royal dignity. Most ignored everyone entirely.
One, however, had selected Sukuna.
The enormous white creature slept comfortably across his lap while he continued reading a scroll as though the additional weight had ceased to surprise him years ago.
A second cat had curled against the woman's side, entirely content to steal the sleeve of her kimono as a pillow.
The note beneath was concise.
Contrary to expectation, the palace cats appeared entirely unafraid of His Majesty.
A number demonstrated equal attachment to the lady.
Whether this reflects discernment or poor instinct remains uncertain.
Gojo barked out a laugh.
"No. Absolutely not."
He looked closer.
"...Why are there so many cats?"
He turned another page.
The palace had been decorated for one of its larger seasonal celebrations.
Lanterns stretched across every corridor. Musicians occupied the gardens. Nobles drifted between pavilions dressed in layers of embroidered silk, each household distinguished by elaborate colors and patterns. The painter had clearly intended to preserve the ceremonial garments worn throughout the festival, filling nearly the entire page with notes describing imported dyes, weaving techniques, and regional embroidery.
Only after several moments did Gojo notice them.
They weren't standing together.
Not exactly.
She spoke with several noblewomen near one veranda while Sukuna stood some distance away among his retainers.
There was nothing unusual about that.
Until Gojo noticed their robes.
Different cuts.
Different embroidery.
The same silk.
The exact same deep crimson woven with black thread that caught the evening light differently from every other garment in the painting.
His eyes drifted to the note beneath.
During the Mid-Autumn celebration, the household of His Majesty wore garments fashioned from the same southern silk recently presented by foreign envoys.
The weaving was said to have required nearly three years to complete.
No comparable textile was observed elsewhere within the palace.
Gojo blinked.
"...Matching outfits?"
He leaned back, rubbing one hand across his face.
"I don't know why that's bothering me more than literally everything else."
By now he'd completely abandoned any pretense of researching Sukuna.
He wasn't looking for cursed techniques anymore.
He wasn't looking for weaknesses.
Every time he turned another page, he found himself hoping—
Just a little—
That she'd be there again.
There couldn't have been many pages left.
Gojo realized that only because the parchment had begun to thin beneath his fingers. The paintings grew larger now, less concerned with cataloguing individual objects and more interested in preserving places before the passing seasons altered them once again.
It almost felt as though the anonymous painter had grown fond of the palace by the end of his stay.
Gojo couldn't really blame him.
He turned another page.
The western library occupied nearly the entire illustration, shelves climbing toward an impossibly high ceiling while afternoon sunlight spilled through open lattice windows. Scrolls lay stacked across low tables beside brushes, loose sheets of parchment, and unfinished copies of medicinal texts waiting to be rebound.
He barely looked at any of it.
She sat near one of the windows with an open book resting across her lap, completely absorbed in whatever she was reading. Across the room, Sukuna appeared to be doing exactly the same.
Neither acknowledged the other.
Neither spoke.
The silence somehow looked... comfortable.
The note beneath the painting was characteristically restrained.
The palace library remained open throughout the daylight hours.
Conversation within was uncommon.
His Majesty and the lady frequently occupied the western alcove during the afternoon, often departing no sooner than the changing of the lamps.
Gojo stared for a moment.
"...They read together?"
He let out a quiet laugh.
"That's... unexpectedly adorable."
The next page depicted one of the palace's covered walkways after a summer rain. Water still clung to the tiled roofs, reflecting the evening light in scattered ribbons of gold. Servants hurried about drying wooden floors while gardeners collected broken branches left behind by the storm.
Near the center of the painting, the woman stood beneath the shelter of the corridor, one sleeve extended beyond the roofline to catch the falling rain.
Sukuna stood beside her.
Not participating.
Simply... waiting.
The painter's note read:
Summer storms commonly delayed activity throughout the palace.
His Majesty appeared remarkably patient on such occasions.
Whether this disposition owed to the weather itself or to his company, I cannot confidently determine.
Gojo covered his mouth.
"...You're killing me."
He turned another page before he could think about why that sentence had made him smile.
The final illustration unfolded slowly beneath his hands.
It stretched across both pages.
The western balcony overlooked nearly the entire valley beyond the palace, where mountains dissolved into evening haze beneath a sky painted in shades of amber and violet. Vines climbed lazily around carved cedar pillars while lanterns waited to be lit with the coming dusk. Every stone, every beam, every flowering branch had been reproduced with almost reverent precision.
Only after several seconds did Gojo notice them.
Not because they had been hidden.
Because they fit the scene too naturally.
She rested one hand against the wooden railing, looking out across the mountains with an easy smile that suggested she had been speaking moments before. Even trapped forever in ink, there was movement in her expression, as though the next breath would bring another story.
Beside her stood Sukuna.
Close enough that the sleeves of their robes nearly touched.
His posture remained exactly as history remembered it—relaxed, imposing, completely certain of itself.
But...
He wasn't looking at the mountains.
