the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.
i have a haikyuu ff draft of akaashi x reader since 2023… shld i continue writing it? i’ll give a sneak peak in case anyone is actually interested
premise: in which a magazine editor finds himself in a predicament regarding his furtive neighbour
tw; blood
AKAASHI didn't know what to expect when he saw the metallic glare reflected from the vermillion puddle on the floor. perhaps it was a wineglass and its broken shards delineating an abstract piece of art, or the wine itself threatening to spill from its vessel?
both ideas were imperceptible, granted the scene before the unfortunate editor. not to mention his proposal that's due today, but with the peculiar situation he's in, akaashi would need an extension for much longer.
'so how did akaashi end up witnessing murder?' is a question that fate nonchalantly replied with the existence of you.
pleaassseeeee lmk if anyone’s interested then maybe ill actually continue writing ts AND i welcome criticism
When Satoru bought a new bed for you two to share, you had assumed it meant you would finally regain some personal space.
This was proven to be, in fact, false.
This was the third night in a row that you had been awakened by your husband's long limbs smacking you in your sleep. One lanky leg flopped over your own shorter legs while his arm draped over your stomach. It had become a routine of sorts; he would join you in bed around 4AM after finishing his duties, then around 5AM, he would begin his shenanigans.
At first, it was smaller, less irritable things like accidentally nudging you in his sleep, or snoring, but as time went on, his unconscious body seemed to turn restless. Satoru began to spread out on the bed, taking up around seventy five percent of the mattress, leaving you a sliver of space to occupy.
His lanky frame lay sprawled on the bed, limbs stretched out on top of your own as if you were his personal body pillow.
It eventually became insufferable; you couldn’t sleep with his constant invasion of your personal space, so you begged him to buy a bigger bed.
And that he did, except it somehow made the problem worse.
Now you lie awake, 5:17AM, with your husband snoring happily next to you, his leg draped over your hip, arm stretched over your collarbone, and face tucked into the crook of your neck. You didn’t understand how he managed to somehow take up the entire king-sized bed.
You huffed, trying — and failing — to push his body off of you, “Gosh, why are you so damn heavy?” You muttered under your breath, hand moving to nudge him awake.
“Toru, get up!” You whisper shouted, “You’re suffocating me, you oaf.” Gojo blinked groggily, bright blue eyes piercing the dimly lit room, “As much as I adore you, I’d like to get my three hours of beauty sleep, babe.” He groaned, nuzzling further into your neck, “Yeah, Toru. Me too, get off.”
He whined, pulling you further into his embrace as if he was trying to trap you. You rolled your eyes at him, hands still trying to push him away so you could actually enjoy your sleep. “Why do you hate me? I’m just trying to cuddle my wife,” he peeked up at you, blue eyes widening in faux puppy eyes.
“No, you’re suffocating me. Seriously, baby, how do you take up so much space?” He lifted his head, gasping in mock offence, “Are you calling me overweight? That’s so hurtful, I’ll have you know I have an amazing physique.” You stifled a laugh, brushing your fingers through his snowy hair, “Yes, Toru, I can see that, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all those sugary snacks caught up to you.”
“I’m just saying you sprawl out a lot, Toru, I’m trying to sleep, and I feel you practically on top of me.” He hummed into your neck, seemingly contemplating how to respond, “I just enjoy being close to you, is that a crime?”
You giggled, “It is when I’m practically being strangled.” Satoru whined louder this time, “It’s not fair, you deprive me of physical touch, babe.” You swatted his shoulder lightly, “Be quiet, you big baby. No one said we couldn’t cuddle. I just said stop confusing me for the mattress.” He pouted, “But you’re so soft.”
Leaning down, you kissed his pursed lips, “Just cuddle me like a normal person, okay?”
“But I’m not normal,” he sleepily argued.
You laughed, tugging lightly on his messy hair, “I know, baby. I know.”
Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.
I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.
Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.
On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.
We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.
A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.
Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.
Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.
The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.
Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.
We Don’t Know What Comes Next
There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.
My name is Nadin, and I’m a mother from Gaza.
How You Can Help
I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:
Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.
Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.
If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you can give—thank you. If you can’t—just sharing this post is a lifeline I will never forget.
they’ll write about satoru gojo in the history books—the strongest sorcerer, the one who changed everything. they won’t write about the man who couldn’t cook, who lurked outside doorways during bedtime stories, who loved you as much as you loved him, and who counted every time a seven-year-old called him annoying. megumi wishes they would.
3.1k wc. dad!gojo and son!megumi. you are gojo’s gf. found family. character death im SORRY. grief. coping with loss. so much angst. self indulgent cause i am the biggest gojo and megumi father son duo LOVER <///3 idgaf if u say he didnt actually raise him.. he DID to ME :D
the apartment smelled like jasmine tea and something sweet baking in the oven. megumi stood in the doorway, his small backpack still strapped to his shoulders, and he didn’t move until you crouched down to meet his eyes.
“hey, megumi,” you said softly. “rough day?”
he nodded once, solemn as always, and let you slip the backpack off his shoulders. behind you, satoru was sprawled across the couch, blindfold pushed up into his white hair, watching with that insufferable smile.
“megumi! tell me about school. did you make any friends? learn anything cool?”
the six-year-old’s face remained carefully blank. “no.”
“no to which one?”
“both.”
you bit back a smile as you guided megumi toward the kitchen. “i made those cookies you liked last time. the chocolate ones.”
his eyes brightened, just slightly, and you felt the small victory warm your chest. satoru appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“what about me? do i get cookies?”
“you ate half the dough yesterday,” you said without looking at him.
megumi’s lips twitched. almost a smile. he climbed onto the kitchen stool and accepted the glass of milk you poured, his legs swinging several inches above the floor.
“you know,” satoru said, ruffling megumi’s dark hair, “if you actually smiled, your face wouldn’t get stuck like that.”
megumi leaned away from the touch. “your face is already stuck like that.”
“megumi,” you warned gently, though you were fighting your own smile.
“what? it’s true. he always looks stupid.”
satoru pressed a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “stupid? i’m the strongest sorcerer alive. i’m incredibly handsome. i’m—”
“annoying,” megumi muttered into his milk.
you set the plate of cookies down between them. “okay, that’s enough. both of you.”
but satoru was grinning, and you caught the way megumi’s shoulders had relaxed, the tight line of his small mouth softening as he reached for a cookie. this was how it always went—megumi’s barbs, satoru’s exaggerated reactions, and you in the middle, the buffer that made their strange little family work.
later, after megumi had changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth, you sat on the edge of his bed while satoru lingered in the doorway. the boy’s room was sparse—he didn’t ask for much, never had—but you’d slowly added things. a lamp with a soft blue glow. curtains with subtle patterns. a stuffed dog he pretended he was too old for but slept with every night.
“story?” you asked.
megumi nodded, already tucked under his covers.
“i can do the voices,” satoru offered, stepping into the room.
“no,” megumi said immediately. “she does them better.”
“i literally voice act in my head all day. i’m a natural.”
“you’re naturally annoying.”
“megumi.”
the boy huffed and turned his face toward the wall. you shot satoru a look, and he raised his hands in surrender, backing out of the room. you heard him settle in the hallway, just outside the door, listening like he always did.
you read about a prince who didn’t want to be found, about a kingdom beneath the sea, about magic that came with a price. megumi’s breathing slowed, deepened, and when you reached the end, his eyes were already closed.
you smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “goodnight, megumi.”
“…night, mom.”
the word was so quiet you almost missed it. your breath caught, and you felt something fracture and rebuild inside your chest all at once. you kissed his forehead and stood carefully, turning off the lamp.
in the hallway, satoru was still there, leaning against the wall with his blindfold back in place. you couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew their expression anyway.
“he called me annoying seven times today,” he said lightly. “i counted.”
“he’s seven years old. he doesn’t know how to tell you he feels safe yet.”
“and you? what’s your excuse for finding me annoying?”
you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “i’m still figuring that out.”
his arm came around your waist, pulling you close, and for a moment you both stood there in the dim hallway, listening to the soft sounds of megumi sleeping. satoru’s fingers traced absent patterns on your hip.
“he loves you,” you whispered.
“he loves you,” satoru corrected. “i’m just the annoying guy who pays for everything.”
“satoru.”
“i know.” his voice was softer now, almost serious. “i know he does. in his own way.”
you leaned into him, and he rested his chin on top of your head. inside the room, megumi stirred, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep. you both held your breath until he settled again.
“he’s going to be okay,” you said.
“yeah,” satoru agreed. “we’ll make sure of it.”
the apartment still smelled like jasmine tea, but now it also smelled like teenage boy—a mix of cologne applied too liberally and the faint musk of training clothes that never quite dried all the way.
megumi was fifteen now, sprawled on the couch with his phone, his legs long enough that his feet hung over the armrest. you were in the kitchen, and satoru had just materialized in the living room, a bag of takeout in hand.
“i got your favorite,” satoru announced. “the good katsudon place, not the one near the school that gave you food poisoning.”
“that was one time,” megumi said without looking up from his phone.
“once was enough. you were green for like three days.”
“i wasn’t green.”
“you were absolutely green. wasn’t he green?” satoru directed this at you.
“he was a little green,” you admitted, bringing plates to the coffee table.
megumi scowled but pocketed his phone, sitting up. he’d grown into his features over the past few years, lost some of that childish roundness. he looked more like his father now, though he’d never met the man. sharp-eyed, serious, with that same natural scowl.
“how was the mission?” you asked, settling beside him.
“fine.”
“just fine?”
“it was a grade three. took like ten minutes.”
satoru handed him a container of katsudon. “he’s being modest. supervisor said he handled it efficiently. professionally. used those exact words.”
megumi’s ears went slightly pink. “it wasn’t a big deal.”