He was looking at her.
Not intensely.
Not possessively.
Just...
Listening.
Like wherever the conversation had wandered was more interesting than the sunset behind it.
Gojo felt something in his chest quietly shift.
He looked closer.
Their robes were different from those worn during the festival.
Different embroidery.
Different colors.
Yet the silk itself caught the fading sunlight exactly the same way, woven from the same impossibly fine thread that shimmered with identical depth beneath the evening sky.
His eyes drifted lower.
There.
A simple band of gold circled her left hand.
The same band rested upon Sukuna's.
For several seconds, Gojo simply stared.
Then, almost mechanically, his eyes dropped to the final note written beneath the painting.
His Majesty seldom remained available for portraiture beyond matters of state.
During my residence, I found him most frequently upon the western balcony in the company of the lady of the inner residence.
Though I first intended to preserve the architecture, the gardens, and the quality of the evening light, I confess these figures appeared so often within them that omitting either would have rendered the observations incomplete.
Perhaps future generations shall remember this palace for its sovereign.
I suspect those who truly visited it will remember that it was once lived in.
Silence settled over the archives.
Gojo looked back at the painting.
At Sukuna.
At the woman.
At the matching rings.
Then back to Sukuna again.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head as he closed the book halfway.
"I came down here looking for dirt on the King of Curses..."
His thumb lingered between the pages.
"...and somehow I ended up reading a thousand-year-old married couple's photo album."
His eyes drifted back to the woman one last time.
He still didn't know her name.
The painter had never written it.
Not once.
Yet by the end of the journal, she felt just as impossible to forget as the man history had immortalized.
Gojo smiled to himself.
"...Man."
Another glance at the final painting.
"I don't think anyone mentioned the wife."
BONUS :)
Gojo closed the journal with far more care than he'd opened it.
"...Well."
He rested a hand against the worn leather cover for another moment before sliding it neatly back into its place among the shelves.
"So much for finding Sukuna's secret weakness."
Instead, he'd somehow spent the better part of an afternoon reading what amounted to centuries-old candid sketches of a palace... and wondering why history had neglected to mention the woman who seemed to inhabit every corner of it.
He still didn't know her name.
The painter had never written it.
Not once.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Yaga.
Gojo answered with an exaggerated sigh.
"If you're calling to ask whether I've discovered the King of Curses' fatal weakness, I'm afraid the answer is no."
A pause.
"I did, however, discover that historians are terrible at prioritizing information."
"...What are you talking about?"
"Long story."
"It can wait."
Yaga's voice remained as even as ever.
"I need you upstairs."
Gojo glanced once more toward the shelf where he'd returned the journal.
"...Now?"
"Now."
He pushed himself off the floor with another dramatic sigh.
"I was busy."
"I know."
"...Research."
"I know."
Gojo smiled to himself.
"Fine. What's so important?"
"We've hired another instructor."
That caught his attention.
"Oh?"
"They'll be assisting with first-year practical training."
Gojo raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't know we were hiring."
"We weren't planning to."
"...Sounds mysterious."
"It isn't."
Yaga paused.
"I want you to show them around the campus."
Gojo groaned loudly enough that Yaga almost certainly moved the phone away from his ear.
"You're making me do orientation?"
"You're the only instructor available."
"I hate being available."
"I'll see you upstairs."
The call ended.
Gojo slipped his hands into his pockets and headed toward the archive stairs, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the shelf.
He took one last look at the balcony painting before closing it completely.
The woman smiled forever from faded mineral pigments, unaware that a thousand years later someone was trying very hard to figure out who she'd been.
Gojo smiled to himself.
"...Still think you would've made this book way more interesting than your husband."
With a quiet shake of his head, he disappeared up the staircase.
The archives fell silent once more.
The old journal remained exactly where he'd left it, tucked neatly among hundreds of forgotten records.
Waiting.
A/N: honestly the thought of him falling in love with this guys wife is hilarious lmao
synopsis: you always stayed away from the boy in your english class who was always misbehaving and borderline breaking the law. known for his suspensions and his attitude, everyone keeps ten thousand feet away. despite being an outcast he's learned to enjoy his own company but with your curious eye you've realised there's more to him than just the rumours about him and his family.
in your last few weeks of high school he swears that you'll never see him again but four years later you find out that isn't the case.
a lot can happen in four years and now that time has come between you, you can finally figure out who he really is.
tags: childhood friends to lovers, except they were not really friends, strangers to lovers, yearning, one sided pining, soft sukuna despite how rough he seems, fluff, yes based on the ethel cain song,
chapter one | chapter three
chapter two: his mother steady screaming he should be more like him...
word count: 2.3k
a note from angel: thank you so much for being so patient whilst i put this part out, this took longer than i thought because of uni but i'm glad people are still sticking with this story! thank you and enjoy!
You were the last person Sukuna expected to see on his way home.
He barely even noticed that it was you walking past, lugging your suitcase and a large backpack. He was too engrossed in what shifts he should pick up for next week and what he should make for dinner tonight. Leftovers again he thinks but the sound of his name suddenly interrupts his inner thoughts.
His body pauses.
He didn't recognise your voice, at least not at first.
Turning, his body looms over you and for the first time in a while he realises how much space he now takes up. A natural frown appears on his face, questioning why a stranger like you would stop him in the street. Why would someone even bother him in the first place.
Again, people in this town don't really address or speak to him first but over the years he's learned to cope with being the town's outcast.
Sukuna's eyes linger across your face and your features and then it finally hits him, the wave of recognition smacks against his body with enough force to almost make his face light up. He remembers you now. You were that girl who sat behind him in that one class during high school. His brow rises in familiarity, the images of nostalgia almost enough to make him nauseous.
"You're back?" he manages to spit out, his voice rough. He hasn't said much all day, mostly mute at work, letting his manager at the garage do most of the talking with the customers. That's how he's learned not to piss people off these days, taking his mother's advice for once:
'Just shut the fuck up and do your job and maybe people will like you.'
Sukuna's eyes take you in, you don't look much different than what he remembers of you from high school. But simultaneously there are things about you that he doesn't recognise, a sense of maturity and experience that lingers over you, etched into your skin like a layer of perfume. It's clear that you've learned a lot from college. It's clear that you've evolved. A lot more than he has.
He doesn't miss the nervousness that comes from you, barely able to make lasting eye contact with him as you answer his question. "Yeah." Your voice is small and awkward but it all comes back to him when you speak. "And you…stayed."
Sukuna nods. "I did."
A lot has happened over the years.
Ever since… that incident, Sukuna was never allowed on the school campus again. He ended up moving to another town, far from this one to live with his grandfather. Sukuna ended up graduating in the middle of nowhere, in some rundown school with less than 100 pupils in its senior year. His mother didn't attend but his grandfather and Jin did at least.
'At least you managed to accomplish something kid.' Those were the words his grandfather grumbled as he congratulated him.
Since graduation the past four years have been…somewhat rough.
His brother managed to make it into that stupid Ivy league school that Sukuna chooses to forget the name of. In his first year out of education it was inevitable that Sukuna would mix up with the wrong people. He moved back home to live with his mother who had false hope that he was finally on good behaviour. Sukuna guesses it was his job to always disappoint her and prove her wrong whilst Jin would inevitably become her best child.
The following two years he became tied to a few people that he shouldn't have, touched and sold a few things that he shouldn't have which landed up with him in jail for over a year. Over the phone during his sentence Sukuna received a pretty angry phone call from his brother asking where he was whilst their mother was dying from stage four cancer.
Sukuna rarely heard Jin get this angry. Or frustrated. It's so rare that Sukuna ever hears his brother sound like this that it causes a lump in his throat that he fails to swallow down. By the time he got out, Jin was ready to graduate.
Sukuna remembers at his return his mother was screaming at him, demanding why he wasn't like Jin who obviously would get valedictorian. So Sukuna left again. He left with less than a hundred dollars to his name. He picked up random shifts with low pay in the middle of nowhere. He managed to stay in a hostel for a cheap price, just until he figured things out for himself. He would move to a different state. Get a house — no, a farm, and own all types of animals and make a fortune for himself.
But then his brother killed his fantasy by announcing over the phone that their mother was on her deathbed.
Sukuna didn't make her final moments. He's pretty sure that she wouldn't have wanted him there anyway. Not in her final moments. He doesn't like to dwell on it too much.
Jin would let Sukuna keep the house under his name. An act of kindness because he didn't make it to her last moments. It wasn't much. A shitty two bedroom house but Sukuna still keeps his mother's old room as a spare for when Jin visits.
The house reeks of Sukuna's childhood nostalgia. If it didn't mean so much to Jin he would've sold it a long time ago but as of right now Sukuna can't afford to live anywhere else so he has to suck up the rundown corners and the paper thin walls where he once heard his mother argue over the phone about his behaviour.
Sukuna still sleeps in the bedroom that him and Jin had shared since childhood. His single bed is too small but it's better than sleeping in a cold jail cell.
But of course, Sukuna can't admit all of this to you. Not right now.
You're staring at him too hard. There's a few more tattoos on him and Sukuna understands he looks a little rough by now after coming from work but has he really changed that much?
"Is there something on my face?" he asks, curious about your gaze.
"Oh no, I was just—" you change your mind, "never mind."
Sukuna wonders what you were going to say but another question is prompted in his mind. "Are you staying for long?" No matter what he knows, you must be doing better than him. Like his brother did, he figures you'll only be in town for a few months before going on your own way.
"Yeah, I'm just moving back home after college. I wanted to stay with my parents for a bit before I — y'know, fly the nest for real."