“take the compliment, kid.”
“i’m not a kid.”
“you’re fifteen. you’re literally a kid.”
“you were fighting special grades at fifteen.”
“yeah, and i was a kid. a very talented, very handsome kid, but still a kid.” satoru grinned. “besides, you’re doing better than i was at your age. i was all power, no control. you actually think before you act.”
megumi ducked his head, focusing intently on his food. you caught satoru’s eye and smiled. he’d gotten better at this over the years—the praise, the sincerity. it didn’t come naturally to him, all that emotional honesty, but he tried. for megumi, he tried.
“oh, i meant to tell you,” satoru continued, “yaga wants to talk about you enrolling at jujutsu high next year. officially.”
megumi’s chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth. “i thought that was already decided.”
“it is, mostly. but it’s still your choice. you don’t have to—”
“i want to,” megumi interrupted. then, quieter: “i want to be a sorcerer.”
something passed over satoru’s face, too quick to name. pride, maybe. or worry. or both.
“good,” he said simply. “you’ll be great at it.”
they ate in companionable silence for a while. you watched them, these two people who’d become your whole world without you quite realizing when it happened. satoru with his long limbs and easy confidence, megumi with his careful movements and guarded expressions. so different, and yet there were moments—the tilt of their heads when they were thinking, the way they both took their tea—where you could see how they’d shaped each other.
“you’re taking on more missions,” megumi said eventually, not looking at satoru.
“comes with the territory.”
“more than usual.”
satoru paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “since when do you keep track?”
“since always.” megumi’s voice was flat. “you took four special grade assignments last month. you’ve never done more than two.”
the air in the room shifted slightly. you set down your own chopsticks, watching.
“the higher-ups have been busy,” satoru said lightly. “more curses showing up in weird places. nothing i can’t handle.”
“that’s not the point.”
“then what is the point?”
he stopped abruptly, looking away. his hands were clenched on his knees.
you reached over, covering one of his hands with yours. he didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either.
satoru was watching megumi with an unreadable expression. after a moment, he set down his food and leaned back, arms crossed.
“okay,” he said quietly. “you’re right. i’m taking on more. there’s been an increase in curse activity, and the higher-ups are stretched thin. but that’s exactly why they need me. because i can handle it.”
“what happens when you can’t?” megumi’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“that’s not going to happen.”
“you don’t know that.”
“yes, i do.” satoru’s voice was firm. “megumi, look at me.”
megumi didn’t move.
“look at me,” satoru repeated, softer.
slowly, megumi turned his head. satoru’s blindfold was off now, those bright blue eyes fixed on megumi with unusual intensity.
“i’m not going anywhere,” satoru said. “not for a long time. and by the time i do, you’ll be strong enough that you won’t need me anymore.”
“that’s not—” megumi’s voice cracked. “it’s not about need.”
something passed over satoru’s face—surprise, maybe, or recognition. he was quiet for a moment, then reached over and ruffled megumi’s hair. megumi didn’t pull away this time.
“you sound like an old man.” satoru teased, meant to lighten the mood.
“you are an old man.”
“i’m twenty-eight. i’m in my prime. i’m—”
“annoying,” megumi finished. but there was no heat in it, and you caught the smallest twitch of his lips.
later, after dinner, you found megumi in his room. he was at his desk, supposedly doing homework, but you recognized the distant look in his eyes. thinking, not studying.
“hey,” you said softly from the doorway.
he blinked, focusing on you. “hey.”
“can i come in?”
he nodded, and you crossed to sit on the edge of his bed. his room had changed as much as he had. the stuffed dog was gone, replaced by shelves of books on jujutsu theory and technique. posters of bands you didn’t recognize. a small collection of plants that he tended with surprising care.
“you okay?” you asked.
“yeah. why wouldn’t i be?”
“you seem quiet. quieter than usual, i mean.”
megumi was silent for a moment, his fingers tapping against his desk. “sensei believes he can handle anything.”
“and he’s usually right.”
“usually isn’t always.”
you studied him—this boy who’d grown so much but still carried such weight in his eyes. “you’re scared.”
“i’m not—” he started, then stopped. sighed.
“what if something happens? what if satoru can’t fix it this time?”
“then we deal with it together,” you said. “all of us. that’s what family does.”
the word hung between you—family. you’d never formally adopted megumi, never made it official in any legal sense. but it didn’t matter. hadn’t mattered for years.
“he’s getting older,” megumi said quietly. “satoru. i can see it sometimes. not physically, but… like he’s tired.”
“he’s the strongest sorcerer alive. that’s exhausting.”
“what happens when he can’t be the strongest anymore?”
the question caught you off guard. not because you hadn’t thought about it—you had, late at night when satoru came home with new scars he pretended weren’t there—but because megumi had never voiced it before.
“i don’t know,” you admitted. “but he’s not there yet. and when that time comes, there will be other strong sorcerers. maybe even a dark-haired, grumpy one who’s really good with divine dogs.”
he huffed something that might have been a laugh. you stood and crossed to him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head like you’d done when he was small.
“get some sleep,” you said. “tomorrow’s sunday. satoru promised to take us to that museum you wanted to see.”
“the one with the cursed objects exhibit?”
“that’s the one.”
“he’s going to be insufferable about it. he’ll try to touch everything.”
“probably,” you agreed. “but that’s half the fun.”
you left him there, returning to the living room where satoru was sprawled on the couch, long legs stretched out, blindfold off. his eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping.
“he’s worried about you,” you said, settling beside him.
“he’s not wrong, you know.” you feel a chill yourself, the fear settling in your bones once you’re done pretending to be strong. “to be scared.”
“i know that too.”
you laced your fingers through his. “satoru—”
“i’m being careful,” he said. “as careful as i can be, anyway.”
“that’s what worries me.”
he pulled you closer, and you settled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. steady. strong. alive.
“i won’t make promises i can’t keep,” he said quietly. “but i’m not planning on going anywhere. not when i’ve got you two waiting for me.”
you pressed closer, and his arms tightened around you. outside, tokyo hummed with late-night traffic and distant sirens. inside, megumi was in his room, safe and whole and yours. and satoru was here, solid and warm beneath you.
you laced your fingers through his. “he loves you. even if he never says it.”
“i called him annoying today and he said i was an old man. i’m choosing to interpret that as affection.”
you laughed softly, leaning into his shoulder.
“we’re doing okay, right?” you asked. “the three of us?”
satoru pressed a kiss to your temple. “yeah,” he said. “we’re doing okay.”
and for that moment, in the apartment that smelled like jasmine tea and teenage boy and home, it was enough.
the apartment still smelled like jasmine tea.
megumi stood in the doorway, still fifteen, but somehow looking even older tonight. his uniform torn and stained with blood that wasn’t his. his hands hung at his sides, and he didn’t move until you crossed the room.
you stopped just in front of him, and he could see you’d been crying. your eyes were red-rimmed, your face blotchy, but you were trying to hold it together. for him. you were always trying to hold it together for him.
“megumi,” you whispered, and your voice broke on his name.
he should say something. he should tell you what happened, should explain the fight, the moment when satoru gojo—the strongest, the untouchable, the man who raised him—fell. should describe how the world felt wrong after, like reality had tilted on its axis and couldn’t right itself.
but the words wouldn’t come.
you reached for him, and he let you pull him into your arms. he was taller than you now, had been for years, but he folded into your embrace like he was small again. your hand came up to cradle the back of his head, and he felt you shaking.
“it’s not your fault,” you said, voice muffled against his shoulder. “megumi, it’s not your fault. none of this is your fault.”
but it is, he thought. sukuna used my body. my technique. my face.
he didn’t say it. couldn’t.
inside his chest, there was a cavity where something used to be. he kept waiting to feel it—the grief, the rage, the breakdown everyone probably expected. but there was just… nothing. a vast, empty nothing that echoed when he tried to examine it too closely.
he remembered being six, seven, telling satoru he was annoying. remembered the way the man would grin, unaffected, unshakeable. remembered thinking, with a child’s certainty, that nothing could ever hurt satoru gojo. that he would always be there, too powerful to lose, too present to disappear.
you always looked stupid, megumi had said once, a lifetime ago.
good thing i’m pretty enough to pull it off, satoru had replied.
you were crying harder now, your tears soaking into his shoulder, and megumi wrapped his arms around you mechanically. this is what people did, wasn’t it? they held each other. they comforted. they grieved together.
but he felt separate from it all, like he was watching from somewhere distant. he saw himself standing in the apartment, holding you while you broke apart, but he couldn’t quite feel it. couldn’t access whatever it was that would let him cry, or scream, or react like a normal person who’d just lost their father.
father.
satoru had never asked to be called that. never insisted, never corrected megumi when he was difficult or dismissive. he’d just… been there. paying for everything, showing up at school events, teaching him to fight, ruffling his hair even when megumi scowled.
“he loved you so much,” you said, pulling back to look at him. your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “he was so proud of you. you know that, right? megumi, you know that?”
did he? satoru had never said it outright. he’d called megumi talented, called him promising, called him a pain in the ass with that fond exasperation that might have meant anything.
“i know,” megumi heard himself say. his voice sounded flat, distant.
your face crumpled. “oh, sweetheart.”
you pulled him back in, and he let you, because he didn’t know what else to do. over your shoulder, he could see into the living room. the couch where satoru used to sprawl, taking up too much space. the kitchen where they’d had a thousand pointless arguments. the hallway leading to what used to be his room, where satoru would lurk outside the door during bedtime stories, listening.
all of it exactly the same. all of it completely different.
megumi closed his eyes and tried to find something inside the emptiness. tried to locate the grief he knew should be there, the pain that would make this real. but there was just the hollow echo, and the weight of your arms around him, and the terrible certainty that the world had changed in a way it could never change back.
you’re annoying, he’d said, over and over through the years.
yeah, but you love me anyway, satoru never replied, but the words hung in the air between them regardless.
megumi tightened his hold on you, and somewhere in the vast empty space inside him, something finally cracked. not grief. not yet. but an acknowledgment, maybe. a recognition that the cavity in his chest was shaped exactly like satoru gojo, and nothing else would ever fit there again.
“i’m here,” you whispered. “i’m right here, megumi. i’m not going anywhere.”
he nodded against your shoulder, and you both stood there in the doorway as the afternoon light faded, two people holding onto each other in an apartment that smelled like jasmine tea and felt too quiet, waiting for someone who would never come home.
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓑.𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐉𝐎 𓂃 ⭒ bounces you on his cock cause he thinks you're stupid
⤿ ꒰ he's always seen you as nothing but a stupid, pretty girl :: college au :: slight angst :: smut :: mean satoru :: degradation :: f. oral :: fingering :: riding :: dumbification :: overstimulation ꒱
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ has been your worst nightmare since highschool. belittling you, shaming you, making you feel like you were the dirt beneath his shoe. unlike other bullies, he didn't have to push you around and slam you into lockers to make your gut twist. no, all he had to do was toss you a smug smirk over his shoulder whenever your mathematics exams were handed back. his red-circled A++ crumpling your hopes into your measly B-. you thought things would be different in college.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was nothing if not dedicated. to his valedictorian status and his relentless belittling. hell, the second you stepped foot into your quantum physics class— he scoffed. then grinned as you reluctantly made your way to the only empty seat. . . right beside him. “my, what's the bimbo doing here? daddy's money must be doing wonders.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ rolled his eyes as he passed by you in the hallway and saw you talking up a male classmate. muttering under his breath, “no wonder your grades are falling.” only to send you a wink when he catches your crestfallen look.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was not impressed when you were both paired for an assignment together. he actively tried to protest against the professor, but soon settled for it. before you knew it, he was in your dorm and grumbling over a textbook. shuffling over his laptop with an cooing tongue click and condescending head tilt. “aww. you really don't get it, do you?” then grinned mockingly as you shook your head with big eyes and a trembling lip. “silly girl. looks like I'll be carrying us again.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ rolled his eyes when you came to him all teary because— he was right. your grades were slipping. hell, you never wanted to be in astrophysics. your parents forced you. and now here you were with a crumpled up paper in your hands and crying to your bully, begging him to tutor you. he agreed with slumped shoulders and a groaning, “fine, whatever. just don't waste my time.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was awful the entire time, no matter how hard you tried. he'd explain things that your brain couldn't process and lecture you when you wouldn't get it. and when he had enough of your tears? he snatched your chin, thumb swiping below your eye. “stop it.” he muttered. “stop it. stop crying. you can't help that you're stupid, now can you?” and when you didn't? well. . . let's just say he was inclined to make you cry in a more pleasurable way.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ soon enough, had you sprawled over the table. textbooks and stationary strewn all over as he thumbs on the soaked fabric between your quivering thighs. creating a perfect friction against your trembling clit as you bucked and whined into him. another hand dwarfed your inner thigh as he pressed it down, keeping you wide open with a grinning, “now what did I say? keep those legs open for me. you can do that, right? not too dumb for that?”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ took great pleasure in making you pay for wasting his time. he sucked on your clit through your panties until they were drenched with his saliva and your messy cum. allowing you to grip his hair only when he yanked your panties down and latched his mean mouth onto your pussy. licking, suckling, ruining you on his tongue while he glared at you from over his glasses. “suuuchhh a slut,” he huffed, fogging his spectacles. “no wonder those grades are slipping.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ fingered you open with two long digits. lips fixed to your clit and assaulting it with his tongue as he surged you through yet another sticky orgasm. fingers slow, steady and cruel while his mouth was ravenous. switching between your slit and throbbing nub. doubling down when you clung to his hair and whimpered out his name. he wouldn't admit to how hard he throbbed when you whined it like that. instead he dragged his tongue from your slit to your clit and groaned into the stringy mess.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ leaned back into the chair and let you bounce on his cock. it was the least you could do after wasting his time, right? “stupid girl,” he huffed, swallowing a groan as he tweaked on your nipple. grinding his hips up filthily. once, twice, until you were clinging to his shoulders and humping on him like a pitiful slut. he clicked his tongue and watched as your pussy stretched. squelching and squirming all over him. “maybe you should just drop out, huh? drop out and be a slut for a living. you're better at it.” as he spanked! your ass. then gripped tight.
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ who toppled you over him when your bounces became weak grinds. hands fisting your ass and squeezing you on his thick cock as he pounded up until you were whining and drooling in his ear. leaving behind a gooey ring of cream round his base and bubbling your webbed mess all over. his name was on your lips like a lewd prayer. desperate pleas and whines as his pubic bone caught your clit with every rough slam. “just can't do anything right, can you sweetheart? fuck, stupid little girl with the prettiest pussy.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ lost himself when you creamed him for the nth time that day. a hand fixed to the back of your neck as he rolled his hips up in jagged thrust. making you whimper. squirm. and all he did? grin. “there ya go. that's it. take it. fucking. take it.”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ was not prepared for your lips crashing onto his. for your hands clinging to his hair and your whines spilling into his mouth. and most definitely not for your spluttered little: "I love you— I love you satoru— toru, toru I love you, I love you!”
꒰ BULLY NERDJO ꒱ had to leave the second he'd cleaned you up and tucked your sleeping form into bed. stumbling back to his dorm, slamming his door shut. he white knuckled the counter and hunched over. heart pounding in his ears as he replayed your words over, and over again. I love you. I love you satoru. he scrubbed a hand down his face. cupped his mouth and nose as he breathed heavily, then looked into the mirror. hair disheveled. eyes puffy. no, no, no no no no no. what the fuck did he just do?
You're married to Satoru Gojo - an arrangement since your childhood, one you're so excited for. You soon find out - he wants nothing to do with you. Any one is preferable, from the waitress at your engagement party, to his secretary. Torn apart by insecurities and devastated by the fact that you can't make this one sided affection work, you decide to find something to keep you going until Gojo finds a way to end the marriage. That's what lands you right in the notorious boxing ring in town - led by Ryomen Sukuna, who finally sees you.
pairings - Boxer! Sukunax Reader x Nepo baby! Gojo
warnings!! - Heavy angst, cheating, Satoru is cruel and mean, reader starts off very shy/insecure, Soft Sukuna but he still don't mind being buried inside married reader, a fuck ton of feelings, eventual smut, explicit, mentions of insecurities. This chap - yandere Sukuna, obsessed/toxic Satoru, oral (f receiving) fingering, squirting, spitting, possessive behavior, insane jealousy, Sukuna is down bad and falling more and more, reader is getting stronger (let my baby cook) mentions of somno, mentions of sex, degradation (sexual and just in general) messy dynamics, cheating/reverse cheating... God just a lot.
This WILL have multiple endings - all of these three ends are gonna be messy. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV based on this drabble - WC - 11.5k (dear God lol)
part two - masterlist - part four (soon)
part three
You
You rush in from the blinding lights of people’s phones flashing pictures and videos of you – Gojo’s wife and mysterious heiress – walking into a boxing gym of one of the most rebellious and notorious heir, Sukuna. Known for causing scandals and going against his own family the moment he got his trust fund, what sort of good heiress goes into a gym like this!?
You flew under the radar before you married Gojo, you never partied and made sure to not cause any problems for your family, but yesterday someone had spotted you walking into the gym and alerted all the other paparazzi. You have huge sunglasses on when the gym doors open and you see Yuuji waving you in, Sukuna crossing his huge biceps and walking out.
“Get in,” he says quietly, you do just that, hearing him now. “Any of you wanna jump in the ring with me, since you’re on my private property? Hah, no? Come on, I’d love you to fucking try, aww why are you running?”
“He’s crazy,” you murmur to Yuuji, who has his hand on your wrist, tugging you into the busy gym. “He really is, your uncle.”
“I know,” he rubs the back of his neck, smiling just a bit at you then. “You look so happy today.”
“I do?” You blush at that, and so does he, when Sukuna shuts the heavy doors and walks back in, raising a brow. “How so?”
“You just do,” Sukuna’s glaring right at him now. “She does look happy? I didn’t say she’s hot okay – she is but I didn’t say it. I mean you’re not!? I’m sorry – you are but that’s-”
“Yuuji,” you’re giggling now, watching him stammer awkwardly was perhaps the cutest thing you’ve seen. “Thank you, for the compliment.”
“Yeah, of course – uh I have to go… over there,” he rushes off where everyone is training, the sounds of the boxing bags being hit mixing with the whir of workout machines and the clinking of the weights on the floor. You feel Sukuna too close to you, not on you, but behind you, warmth seeping through even though you’re not touching.
“He’s cute,” you say, Sukuna’s eyes narrow when you look back at him. “He looks just like you, just a little sweet version.”
“Aww, am I not sweet?” You blush when he walks past you, and you clutch your bag, following him closely.
“You just threatened to fight like ten people.”
He snorts just a bit, the two of you stopping in the locker room, you set down your bag, it’s empty inside of it, Sukuna doesn’t necessarily have a ‘girls’ locker room, everyone just sort of goes together. You arrived in a baggy shirt, slipping it over your head after you take off your sunglasses, all while Sukuna sits wide legged on the bench, gym shorts slipping up his muscled thighs.
God was any of him not huge, even his thighs are thick, you bite your lip and hastily tug out your ear buds and water bottle, before shutting the locker and turning to face him. “I don’t like paparazzi, I tend to tell them to fuck off.”