He hums. You sound like you have a better chance at life than he does. You actually have the potential to make it out of this shitty town. This is when it all weighs on him, the heaviness of his life and how unlikely it seems that he'll make something of himself. Unlike you, Sukuna doesn't have a degree or financial help from his family. He's stuck living on paycheck to paycheck all because he didn't take anything seriously and tried to do life the 'easy way'.
There's an awkward silence and Sukuna doesn't have anything left to say and neither do you. So he takes it upon himself to end the conversation here, accepting the fact that he probably won't see you again.
"See you around, yeah?" he lies but you nod anyway agreeing with him out of politeness.
Sukuna's quick to disappear, making it seem that he has places to be despite there being no one waiting for him at home. He didn't mean to end it so abruptly and he wishes he could say something more but his body forces him to keep walking, to keep moving away.
To keep far away from good things before he ruins them.
/
Sukuna returns to an empty house.
A lot of his mother's stuff is still lying around, there's still stuff to be packed away into the basement but Sukuna keeps procrastinating.
Jin said it was up to him whether he wanted to keep or sell the unimportant things but Sukuna can't imagine there would be someone wanting to buy his mother's antique teapot collection — at least not for a high enough price for Sukuna.
As soon as the front door's locked, Sukuna's boots come off and he's stripping out of his shirt, revealing his tanned skin and hardened body. His routine is simple: home, shower, eat, sleep. He wakes up, goes to work and repeats. There's rarely a day without a shift either at the garage or the store meaning that he doesn't get a chance to rest.
The only unique thing that he can add to his days are the new recipes he can make for dinner. Working at the store means he gets employee's discounts on certain products working to his advantage of making cheap but efficient meals. It's the only thing that he gets to look forward to at the end of the day.
To some the image of Sukuna sitting at the dining table and eating alone would be depressing but for Sukuna he thinks nothing of it. He's learnt from a young age to enjoy his own company, he doesn't need anyone else around him to keep him satisfied. It's been years since he's been in close proximity with anyone. He wouldn't even call himself close with Jin at the moment.
But he can't help but think about his conversation with you today. It was short and he's mentally cursing himself for not talking to you for longer. He should've asked about your graduation, your degree, what college you ended up going to, what it was like for the past four years, what are your next plans?
And do you have a partner?
Okay, maybe not that part. He doesn't care about that part.
But compared to everyone else in this town you don't seem to hold any grudges against him. But that is also because you know nothing about his life after high school, although it won't be long before someone in this town runs their mouth about him to you.
Despite these thoughts there's a small idea that you could be Sukuna's first chance at making an acquaintance at least.
Maybe Sukuna should take the initiative for once and ask for a catch up. But when will he see you again? Or would you even bother to want to even see him anyway?
Sukuna pushes these thoughts away, distracting himself with what the next day will bring him.
Tomorrow, he has a shift at his second job because working part time as a mechanic still doesn't pay the bills. And despite Jin's willingness to help Sukuna, Sukuna would rather choke to death than to ask his brother for help or for money.
It was struggling to find a well paying job nevermind his criminal record. He had to go on probation for months at the store before they actually hired him permanently. And for the job at the garage, the owner was only doing him a favour because his mother was a 'sweetheart.'
Sipping on his beer, Sukuna's used to the silence around the house. He washes up and sets up his leftovers for tomorrow's shift. There isn't much entertainment apart from a shitty game show on the tv that Sukuna hate watches in the background.
With quiet boredom Sukuna switches off the tv and does his rounds to make sure the house is locked up. The stairs creek under his weight and he tries not to let the shadows of darkness get to him as he gradually switches off the lights. Reaching his childhood bedroom, the layout is the same. The blue paint is beginning to peel off and when Sukuna has the time (and the money) he'll make sure to repaint that.
The bed squeaks under his weight and he looks across the room at what once was Jin's childhood bed. The mattress is bare but Sukuna hasn't gotten around to dismantling the bed yet.
There's a lot of things that Sukuna hasn't gotten around doing.
Laying back in bed, his thoughts are bare. In jail, he learned the secret to spacing out. Whilst fights, shouting and screaming were happening in the background he's managed to learn how to ignore it, how to space out. Since then he doesn't give into provocations as easily as he did when he was younger. He can handle his temper and now approaches things with complete nonchalance. Unless someone swings first, he'll swing back and that's how he's kept himself out of trouble since.
The past few months have been uneventful and Sukuna feels like he's been living life on auto-pilot but that should be a good thing. He's sober, housed and steady with two jobs, something that his probation officer told him he should be proud of because many don't get the privilege of having the same experiences.
But why doesn't he feel satisfied?
Sukuna wouldn't even describe it as a type of anxiety that everything should be going wrong — he just feels…out of his own body. Numb almost. Since jail it takes forever for Sukuna to fall asleep, he doesn't need to pay a doctor to tell him that he might have insomnia and diagnose him with it — he already knows that.
Instead he stares at the ceiling hoping for tomorrow morning to arrive already, wanting to get this shitty day over already. But as he dwells first, for the first time in a long time there's a little hope inside Sukuna.