“I saw that,” you tease, leaning over to set your things next to him, tugging your hair up in a ponytail, pausing when you feel his fingers slip across the back of your thighs. You suck in a breath, your heart hammering in your chest, stepping closer until you’re between his thighs. “Thank you for getting them away.”
“Wasn’t for you, I hate them,” he says gruffly, hands slipping over your hips now, thumbs pressing against your pelvis, you can’t bite back the little moan that escapes your throat then. Sukuna’s ruby eyes lock with yours, lips an inch from your collarbone, but he doesn’t cross that line, waiting for you.
You look around nervously, before stepping even closer, hands resting on his broad shoulders, tugged against him to where you feel his length against your thighs, body humming in response. You shouldn’t do this, no matter what Satoru does, you know you shouldn’t be actively seeking Sukuna out. Terrified you’d both get hurt, worried you can’t just be physical.
How, when Sukuna makes you feel this good, do you stop it? How when he looks at you like you’re so pretty, like he desires you so much? Your breaths quicken, gathering courage then.
“Guess what?” You ask, he smirks a bit, breath ghosting over your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“What is it, brat? Got something to tell me?” He’s grinning, teeth glinting under bright fluorescent lights, you gather more courage but you’re trembling, leaning close and slipping your hands down his tattooed biceps.
“I made myself cum last night,” Sukuna’s grip is bruising, pupils blown out, before he stands up suddenly, pressing you against the lockers, a thigh between yours, making you cry out before he puts a hand on your mouth. You grip his wrist, his other hand dragging you down on his thigh, leaning close and moving his hand, exhaling. “Sorry that was too much, I shouldn’t have-”
“Shut up,” you gasp, glaring and earning his smirk. “You’re so sexy when you scowl like that.”
“Telling me to shut up… I…” Your whole life you’ve been silent, you’ve been quiet, pushed around with no sense of self. Yet Sukuna is teasing, he’s challenging you, he’s making you want to talk back, because you feel safe enough to. Your eyes look back up into his, swallowing nervously, his thumb brushing over your lips. “You shut up.”
He chuckles softly then, tilting your chin up, raising his thigh even higher. “Oh yeah, ya talkin’ shit?”
“Y-yes? I mean – yes.” You scowl all cutely again, pulse fluttering when he comes near, you’ve never felt this way, the thrill of it, talking shit to a six-foot-five grown ass man who’s got you soaking wet, drooling over that material.
“I like it,” he murmurs, easing his thigh back to run his fingers down your tummy, trembling underneath, hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “You made yourself cum for the first time?”
“Y-yes, I did – mnh!” You cover your own mouth when the backs of his fingers slip over your clit, she eagerly twitches in response, his thick digit slipping inside your hole, not teasingly with the tip like last time, no he slides it in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes roll back from just that, cunt spasming around the invasion.
“Fuck,” he loses his bravado for a moment, yanking your hand down and curling his finger up before pulling it back, making you gasp out at the loss. “I’ll give you that reward later, for being a good girl.”
“L-later?” You hear the chatter and realize you both won’t be alone until later, looking to the side only to look back and see him sucking you off his fingers, moaning, lips wrapped around it. You drag him down for a quick kiss, he’s eagerly swapping your taste, tugging you hard against him.
God, to be kissed like this and not have it again?
You don’t know how you’d feel, to never have strong hands yanking you so close, to have his teeth clicking on yours, his tongue taking your mouth over. You’re lost in it, so lost you could forget who you are, where you are, but Sukuna is thankfully self aware, shallow breaths, hot when he pulls back.
He glares at you, hardly able to drag himself back. “Fuck are you doing to me?”
He murmurs, before giving you another kiss, and another, barely pulling back as others start to walk in, palm taking over the small of your back, bunching the material of your sports bra in his hand, lips coated in you.
“Sukuna… I…”
“Shh,” he pulls back and leaves you trying to catch your breath, his ruby gaze ever observant thankfully, because you get too lost in those moments to remember your situation. He grips your face for a moment though, smirking down at you. “Later, be a good girl and be patient.”
You nod quickly, letting his hand brush over your bare stomach before he walks off, leaning against the coolness of the lockers, heart hammering in your chest. You get a buzz on your phone then, picking it up with a shaky hand, it’s of course a text from your mother, already having seen you at the gym.
Just what are you doing boxing!? At the Sukuna heir’s gym!? Shouldn’t you be at home waiting for your husband?
Emotions hit your throat, blinking back burning tears. Can’t you for once feel good, feel excited, be fucking happy without them? Without all of them turning against you, downing you, for the briefest moment you stood up for yourself with Satoru, can you stand up to her though?
I like boxing. Gojo is plenty busy with his secretary at work, so I will not be waiting at home for him.
You just talked back to your mother, just that alone makes you dizzy, shaking as she starts typing back at you, showing a picture of you headed into the gym.
You look terrible on top of it, and now you’re disrespecting your husband? Perhaps we need to have a nice family dinner, and hone in on your lessons you’ve clearly forgotten.
You usually would cry by now, your mother was your original source of insecurities after all, but you shut your eyes and exhale, doing one of the breathing techniques Sukuna has taught you. Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth, focus on your heart beat and nothing else.
It works.
Dinner at eight tomorrow. You and your husband you’re neglecting.
You laugh at that.
Sure.
You mute your mother for the first time in your life, looking at the mirror for a moment to see yourself – and you see what Yuuji was saying, you just look… you look happier. Your eyes aren’t this sad mess, they’re glittering a little bit, there’s this brightness to your skin that was just a little dull before despite ample skincare. You just… are well rested, well fed, and you…
Came for the first time.
You feel heat on your cheeks, rushing off from that mirror then, trying to focus on training and acting casual, like you weren’t clenching around nothing just watching Sukuna sparring. Sweat gleaming down his skin, the way he could move his body despite being huge, that feral grin on his face as he gets hit.
Sukuna was still a mystery to you, but you feel you already know him better than you do your husband.
Gojo, fuck you haven’t even thought of him.
The ever present pain fades to the back of your mind – always worrying where he was, hoping maybe he’d like you, it all falls into a faint white noise.
*****
Gojo
Kuna – the fuck was a Kuna.
Why had you been moaning like that? God, just the thought of that had his cock twitching, his head falling back as his secretary sucks him down. Blue eyes shutting and forming an image of the girl he doesn’t ‘want’. The one who doesn't ‘want’ him. Not really.
You want to be the perfect wife, you'd probably get right on your knees and serve him if he hadn't turned you down on the wedding night. Let him cum all over those pretty tits and lap it right off, would your shy, cute little self let him spit his cum in your mouth, too?
“F- fuckkk,” he sucks in air through his teeth, using her to fuck her throat, to chase away any thoughts of his little wife and failing.
All he can think is how perfect your likely untouched cunt must feel, how good it would taste, milking him for all that cum you desperately want. Yet he doesn't want that, it must just be slips in his resolve, resolve to take the family down, to take everything about the Gojo Corp and shift it all.
He almost moans out your name when she swallows, gripping around his length, your tits and pretty face bouncing in his mind. It's like some sickness that's latched onto him now, one he'll never admit to you, when she swallows his salty cum down her talented, stretched out throat so obediently.
“Mmmh,” he pumps a few more times, moaning while all his release floods down to her stomach, head falling back. When his phone goes off he frowns, seeing the text from his mother.
Your wife. Surely we need a little discipline for both of you?
He scowls when he eyes that big pink haired man next to you.
Ryomen fucking Sukuna?
‘Kuna.’
Oh fuck no.
“Satoru…”
“Hold on,” she's lapping at his balls, eagerly drinking up every sip of pearly white. Normally he'd find it hot, how desperate and pathetic she is, but now it's just fucking annoying. “Enough.”
She blinks a bit, he adjusts himself, scowling as you ‘fuck you button’ his call. “But did I do –”
“Did great but can you get to work please? Actual work,” she pouts, lips trembling, tears pouring, making him roll his eyes. “Please? Be a good girl and go to work.”
She smiles again.
“Of course Mr. Gojo!”
Fuck most women are easy - even his wife was moaning a fucking heathen’s name. You, a pinnacle of innocence truly, touching your pussy to another man in his home.
Part of him doesn't blame you – isn't that where he pushed you?
Another part? Jealous, disgustingly jealous, he hates Sukuna and out of all people that's who you stumble across. His mind is racing until he's sick, shakily picking up the phone then, texting you.
We have an impromptu dinner apparently. Be careful of being seen when you're out.
You see the message.
I know. I will be careful.
He scoffs.
You really boxing or getting fucked?
Your dots move over and over.
None of your business. I'll be at the dinner tomorrow.
Satoru's jaw sets. Imagining Sukuna fucking you has him sick completely and utterly. His hands are trembling, dizzy suddenly, jaw setting.
Until I get us separated please keep your shit discreet.
Says you. Shouldn't you be fucking, isn't that all you do?
He smirks.
I just did, sweetheart, well… I got my cock sucked. Doesn't mean I can't multitask and check on my pretty little slut of a wife.
Since when am I pretty to you? And the only slut I see is you.
Satoru's teeth click together, fingers thrumming on the desk.
Be home for dinner.
Sir yes sir.
Who knew you had a bratty fucking attitude!? Who knew you would talk to him that way – the perfect girl. The perfect woman of all society, telling him to get fucked.
Why does it have him throbbing for you?
Satoru throws his fucking phone across the immaculate office, letting it slam into the door and then clatter to the polished floors below. He leans back with a sigh and covers his face.
Just what does he do with you?
Sukuna
Trying to act as if he doesn’t care that you’re hurting and crying is a shitty act, and one he’s failing at. Acting like it’s okay you go home to someone like Satoru Gojo of all people? It took him just a moment to connect the dots, so fucking enamored by your pretty face when you came for him, the way your eyes lower nervously, the soft little sighs against his lips…
Yuuji was right to watch it, but not because of Gojo, it was him.
For a man who has in his entire life really not felt shit, to suddenly feel so much so intensely was not just terrifying to feel, there’s the added layer of the fact that technically you’re not his. He’s not even sure what sort of future you all could have, if any, or is Sukuna just a fleeting time for you? One where you start to get yourself together, to find yourself out?
He’d be okay with that usually, making women cum was fun for Sukuna, he loved it in fact, and he’s used to being the first orgasm for many women. However, a married, innocent virgin wasn’t something he had in his cards, and everything she would make him feel – things he doesn’t even want to.
Sukuna couldn’t stop jerking his cock until it was raw thinking of you, he had some date and cancelled it for this weekend, how could he even see or think of anyone with you here? Yet, you’re not his. You go home to your husband, even if that’s not a permanent thing, he never thought he’d be so affected by that fact.
Thinking of Gojo touching you makes him sick.
As if you’re already Sukuna’s.
Watching you on that little treadmill, working your butt off when he knows just a tiny bit of what you go through, grips his heart and wrenches it nearly out of his fucking chest. If he just wanted to make you cum, perhaps that would be less painful, if he didn’t instead want to fuck every insecurity your parents and shit husband put in your head out of you.
Kiss every bit of you, fold you in half underneath him, never let you leave his goddamn bed – would he even get you home? Home, what nonsense, he hardly knows you and he’s over here simping for you already, he has to try to at least keep a level head about that shit, or he’d be ruined.
What if you end up staying? What then, for Sukuna? How the fuck would he get over you if you all go further – if he sinks inside you, would you sink into him, too? Already a part of you is lingering in his brain, one he can’t shove out, stuck and growing until he can hardly stand it, the overwhelming need to make you his and all his.
Imagine sending you home, cum soaked, the remnants of your innocence streaking crimson down his cock? He feels like a sick fuck thinking of it, how you’d go home to your ‘husband’ all fucked out, thighs shaking. Would Satoru try to touch you, and just instead end up fingering Sukuna’s cum?
Something sick is ruining him – if the fucker had to ever come near you, he hopes it’s to play in the fucked out mess Sukuna would leave your pussy in – though the thought of him near you at all draws something insanely possessive he’s never felt. Even a fake kiss for the public, a hand on your waist, scrolling through pics of the two of you on his phone had him almost crush it in his hand.
How can he stand sending you home to that shit and not want to protect you? Dangerous, foolish, dumb as fuck.
Helpless, hopeless.
All it takes is a cute little attempt at a smile to ruin his resolve, to wreck his mind he only needs the smallest little touch of your hand on his chest. Guiding you right now by your shoulders, positioning you and watching you punch that bag so damn good. When he tells you how to swerve and you pick it right up, when your brow furrows just a bit and you concentrate…
He shouldn’t be so enamored – yeah, you’re gorgeous but he wishes it was just a pretty face with pink boxing gloves and not wanting to know every bit of you. He hides it well, you probably think this is easy for him, teaching you to box then teaching you to touch yourself, did you know it was killing him?
“That’s it,” he murmurs in your ear, adjusting your hips, feeling the curve of your ass against his thighs, shoulder blades pressing on his chest, already aching. “Put a little more strength into one, lemme see.”
You punch the bag hard, wincing then.
“Shit, your wrist,” he curses softly, peering at it as you blink back tears that you stubbornly don’t let fall. “I should have thought of it.”
“It’s okay,” you murmur softly, letting his rough, tattooed hands glide across your wrist. “Just a little twist.”
“Yuuji,” his little nephew perks up. “Can you grab her some ice?”
“Mhm!” He runs off, you’re already shaking it off.
“I’m fine, Sukuna, promise. I want to do more!”
“Nope,” you sigh, so he literally picks you up like it’s nothing, plopping you out of the ring onto the floor.
“Hey! You can’t just pick me up and put me wherever.”
Sukuna grins at you then, watching the flush decorate your pretty cheeks. “Yeah? Well I just did. What ya gonna do about it?”
“I’m gonna go back in! That’s what,” he chuckles as you attempt to pass him, until he just picks you up by the waist and lets your feet just dangle. “Sukuna!”
“My ring, my rules, brat.” Yuuji walks up and hands you an ice pack, you fold it and place it on your wrist, smiling.
“Thank you so much,” you say softly, not all bratty like you get with him. He wonders if you only do that to him, and what that means.
Are you safe enough to do that with him?
Something about it makes the affection tug at his heart, this gnawing feeling happening too fast, so fast it makes him fucking angry. This isn’t him, right? Damn near on his knees for someone, who can’t be all his.
That’s what he wants, too – you to himself.
He walks away suddenly, leaving you looking after him, anything to get away from that scent that’s in his nostrils, whatever sweetness that danced on your skin. Fuck even sweaty you smell good – it’s actually bullshit, all effortless and pretty and don’t know it for shit, even now you’re looking at him curiously, giving him this little smile that he ignores.
He has to back off before he hurts himself, but the moment you’re both alone, and you feel that tension, you’re about to do just that – back off. He can already see you second guessing your actions, the way your mind races is easy for him to read, your jerky little motions.
Hastily tucking your hair behind your ear, hugging yourself.
It would be better if he kept the physical out of it, if he could just support you without crossing the line, but your taste is still coating his tongue. Your spit soaked lips parted and your pupils dilated ingrained in his fucking brain, his entire body aching for you, to feel you against him, wrapped around his fingers so tight.
He’d probably break you in half, split you open on his cock if he got buried inside, he’d be able to see himself move, too, claiming you for his own, his cock is leaking from your hasty little hug. His arm wraps around you, your bag falling with how tightly he tugs you against his hard frame, feeling you trembling against him, breaths in little pants, your nails pressed just a bit against his back.
He hardly holds back a moan, a soft sigh escaping, tugging you close when you go to leave, your eyes locking.
“Leaving already?” He murmurs softly, you take a shaky breath then, looking down, hands on his tattooed chest.
“I think you need me to,” your words hurt him then, his heart hammering underneath your palm.
“Did I say I want you to go?”
“No, but I feel it,” you let a little tear slip, Sukuna catches it with a thumb, the drop slipping across a painted black nail. “I have dinner with my parents tomorrow.”
“Tell them to get fucked.”
You giggle just a bit, shaking your head. “I can’t just do that.”
“Sure ya can, practice on me,” you bury your face, he feels the warmth against the sweat slicked skin, his huge hand covering your back, holding you too close. “Say it – Sukuna, get fucked.”
“No! No way!” You pull back but he’s cupping your face, smirking down at you. “I can’t say that to you.”
“Nah?”
“No,” you bury your face again, hands clutched into little fists, clearing your throat nervously. “I told you I don’t want you to get dragged in my mess, and I’m here with the paparazzi.”
“They can also get fucked, like your parents,” he tilts your chin up. “Like your husband.” You say nothing in that moment, cheeks burning hot underneath his touch. “Why are you runnin’ off?”
“I could tell you were getting um… I don’t know…” You can’t look at him, your eyes keep shooting down.
“Eyes on me, remember what I taught you about eye contact?” They go back to his, wetting your lips nervously and wrecking him with one flick of your tongue, he leans over you now, his breath ghosting your mouth.
“You seem a little um… distant and maybe I’m already overthinking it?” He just tilts his head, raising your chin higher, seeing your lashes tremble. “I am overthinking all of this. I shouldn’t be just saying I came last night, and you’re being sweet, and here I am with my life a shitshow. And I don’t expect-”
Sukuna kisses you.
He feels you melt underneath him, fingers pressing into his biceps, your soft breasts pressing against him underneath that thin little top, nipples hardening. His thumbs reach out to trace those peaks, deepening it, drinking in your cute little whimper down his throat, a hand going to entangle in your hair, yanking that little scrunchy right out.
“Mnh, Sukuna…” You whisper, pulling back, he wonders if you can already feel how hard he is, pressing so close to your tummy then, you’re stammering, a flustered mess.
“I liked you saying it to me,” he whispers, stepping you until you’re right on that counter, lifting you up, catching the reflection of his already dazed face in the mirror. “I liked hearing how you made your pretty little cunt cum.”
“Mnh…” He’s kissing you again, your hair falling now down his fingers like silk, he tugs at the nape of your neck, drawing your head to the side, kissing a hot messy trail up it, open mouthed, tasting your skin. “Ah! I j-just… don’t w-wanna hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” He laughs softly, shaking his head and pulling back, cupping your face in two huge hands. “You’re worried about me getting hurt?”
“I am,” you hold his wrists, lips already swollen from his kiss. “I don’t know if I should be doing this, I feel I should respect you, not try to grind on your thigh.”
He smirks. “What’s wrong with soaking my thigh?”
“I just um… I feel like I can’t control myself around you,” you’re so hot he feels you fucking burning against his cock, nudging you under those gym shorts, already stuck to his boxers. “I shouldn’t be so bold.”
“I like you that way,” he likes you any way – too much. “All needy and cute.”
“Needy!”
“Aren’t you?” Your head falls back for his hungry lips, dragging your cunt right against his cock, aching for you. “Cunt is so needy, she needs my fingers, huh? Yours are so tiny, so pathetic. Can’t hit what she needs.”
Your thighs spread for him as he props you higher on that counter, putting his fingers to your lips, watching them part, your gaze lidded.
“Suck them,” he orders softly. “Get them ready, nice and slick. Mmm, there you go, pretty mouth wrapping them.”
You’re sucking his fingers eagerly, obediently, making him vividly picture his cock, how the tip would coat your little pink tongue in white, how your cheeks hollow and your head bobs, knowing you’d suck him so well.
“Good girl,” you gasp out at that, your cunt so slick when he leans back there’s a dark spot forming on your cunt, you look down and blush furiously.