His thoughts are considered irrational at this time but his brain entertains it nonetheless.
If there's a chance that the universe has any way for making it feel like his current life is worth it then Sukuna only asks for one thing.
part three ex!husband sukuna and reader, reader overthinks sukuna's words and reaches out...finally.
a note from angel: i didn't expect this series to blow up like this but i'm so happy and grateful for everyone who is reading this series and i'm glad ur enjoying it!! there's a lot i want to unpack between these two so please stay tuned!!
part one | part two
the bar's busy for a usual saturday night but you and the girls have just managed to find a spot for yourselves. you, shoko and utahime are the only ones who have successfully made it out tonight.
the good thing about being a trio is that you can choose to zone out whilst shoko and utahime make conversation between themselves. nursing your third long island iced tea, you soon learn that your silence won't be for long because fortunately these women know you well enough to pick up on the fact that something is wrong.
"Are you okay girl? you seem out of it" shoko comments, turning her attention on you.
"is sukuna giving you hell again?" utahime chimes in, her straw stirring her own drink. the two of them know all of the ups and down of your relationship with sukuna and these were the two friends who stuck by closest to you whilst you were going through your divorce.
"no..." you begin but from the faces from the girls, it's obvious that you're not telling the whole truth. "okay maybe," you refine, "i'll start from the beginning."
shoko and utahime hum, ready to hear your story.
"so yuji made me do this prank call on sukuna, i don't know where he got this idea from maybe from a youtube video or his friends whatever, but yuji wanted me to call sukuna to say something stupid, like to say goodnight randomly to him right?"
the women at the table nod, listening along to you.
"and so i did it and-"
"wait you did it?" utahime interrupts with shock.
"yuji wouldn't stop going on about so i just thought 'fuck it' and, well i thought sukuna would understand that i wasn't serious about it but..." you trail off.
"but?" shoko chimes in.
"and then the next time we saw each other in person he was like weird-"
"a good weird or a bad weird?" utahime asks.
"i don't know, but like- he told me that i could call him anytime and to remember that. i don't know if he was serious but i can't stop thinking about it."
the reactions of the girls aren't surprising but they do raise a brow. they pause to take a sip of their drinks, collecting their thoughts and judgements. you shuffle awkwardly in your seat trying to regulate yourself in front of them.
utahime finally lets out a sigh, "oh i think he wants you back."
"what?" and almost immediately you can feel your face burn up just at the thought of sukuna still having feelings for you.
utahime nods, "trust me girl, you gave him a small opening and he's going for it."
"but it was a joke, i only called him because of yuji- without that i wouldn't have any motive to call him."
"but that's why he's going for it. who knows when his next chance to stir you up will be." shoko murmers.
your shoulders drop, your gut feeling anxiety from this conversation. "it's been years since we've been together..."
"so you don't want him back?" shoko questions.
"god no."
"are you 100% on that?" utahime asks, and at this point it feels like you're being interrogated by these two.
"yes?" your tone betrays you, not feeling confident in your answer.
"you have no feelings whatsoever for him?" shoko strikes again, asking for clarification.
a pause follows her question and there's no immediate answer that comes from you. the two women stare at you, expectant for an answer that you can't confidently give which tells them all that they need to know.
"i don't know." you finally admit, staring down at your lap. "i don't know if he's just playing and teasing me or if he's being serious."
utahime reaches out to you, placing a hand on your knee. "to me, it sounds like he's starting to win you back or at least he's introducing the idea. at the end of the day the heart wants what it wants."
shoko speaks up, fingers picking at her pack of cigarettes " all i do know is that you look like you want to pick up that phone and call him. you better do that soon girl."
/
you return back to a quiet house with yuji being at sukuna's for the weekend. you make a mental reminder to pick up after yuji's toys and clothes scattered everywhere but you'll do that tomorrow.
you're not completely drunk but you would be lying if you didn't admit that the alcohol has you tipsy. and when tipsy suddenly all decisions get the green light from your brain.
your first immediate thought is to head to the couch and pull out your phone, thumb clicking on the contacts app.
scrolling through your alphabetical list of names you reach 's' and your eyes search for sukuna. you know you really shouldn't but the devil on your shoulder - which is the alcohol - keeps prompting you to continue.
with your heart in your throat, your thumb immediately presses on the phone icon and before you know it the line is ringing. placing the phone on speaker, you bite down on your bottom lip in anxiety.
for a moment you think he won't pick up. for a moment you think you're a fool for even trying. for a moment you think you'll wake up with all this regret and the embarrassment that he'll have a notification saying 'missed call' from you. for a moment-
he picks up.
there's a shuffle for a split second before you hear his voice. it's low and raspy, his tone evident of the late hour that you're calling him.
"that was fast." he says and again you're confident that there is a smirk right there on sukuna ryomen's lips.
for a moment you're almost afraid to respond but the alcohol keeps you talking. "what was?"