“Oh god…”
“Shh, take em off.”
“Oh, um off - off?” Sukuna can’t stand how cute you are.
He’d literally ruin you, he shouldn’t, he knows that shit – but when your cunt is bare in front of him, and his two fingers part your folds, parting them to see your slick pouring from your little hole, winking at him and spasming. He exhales, leaning down and spitting right on it in a messy clear trail, right on your hole, moaning at the sight and leaning over you.
One hand slipping to grip your face, two fingers tracing your cunt with an aching slowness. “Do you want me to get your slutty little cunt off, brat? I need an answer, and not a little whimper, or a sigh. Look at me and tell me what you want.”
Your lips open then close, thighs shaking as you bend them at the knee, his fingers spreading his own spit all around your needy little hole. So pathetic he could almost cum just touching you, his cock is pulsing, ready to pump you so full of cum you’re bloated from it.
Insane shit.
What do you do to him? He asked it earlier, but he’s still not entirely sure what it is, the way he doesn’t give a fuck you’re married, even that you’re married to Gojo. In fact, he fucking always hated that little pretentious shit all of high school and college, he’s thriving in the fact it would piss him off, yet the main problem is you.
Achingly beautiful, too sweet for a guy like Sukuna – corruptible in the prettiest little way.
All he can think of is taking you home, not fingering you on some damn counter in his locker room. You deserve more, but then when you finally open your mouth and say those words, he’d make you cum anywhere, as many times as you want, let you use every bit of him.
“I want you to make me cum,” he moans, leaning low and dipping his fingertips in your slick walls. “Um… please?”
Fuck you’re cute.
You
Sukuna eases two fingers deep inside, stretching you out so much your head slams against the mirror, lost in how crimson eyes ruin your senses. You know two wrongs don’t make a right, you know the damage this could cause, the anger that would be directed at you the moment Satoru finds out.
Yet nothing’s stopping your cunt from eagerly sucking his thick fingers in, from pulsing right around them, those long fingers curling inside you, a deliberate, achingly slow motion that has your back arching off the cold mirror. The sound you make is a broken little thing that echoes, earning his groan, his kiss against your neck, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside you
"There it is," his voice is husky as he teases it, with a filthy squelch, curling up again and watching you with eyes gone black. The pleasure is so good you can’t take it, eyes rolled back in your skull, gasps escaping your lips. “That’s it, huh baby?”
Baby, fuck he’s calling you baby.
You already felt too much, but that damn near ruins you, cunt drooling down his thick fingers stretching your hole. You can't form a coherent thought, let alone answer him with words, all you can do is grip his shoulders, your nails digging into the muscle as he works you like he’s known your body, his gaze so intense you’re lost in it.
Lost in him, you get lost in him.
Paparazzi fade, Gojo fades, your parents and their fucked ass expectations, there’s nothing but white hot pleasure and adrenaline coursing in your veins, dragging him down for a hungry kiss while his fingers work up and down. “Ngh!”
“That’s it, look at her takin’ me so well,” he whispers, sooty pink lashes lowering and casting shadows under the lights, across the planes of his face. “You think I don’t wanna bury my cock deep inside that perfect little hole?”
Your heart hammers in your ears, chest rising and falling with every quick little pant, cunt messy and drooling down on that counter, your pants bunched down across your ankles. You’re dizzy as he scissors you with them, in and out, so much pressure in your core, when he leans low, smirking down at you, far too attractive.’
Too much, Sukuna is too much.
“Touch that little clit, lemme see,” you release one of his biceps to slip your fingertip down your trembling tummy. “That’s it, let go just f’me.”
Your mouth is met with bruising kisses, touching your clit like he showed you with his two fingers pressing so deep you can’t take it, feeling your orgasm approaching, higher and higher. Spit just dripping right down your tongues, your mouths, his fingers working you so good, maddening in their rhythm – your fingers falter, hips stuttering as your release hits you.
“There she goes,” his whisper is met with a devious fucking grin, he looks like some demon in that moment – maybe he was, having you spread like this, depraved with your cunt gushing and making a mess. “Doin’ s’good, look at you.”
“Mnh…” he brushes your hair back, messy now, your cunt pulsing around his fingers that slow, hand falling and useless, he takes it and sucks your little fingers in his mouth, tongue catching every drop.
“You did such a good job, I can tell you practiced,” he says, smirking then, studying your fucked out little face.
He withdraws his fingers, making you whimper at the sudden loss, god you feel just empty already, but you barely have time to register it when he's dropping to his knees before you. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open and steady on the counter as he leans in. You feel his hot breath against your oversensitive, swollen lips just a moment before his tongue is on you, flicking the tiniest bit.
Is he… is Sukuna licking you?
“W-what are you… ah!” Sukuna shoves your thighs up until they’re pressing against your tits, smushing them, tugging your pants off your ankles. “I came already like… a lot.”
“This isn’t for you brat,” he whispers, sinking to his knees now, fingers drenched in your syrupy folds, exhaling – his breath making your clit just jump, twitching for him and earning his smirk. “Not at all, actually.”
“Not for me? Then – ah!”
“Shh.”
“Shh? I - ngghh!”
He doesn't tease, doesn’t gently flick his tongue or whatever you maybe imagined this as – you don’t really even know what he’s doing. Gojo has fucked in front of you, and mentioned blow jobs, but you never saw him like this with a girl, so on this you’re hopelessly clueless, your throat dry – hands enwrapping in pink, silky locks, tugging and earning a moan.
No, he seals his mouth over your still spasming entrance and drinks.
There’s no other word but that, he drinks you up with greedy, messy slurps, groaning as he tastes your release, his tongue lapping up the gossamer streams as if he's starving. You’ve never felt anything like it, like his greedy tongue tracing every inch his fingers just plunged into, in and out, fucking you with his tongue and slurping obscenely loud.
“S-Sukuna! I… f-fuckkk…” You’re cussing before you know it, mumbling incoherently, the intimacy of it too much to even put into a word.
He’s worshipping you on his knees, like you’re some treasure, some delicious meal for him to savor, and he’s not gentle or teasing, he’s not easy, his teeth graze your clit, hungry mouth sucking the little thing in. You’re cumming again, this time so sensitive you can hardly function, when he moans and the vibrations rock through you.
He’s possessive how he grabs your thighs, your ass, how he moans when you pull his hair so hard his eyes tear, but he won’t unlatch his mouth. Even as you’re murmuring how sensitive you are, shuddering, no he’s drawing out aftershocks that make your legs shake uncontrollably, squirting embarrassingly.
But he just drinks every bit of the clear little drops that gush down his lips, his chin, the tattoos on his throat glossy.
“Kuna… I… mnhph!” He grins against you, looking under his lashes and lapping up another stripe. “Thought it w-wasn’t for me?”
“It’s not, mmm,” he parts your puffy lips again, sucking at that little winking hole, earning your hips jerking, drool spilling from the corner of your lips, when you feel him moaning, hear him almost whimper, his body tensing, as if he is cumming from it. “It’s f’me. You just happened to enjoy that shit.”
“Enjoy i-is not r-really – ah!”
“Kuna, huh?” He smacks your cunt and grins as he studies your face, spitting right on your cunt again in a filthy action, another smack echoing. “Ya like that, me smacking her?”
You’re so nervous, you cover your face, he’s on you in a moment, yanking your wrists down, his face is coated in your cunt down to his fucking chest. “I made such a mess, oh my god.”
“Answer brat,” he smacks your pussy again, you whine out, nodding, his other hand choking your throat ever so gently underneath your chin.
“I like anything you do to me,” your words are vulnerable, he pauses just a bit, sighing and kissing you, smacking your cunt once more, having you practically twitching underneath him.
“What’s Kuna, huh?”
You blush more, giggling now, all fucked out from his tongue and his fingers, he’s gently kissing down your neck, but even in his gentleness, Sukuna is brutal, so strong, leaving his mark.
“I thought you needed a nickname, since you just call me brat all the time,” he snorts, shaking his head, your eyes shut in bliss, entire body on fire. “Um… Kuna.”
“Uh huh?” Your fingers drift down, lips pressing together with your nerves, he exhales and lets your touch glide.
“I can return the favor, or I mean… try to?”
“We can do that another time,” he says, voice husky. You look down and see his hand, coated in his own white, making you flush, tummy fluttering. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Ccan I taste it though?” He groans, shaking his head when you reach down again. “How’s that fair, you just had your tongue inside me.”
“I won’t stop there, that’s the problem,” you snatch his hand then, tongue lapping at the salty white drops from his release. You’re trembling as you do it, knowing it’s filthy and wanton, but fuck if he doesn’t make you wanna do more.
Satoru was so sure you’d drop to your knees for him, suck his mistress’ cunt off his cock, but the only man you’re thinking of doing it to is right here, watching you with a tensed jaw, his nostrils flared ever so slightly, eyes bright red. You lap every little bit of him up, seeing his cock twitch in those shorts, dying to know how it looks, how it would feel.
“You’re about to get your throat fucked so good you won’t talk,” you suck his fingers harder, he pulls them out and kisses his own cum off you, hands all over your body until they hit your hips, tugging you against him. “You love to test me, don’t you?”
“I just want you,” you pause then, sighing. “I said that.”
“You did,” he kisses you again and again, slowly easing off. “You wanna suck me that bad, then you come to my place and do it.”
“But I… what if… how can…”
“Or, I fuck your throat in your room,” you gasp. “Think I’m afraid of your dumb twink of a husband?”
“Sukuna you’re insane,” you frown then, shaking your head. “We can’t just go to my place.”
“And why?” He helps you down, tugging up your pants, kissing messy trails up your inner thighs, you sigh, head falling back. “Doesn’t he?”