"you calling me." sukuna sounds like he's been by his phone all evening waiting for you to call. his tone is expectant and unfortunately a little teasing.
"i just wanted to check up on yuji." you spill out, thinking about an excuse, any excuse.
sukuna lets out a pitiful sigh, "just missed him. he's sleeping. he's been fine though."
unbeknownst to you, yuji is wide awake in his room probably playing video games or watching cartoons. fortunately for him there's no real bedtime when it comes to staying at his dad's house.
"how was your girls night?" sukuna asks, "did you drink much?"
"good." you say, raising a brow. "and not a lot."
"that's good." he murmurs, "now you can't say calling me was a mistake and that you were drunk out of your mind."
"i mean, you did offer me to call you."
"i didn't think you would take me seriously."
"you were right in thinking that."
"but you still called."
"yeah, for yuji." you correct.
"but you're still on the line."
"oh, so you want me to go?" you tease and it's obvious bait but he takes it.
"no. talk to me." his tone is firm and sultry, enough to make you giddy, enough to put a smile on your face that you keep trying to hide with your hands.
"about what?"
"anything, enlighten me."
so you begin telling a new and updated story about that one co-worker at your job that seems to cause nothing but headaches. sukuna remembers your stories from your marriage, how you would come to bed some nights just ranting about them.
and before you know it an hour has passed and the two of you are still talking. well it's mostly you doing the talking because you're tipsy and your mouth can't stop running but sukuna throws in little hmms and grunts here and there to show that he's listening.
sukuna's raspy voice is almost enough to send you sleep and it deeply reminds you of the past and how it used to be, how you were feeling those vibrations physically as you laid on his chest telling him about your day.
but now you're doing it over the phone and your entire body gets overtaken by feeling of nostalgia, a small part of you wishing that you were on his chest talking about everything and anything.
your rambling comes to an abrupt end due to your emotions and your voice is a little quieter. "are you still listening?"
"course'" he says, and he lets out a breath before speaking again. "but i gotta go soon, the baseball game's early tomorrow."
"right, sorry, sorry, i'll let you go to bed." you internally curse yourself for getting a little too ahead of yourself.
there's an awkward pause before sukuna speaks again.
"you should come tomorrow. i'll buy you a ticket."
you freeze, "uhhhh i-" on defence your mind immediately searches for an excuse, "i'm busy..."
"doing what?"
"things." you lie knowing the only thing you have to do is clean up the house.
"hmmm things." sukuna says, his tone is evident that he doesn't believe you. there's another pause before he speaks and just when you think you've avoided anymore contact with sukuna his next sentence is enough to give you whiplash.
"well, if you're busy tomorrow then maybe some other time this week we could- uh- go for drinks or something..." if you were more sober you'd pay more attention to how nervous sukuna sounds right now, finally spitting out his words.
"drinks?" you repeat.
"casual. parent to parent. talk about yuji's behaviour or whatever."
"right, as if it's something that you couldn't tell me right now? you just told me he was fine."
"should definitely be said in person. i can get jin to watch him in the meantime."
"are you sure?" you ask, immediately suspicious.
"positive."
even though you know you shouldn't agree to this and the sober you in the morning will regret your response you can't help but agree to sukuna's plans. you know what he's trying to do and you can't help but fall for it. there's a long pause before you speak again.
"alright then. text me the details. goodnight sukuna."
"goodnight baby."
and before you could even reprimand him for calling you baby when he shouldn't be, he's hung up the phone. smooth fucker, you think to yourself but deep down in the pit of your stomach you feel giddy as a teenager.
"i need to pull myself together." you mutter to yourself, gathering up the energy to finally go to bed. throughout your bedtime routine you can't help but reminisce on your conversation with sukuna, you spent an hour on the phone talking to your ex-husband that you previously wouldn't spend ten minutes minutes talking to.
your thoughts, even whilst tipsy confuse you. you get a rush of adrenaline to keep the giddy feeling going.
and that's when you remember the box.
in the closet, sits a box in the top corner that you've been ignoring for years. today out of all days, this tipsy version of you chooses to go down memory lane. it's a small box, previously used for yuji's old school shoes but now it holds the sentimental things of your previous marriage that you didn't have the heart to throw away.
a few photographs. a letter. but the most important of them all, your wedding ring.
you hold up the ring in the light and it still glistens like brand new. at that moment everything comes back to you - all the worst memories that your ring has witnessed. arguments and fights and spilled tears.
it's a miracle that you and sukuna get along as exes despite the past as you know other divorced couples wouldn't have the same privileges.
as you place the ring back and close the box, you remind yourself of the person that you are now not the person that you were back then.
you won't ruin this current dynamic because of the slight chance of old feelings. you won't do that to yourself.
and most importantly, you won't do that to yuji.
you can't go back.
a/n: thank you for reading!!! part 4 i expect to dive into sukuna's pov more before their 'meet-up' and sneak peek into their backstory!
part three ex!husband sukuna and reader, reader overthinks sukuna's words and reaches out...finally.
a note from angel: i didn't expect this series to blow up like this but i'm so happy and grateful for everyone who is reading this series and i'm glad ur enjoying it!! there's a lot i want to unpack between these two so please stay tuned!!
part one | part two
the bar's busy for a usual saturday night but you and the girls have just managed to find a spot for yourselves. you, shoko and utahime are the only ones who have successfully made it out tonight.
the good thing about being a trio is that you can choose to zone out whilst shoko and utahime make conversation between themselves. nursing your third long island iced tea, you soon learn that your silence won't be for long because fortunately these women know you well enough to pick up on the fact that something is wrong.