“Sure but it’s his home, god I think he’d actually kill us both,” Sukuna spins you to face the mirror, and that’s when you see your hair – wild, all over – your tits half out, marks littered on your throat. “Oh gosh.”
“Look how fuckin’ gorgeous you are like this,” he wraps his arms around you, hands slipping to tug your tits back in. “Bet he’s hard constantly near you, talking so much shit because he just wants you.”
“No,” you shake your head. “He could never.”
“Uh huh, I know him.” You blink in shock, looking up as he leans back, fixing your hair carefully. “Surprised?”
“Very, are you all…”
“Friends? Fuck no,” he runs fingers through your hair carefully, the realization of everything slowly starts. “Couldn’t stand that little shit, I loved to beat him in everything.”
“Sukuna,” he tugs you close, his lips against your ear. “I don’t want to go home at all.”
He’s quiet, you’re suddenly so perfect in his arms, like you don’t want to leave, just leaning there against his hard body, huge biceps wrapping underneath your pretty tits, pressing them up.
“I hate that you go home to him, that’s my fuckin’ secret,” he whispers, breath hot on your ear. “I get sick of that thought, his hands anywhere near you.”
“He doesn’t even want that,” you catch his gaze in the mirror, seeing the possessive gaze. “I assure you, he doesn’t find me attractive.”
“He’s lying,” his hand splays your stomach, half bare from your workout clothes, just a little damp from perspiration, sending a shiver down your spine. “I hate that he even gets to look at you.”
Sukuna
“Sukuna, I…”
He cuts you off with a kiss, swapping your tastes, trying to shut his own dumb fucking mouth up. Now he’s acting jealous and possessive of a girl he hardly knows, but he can’t take it – how much he needs you to himself, how he can’t stand the thought of your dumb ass husband even seeing glimpses of you.
He worried it would happen, the further you both go, the more possessive he becomes, but the insane need makes him almost sick, imagining just taking you the fuck away, locking you up in his pretty penthouse. Never letting Satoru or your fucked ass family find you, have them leave your mind alone, just give you anything.
You’d never really need to leave, would you?
His head spins, cock still sticky from where he’d cum eating you out – he jerked it maybe three times and was spurting so much cum it was ridiculous, a waste not to creampie your pretty pussy instead. Yet when he drank you, he almost came from just that, pathetic whatever it is you’re doing to his head not even trying.
“I don’t want to hurt you, ever,” you whisper softly, he laughs then, without humor.
“You’re worried for me?” You swallow nervously, nodding, not having a clue what’s racing in his mind. “I’m good, brat, worry about you. Okay?”
He backs off, but it’s physically painful, like ripping himself apart, stepping back and grabbing your sweater, your shoes, coming to hand them to you, seeing your shaky hands. It’s quiet for just a moment, he helps slip your hair into that scrunchy that somehow ended up on his wrist, trying not to make himself look more like a dumb, pussy whipped fuck.
Is this what he used to make fun of his friends about? Getting this whipped for a girl?
No, it’s different, it’s obsession, and the sight of you licking his own cum off his fingers was ruining him. It’ll live rent free in his brain on repeat, he already knows what this is turning to, so much so he should pull back, before the both of you are ruined forever.
How can he pull away, though? All he wants to do is go further, he barely holds back half the shit he wants to say and do when he’s standing by the back of the gym, and you’re holding onto him on your tip toes, eyes a myriad of emotions.
“You all right, brat? Too much?” He asks then, you shake your head. “Lost a lot of fluids, need electrolytes.”
“Oh!” You hide your face, you always do it, he wishes it didn’t tug at his goddamn heart, everything cute you do. “You’re teasing me.”
“Mmm, no, I’m your trainer and nutritionist now,” you giggle a bit, peeking up at him.
Sukuna was never sweet until you.
The thoughts of you crushing his heart without meaning to had him tense though, some sick sense of self preservation, he had to hold himself together, keep back just enough not to do the dumbest shit he’s thinking of. Literally contemplating kidnapping a pretty, married heiress is not in any way okay to imagine, nor is beating a six foot four white haired shit of a husband.
“Are you eating?”
“Mhm,” you sigh a bit then, blinking, tracing your fingers across his chest, he’s slung a thin workout shirt that clings to his body like a second skin. “This dinner is gonna be terrible.”
“You can say no,” he tilts your chin up. “You can say no to all their shit. And you can ignore whatever dumb ass things they try to say.”
“I’m scared to, I’m not all big and brave like you,” you poke his nose playfully. “I wish I was.”
“You’ve got muscles forming,” his fingers graze your bicep, just a little bit forming, you smile all big and bright. “Try telling them all to fuck off and you’ll feel better.”
“You don’t know them,” your eyes tell him more than your words do, the absolute fear in them. “They make Gojo look sweet.”
“That bad?” His brows draw together. “Do they lay hands on you?”
“They did a lot when I was younger, not for years,” he tenses. “I’m going to be all right. Promise.”
“Go on,” he steps back, his own feelings terrifying the shit out of him, trying to hold himself back. “I’m out of town for the weekend, but if you need anything you can text me.”
“No please don’t worry,” you step closer, the breeze from the now open doors blowing your little sweater around your body. “Today was insane.”
“Yeah, you enjoyed it all right,” he leans close. “Messy little brat.”
“Your fault,” your glossy lips press his, soft and sweet, tentative, your arms wrapped around his neck. “Seems like you enjoyed it too. I mean…”
You’re blushing, he chuckles a bit then. “I did, I told ya, it was for me.”
“I see that.” You linger a little too long, if you stay another minute he won’t even let you go.
I don’t wanna go home.
How does he just let the girl who’s racing in his mind constantly, the one with her cunt dripping on his lips just go to a man who treats her like shit, and then send her to her parents who are worse? This is what he was scared of, having all these dumb fucking feelings that make him sick.
“Start sneaking in the back, I had Yuuji move your car,” you nod then, hand holding his just a bit too long.
“Good night Sukuna. Um… thank you.”
“Mhm,” you rush out, leaving him alone, feeling like there’s some fucking hole in his chest that you caused, a glimpse of your eyes behind your windshield before you back away, driving and leaving him just standing there.
He wishes he’d let that go, you’re a grown woman, you’re not his.
But Sukuna does a fucking deep dive when he’s home, the penthouse is immaculate aside from him tossing his shoes by the front door, his keys on the counter, he literally just lives at the gym. There are things from Yuuji and his friends strewn across the home, but the cleaners seem to always put everything exactly where it should be.
The one perk to being rich is not cleaning, Sukuna hates that shit.
He pulls up his laptop and slips on his glasses, he just can’t really see shit up close, and puts your pretty face into focus, eyeing your hopelessly empty socials. The only things on there are strategically placed from PR, likely your parents he’s sure, pictures of you with your friends and basic, generic ones – your profile says ‘Mrs. Satoru Gojo’.
He clicks through curiously, his IG has just a couple less followers than Sukuna – he never thought he’d get a sick satisfaction of that, but they’re all pretentious. Him with his boys all over every post, on a ship here, on an island there, girls half naked all around him, clearly Satoru didn’t use a PR person, he’s as obnoxious as a nepo baby could be.
Not a mention of you, not a picture, even your wedding one.
He sighs, clicking through and delving deeper – he just wants to know everything about you, at a concerning level, sometime through it you even text him, and he realizes that hours have passed. He knows every school you went to, all your shitty little trad wife friends, about your cat that passed away last year – you were clearly devastated about it, a little paw print tattoo he saw makes sense now.
Just who were you, and just how does Sukuna get you all to himself?
Good night, Sukuna.
He wishes there wasn’t a dopey ass grin on his face.
He wishes there wasn’t then a frown, a worried furrow of his brow, an aching need to have you anywhere but there with Satoru Gojo.
Gojo
Satoru’s eyes hit you as soon as you set down your gym bag by the door, your pony tail is all askew, there’s a clear fucking mark on your throat, your sweater is wrinkled as if someone had been gripping it. His fork clatters to the plate, jaw clenched tight, so fucking furious he can hardly stand it.
You seem to notice, turning toward him and raising a brow. "What's wrong, Satoru?"
You lift that sweater off, your top all askew from where your personal trainer's lips had been all over your skin, teeth marks glittering so clearly even on your damn shoulder, it’s all making him sick. He stands up then, fists clenched at his sides, heart hammering with something he’s never, ever felt in his entire life.
It can’t be jealousy.
Jealous of what – Ryomen Sukuna kissing his wife? The wife he doesn’t want, the one he’s actively trying to get rid of?
He hates this feeling – he hates that he wants to suck on those marks until they’re bruises, his marks, his bruises – fuck, that cute, mean little smile off your face. Take you right on that wall and pump away any dumb memory you currently have of Sukuna.
Did he already fuck you?
You back up just a step, against the wall and just smiling all fucking mean at him, not that shy, nervous one – not even that pout, no, it’s an evil curve of lips so clearly swollen from kisses. Never has he wanted to smack someone so badly – no, he wouldn’t hit a girl, but god he would love to leave hand prints all over your ass, your thighs, choke your little throat.
God no one has ever made him so angry.
"Where have you been, huh?” He asks, you just raise a brow at him. “I asked a question.”
“You did, and you know where I was, you texted me about it,” you bend down, taking off your shoes right there, getting an inch shorter when your feet hit the tile.
“So you were just getting all marked up, like a little slut?"
You smack him then, hard, across his cheek blooming red, shoving at his hard chest then as his blue eyes narrow. Satoru laughs softly.
Damn you got stronger, compared to that first smack, you split his goddamn lip open here. You gasp for a moment, seeing the crimson droplet dancing on vemillion, backing completely against that wall.