"Are you okay girl? you seem out of it" shoko comments, turning her attention on you.
"is sukuna giving you hell again?" utahime chimes in, her straw stirring her own drink. the two of them know all of the ups and down of your relationship with sukuna and these were the two friends who stuck by closest to you whilst you were going through your divorce.
"no..." you begin but from the faces from the girls, it's obvious that you're not telling the whole truth. "okay maybe," you refine, "i'll start from the beginning."
shoko and utahime hum, ready to hear your story.
"so yuji made me do this prank call on sukuna, i don't know where he got this idea from maybe from a youtube video or his friends whatever, but yuji wanted me to call sukuna to say something stupid, like to say goodnight randomly to him right?"
the women at the table nod, listening along to you.
"and so i did it and-"
"wait you did it?" utahime interrupts with shock.
"yuji wouldn't stop going on about so i just thought 'fuck it' and, well i thought sukuna would understand that i wasn't serious about it but..." you trail off.
"but?" shoko chimes in.
"and then the next time we saw each other in person he was like weird-"
"a good weird or a bad weird?" utahime asks.
"i don't know, but like- he told me that i could call him anytime and to remember that. i don't know if he was serious but i can't stop thinking about it."
the reactions of the girls aren't surprising but they do raise a brow. they pause to take a sip of their drinks, collecting their thoughts and judgements. you shuffle awkwardly in your seat trying to regulate yourself in front of them.
utahime finally lets out a sigh, "oh i think he wants you back."
"what?" and almost immediately you can feel your face burn up just at the thought of sukuna still having feelings for you.
utahime nods, "trust me girl, you gave him a small opening and he's going for it."
"but it was a joke, i only called him because of yuji- without that i wouldn't have any motive to call him."
"but that's why he's going for it. who knows when his next chance to stir you up will be." shoko murmers.
your shoulders drop, your gut feeling anxiety from this conversation. "it's been years since we've been together..."
"so you don't want him back?" shoko questions.
"god no."
"are you 100% on that?" utahime asks, and at this point it feels like you're being interrogated by these two.
"yes?" your tone betrays you, not feeling confident in your answer.
"you have no feelings whatsoever for him?" shoko strikes again, asking for clarification.
a pause follows her question and there's no immediate answer that comes from you. the two women stare at you, expectant for an answer that you can't confidently give which tells them all that they need to know.
"i don't know." you finally admit, staring down at your lap. "i don't know if he's just playing and teasing me or if he's being serious."
utahime reaches out to you, placing a hand on your knee. "to me, it sounds like he's starting to win you back or at least he's introducing the idea. at the end of the day the heart wants what it wants."
shoko speaks up, fingers picking at her pack of cigarettes " all i do know is that you look like you want to pick up that phone and call him. you better do that soon girl."
/
you return back to a quiet house with yuji being at sukuna's for the weekend. you make a mental reminder to pick up after yuji's toys and clothes scattered everywhere but you'll do that tomorrow.
you're not completely drunk but you would be lying if you didn't admit that the alcohol has you tipsy. and when tipsy suddenly all decisions get the green light from your brain.
your first immediate thought is to head to the couch and pull out your phone, thumb clicking on the contacts app.
scrolling through your alphabetical list of names you reach 's' and your eyes search for sukuna. you know you really shouldn't but the devil on your shoulder - which is the alcohol - keeps prompting you to continue.
with your heart in your throat, your thumb immediately presses on the phone icon and before you know it the line is ringing. placing the phone on speaker, you bite down on your bottom lip in anxiety.
for a moment you think he won't pick up. for a moment you think you're a fool for even trying. for a moment you think you'll wake up with all this regret and the embarrassment that he'll have a notification saying 'missed call' from you. for a moment-
he picks up.
there's a shuffle for a split second before you hear his voice. it's low and raspy, his tone evident of the late hour that you're calling him.
"that was fast." he says and again you're confident that there is a smirk right there on sukuna ryomen's lips.
for a moment you're almost afraid to respond but the alcohol keeps you talking. "what was?"
"you calling me." sukuna sounds like he's been by his phone all evening waiting for you to call. his tone is expectant and unfortunately a little teasing.
"i just wanted to check up on yuji." you spill out, thinking about an excuse, any excuse.
sukuna lets out a pitiful sigh, "just missed him. he's sleeping. he's been fine though."
unbeknownst to you, yuji is wide awake in his room probably playing video games or watching cartoons. fortunately for him there's no real bedtime when it comes to staying at his dad's house.
"how was your girls night?" sukuna asks, "did you drink much?"
"good." you say, raising a brow. "and not a lot."
"that's good." he murmurs, "now you can't say calling me was a mistake and that you were drunk out of your mind."
"i mean, you did offer me to call you."
"i didn't think you would take me seriously."
"you were right in thinking that."
"but you still called."
"yeah, for yuji." you correct.
"but you're still on the line."
"oh, so you want me to go?" you tease and it's obvious bait but he takes it.
"no. talk to me." his tone is firm and sultry, enough to make you giddy, enough to put a smile on your face that you keep trying to hide with your hands.
"about what?"
"anything, enlighten me."
so you begin telling a new and updated story about that one co-worker at your job that seems to cause nothing but headaches. sukuna remembers your stories from your marriage, how you would come to bed some nights just ranting about them.
and before you know it an hour has passed and the two of you are still talking. well it's mostly you doing the talking because you're tipsy and your mouth can't stop running but sukuna throws in little hmms and grunts here and there to show that he's listening.
sukuna's raspy voice is almost enough to send you sleep and it deeply reminds you of the past and how it used to be, how you were feeling those vibrations physically as you laid on his chest telling him about your day.
but now you're doing it over the phone and your entire body gets overtaken by feeling of nostalgia, a small part of you wishing that you were on his chest talking about everything and anything.
your rambling comes to an abrupt end due to your emotions and your voice is a little quieter. "are you still listening?"
"course'" he says, and he lets out a breath before speaking again. "but i gotta go soon, the baseball game's early tomorrow."
"right, sorry, sorry, i'll let you go to bed." you internally curse yourself for getting a little too ahead of yourself.
there's an awkward pause before sukuna speaks again.
"you should come tomorrow. i'll buy you a ticket."
you freeze, "uhhhh i-" on defence your mind immediately searches for an excuse, "i'm busy..."
"doing what?"
"things." you lie knowing the only thing you have to do is clean up the house.
"hmmm things." sukuna says, his tone is evident that he doesn't believe you. there's another pause before he speaks and just when you think you've avoided anymore contact with sukuna his next sentence is enough to give you whiplash.
"well, if you're busy tomorrow then maybe some other time this week we could- uh- go for drinks or something..." if you were more sober you'd pay more attention to how nervous sukuna sounds right now, finally spitting out his words.
"drinks?" you repeat.
"casual. parent to parent. talk about yuji's behaviour or whatever."
"right, as if it's something that you couldn't tell me right now? you just told me he was fine."
"should definitely be said in person. i can get jin to watch him in the meantime."
"are you sure?" you ask, immediately suspicious.
"positive."
even though you know you shouldn't agree to this and the sober you in the morning will regret your response you can't help but agree to sukuna's plans. you know what he's trying to do and you can't help but fall for it. there's a long pause before you speak again.
"alright then. text me the details. goodnight sukuna."
"goodnight baby."
and before you could even reprimand him for calling you baby when he shouldn't be, he's hung up the phone. smooth fucker, you think to yourself but deep down in the pit of your stomach you feel giddy as a teenager.
"i need to pull myself together." you mutter to yourself, gathering up the energy to finally go to bed. throughout your bedtime routine you can't help but reminisce on your conversation with sukuna, you spent an hour on the phone talking to your ex-husband that you previously wouldn't spend ten minutes minutes talking to.
your thoughts, even whilst tipsy confuse you. you get a rush of adrenaline to keep the giddy feeling going.
and that's when you remember the box.
in the closet, sits a box in the top corner that you've been ignoring for years. today out of all days, this tipsy version of you chooses to go down memory lane. it's a small box, previously used for yuji's old school shoes but now it holds the sentimental things of your previous marriage that you didn't have the heart to throw away.
a few photographs. a letter. but the most important of them all, your wedding ring.
you hold up the ring in the light and it still glistens like brand new. at that moment everything comes back to you - all the worst memories that your ring has witnessed. arguments and fights and spilled tears.
it's a miracle that you and sukuna get along as exes despite the past as you know other divorced couples wouldn't have the same privileges.
as you place the ring back and close the box, you remind yourself of the person that you are now not the person that you were back then.
you won't ruin this current dynamic because of the slight chance of old feelings. you won't do that to yourself.
and most importantly, you won't do that to yuji.
you can't go back.
a/n: thank you for reading!!! part 4 i expect to dive into sukuna's pov more before their 'meet-up' and sneak peek into their backstory!
People have really forgotten that yandere is literally a horror trope. No I don't want a "green flag yandere" I want an endless pit of dread in my stomach and also a sense of arousal that shouldn't be there
You youths have forgotten the original tomes
justtoreadstuff @prettypinkvenom - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