“I didn’t mean to… hit so hard…”
“You meant to,” he grips your wrist now, pinning it to the wall. “Own your shit, you wanted to hit me.”
You take a shaky little breath, eyes locked, your teeth biting your trembling lip for a brief moment. “Yes I did want to hit you. Because you have no right to call me a slut, where do you get off?”
“Usually in Jennifer’s mouth,” he muses, your glare making him throb in need. “Sometimes on her tits, or Chloe’s. Question is, where did you get off, huh? You sure the fuck did, I can practically smell it.”
“You cannot!” You shove him with one hand, the other wrenching free. "You made it clear this was name only, for our families, yeah? That you'd never want me, how many times have you said that!? Even on our wedding night!?" You blink back tears, closing your eyes, Satoru’s at a loss for words.
You’re right.
Yet that doesn’t make any of this okay for him, it doesn’t make the fact that you smell like another man okay. Especially him.
“Answer me, stop deflecting.”
You open your tear filled eyes. "You just need to know that I’ll never try anything with you, never try to have a marriage, a relationship. Just like you wanted.”
Just like he wanted.
The words are so wrong out of your mouth, he can’t recognize you – but did he ever know you, really?
Panic sets in, his stomach in knots, feeling you fall away, pushed so far, and now he can’t stand that, can’t take the thought of not being able to have even the tiniest bit of you.
He scoffs, letting you go, standing back then. "You already know this will make us look-"
"No, Satoru, you did this,” you cut him off quickly, glaring now. “I've seen you with your girlfriends, kissing on their necks."
He's quiet then, jaw clenched, his beautiful face for once showing a goddamn emotion despite how well trained he has it to appear otherwise. “That was for your own good.”
“Great, thanks! Thanks for parading hickeys right over where your cock is, teeth prints on your nipples, fuck you think any of this was okay!?”
“Do you care, sweetheart? That they get me and you don’t?” You scoff, shaking your head.
"You thought I wouldn't do it too? Want me to watch you and go untouched and unwanted?"
He pauses now, realizing what his anger and resentment has turned into, how far gone you are. His desperation starts to creep its way, as he looks at how gorgeous you are this angry, how your lips just make him want to bruise them more, suck on them until you’re crying out, your heat against his thigh when he presses one right between yours, cupping your face and leaning low.
You pause, gasping, eyes shooting up.
“What games do you need to play with me, you’re sick.”
“A game, you’re playing the fucking game,” his hands squeeze your head on either side, his breaths faster and faster, the ever present temptation making him ache with need. “What did you do with him?”
"Hah, I love how you care when you have a list of your little hoes,” every time you glare he’s throbbing.
Fuck you, fuck this.
God he can’t stand whatever the hell you’ve done to him.
“As you tell me – none of your business,” you laugh just a bit then. “All I’ll say is I guess I see the appeal of you fucking all the time. If things feel that good.”
Satoru slams you against the wall, you don’t back down, you just eye him, satisfaction written all over your face. “So wet, always watching me, hearing me?”
“God no, you’re disgusting to me,” you lean up, a centimeter away from his lips. “To answer that question you had – I would never drop to my knees for you, not a chance in this world that I do.”
You push past him, he drags you against him, feeling the curve of your back against his torso, the way your rounded ass hits his lap, earning his moan, god has anyone felt better in his arms?
“You are just a little slut, huh?” He tilts your face to look at him, you scoff, shaking your head in his grip.
“You’re the only slut here.”
“Ah, you got some teeth, it’s cute,” he hums softly, hand gripping your tit, smirking when the bud hardens against his palm, when your breath quickens. “Acting as if you’ve stopped wanting me.”
“I have stopped,” you jerk your chin back, looking down. “I don’t want you, isn’t that your goal?”
"If you wanted to be pleasured, sweetheart, I could have already given you it," his fingers – long and thick – trail down your body, feeling it tremble and smirking. "I could have been convinced to make you cum so you didn’t end up hopping on the first dick you found.”
“I hate you,” you hiss those words.
Good.
You should.
Satoru hates himself, and the mindless need that takes over – jerking it to his own goddamn wife as she fucks around.
“Could have at least fucked Suguru,” you laugh then, a mean little sound that makes him leak pre like a sick fuck, deranged for you. “I’d accept that, but Ryomen Sukuna?”
“His tongue just is so good,” Satoru pauses, and you relax a bit in his hold. “Those fingers too. I bet all you do is get sucked and act like you did something.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” his fingers brush down your tummy, feeling you shaking in his hold. “You hear them moan, and think what?”
“Maybe it’s fake – I can’t say I give a shit. I already got off today, so I'm certainly not in need of you and wherever these fingers have been."
You shove him off you now, disentangling yourself – and he curses, eyes fluttering shut, wondering why he cares. He didn't want this, want the marriage, want the company, want any of this thrown on him by no choice. Yet now seeing your tears in your eyes and those marks on your neck, he feels sick to his stomach.
You're right, he's been with women, kissed them right in front of you, uncaring at all, yet to have it done to him? Is that what you felt? SIckening realization hits him then, thumb brushing over a lip already kissed, some insane possessive need sinking into him.
“Don’t touch me, you don’t get to.”
“Don’t want it?” You stiffen, and he laughs softly, acting as if he has any sanity left, any inkling of a fucking brain, wiped clean by you. “You can lie out of your pretty mouth all you want, you’re easy to read.”
You stomp over to your room. “I’m going to shower.”
“What if I just lock you up?” You gasp, turning around and scowling, he walks right over to your door, barring you with one arm. “Don’t let you run off acting like a dumb slut?”
“Then I’ll just leave you, divorce you, cause you the scandal.” Your chin juts up, he’s leaning too close, he can almost taste you. “I want this over as much as you do, we’re on the same page now. You should feel accomplished.”
You go to turn, and Satoru slams his lips on yours.
You freeze, and god when his lips hit yours, he’s done for, he’s lost in whatever the fuck you did to his psyche, every thought of any other girl fades until it’s all you – the girl he just called a slut, the one he can’t wait to get rid of. The one he told his friend to go fuck, and now all he can do is want to bury himself inside of you. Tongue slipping in your surprised mouth before you can stop him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs softly, pulling back with heavy breaths, kissing you again, stumbling into your room, hands drifting down the curves of a body he’s been aching for. “God, feel you.”
You’re pulling back for a breath, shaking your head, hands on his chest, shoving at him, just to stop for a moment, kissing him back he swears – your tongue moves against his, hands tightening. Yet you even quicker jerk back, touching your lips as if they’re on fire.
“Don’t do that, don’t kiss me. I don’t… feel anything.”
Satoru’s heart shatters.
Wow, he has one.
“What?” He demands, through his teeth, breath coming in pants that ghost over your lips.
“It’s what you said that night,” your hands fist on his shirt, tears falling even as you stand firm, voice breaking. “Remember?”
Satoru does remember.
He remembers every fucking bit of that kiss, and that lie, and the look on your face, just to hear those words tossed at him.
“You’re lying.”
“Who cares if I am or not?” You pull back, taking a step, hand on the doorknob now. “You felt nothing, neither do I.”
Satoru’s jaw sets, his teeth clenched together to the point of pain. “Feel so much for your dumb fucking trainer?”
“I do,” you whisper softly, he hates this feeling, whatever the hell it is, gripping him by the throat. “You wanted all this, I’m just doing it.”
You slam the door shut, leaving him alone, his phone starts going off in his pocket, the girl who’d sucked him down last night, he lets it ring, staring at the screen, then at the door, hearing your sobs against the door.
He causes those constantly, doesn’t he?
You
You hyperventilate when you’re alone in your bathroom, scrubbing Satoru Gojo off your damn lips with a wet washcloth. The way his eyes looked at you, the way he kissed you, all fucked and wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
You hate that you wanted Satoru the moment you saw him, hate to think of what could have been if he hadn't pushed you away this entire time - the sham of a marriage. If he hadn’t been cruel, fuck he still was, calling you the slut was laughable, grabbing on you, taking you over.
The desire is there whether you want it or not, but you can't just back down and take another day of his cold uninterest, take another moment of his cruelty, you can’t get dragged down to whatever the fuck it was. Your fingers tremble as you type to Sukuna carefully, so afraid to come off even clingier, even needier.
You felt something for Satoru in that moment, the moment lips that were so cruel – but it was hatred.
You hate him.
Are you all right?
You almost say it – no, you’re not, but the last thing you need to do is drag Sukuna further into your shitshow of a life. After feeling like that with him, worshipped almost, the way he called you a slut was damn near affectionate, sensual, with Satoru? It was just cruelty, it was him being nasty, mean, disrespectful – it’s like you can’t get a breath around him.
You’ve never ‘hated’ someone until this moment.
I’m good, I just was thinking of you. I bet you snore so loud.
You’re blinking back tears, sitting on the bathroom floor, fingers trembling over the phone, watching him type back.
I do snore, but i think you’d be too fucked out to care, fuck you so good you won’t wake up. Then fuck you again.
Your hand is on your heart, entire body heated to the tips of your fucking ears, breath coming in quick little pants.
In my sleep?
If you wanted it, I’d gladly give it to you.
You’re a terrible person, sexting another man in your husband’s home, but you’re having a hard time feeling too bad about it.
Maybe I’d let you lick me in my sleep.
You said that.
Do you want me to come and fuck you now? Let your husband listen to how it’s done?
No, crazy!
Mhm, then shut up and go to bed.
A mix of a sob and a laugh bubbles up in your throat, escaping hoarsely. You’re drowning in Sukuna, tempted to grab onto him and cling, even if it drags you under, feeling his possessiveness had been heady, maddening, dizzy.
His ‘secret’ of not wanting you near Satoru, just thinking of it made you dizzy – but Satoru’s new found possessiveness?
That wasn't about love or desire, it was about ownership. He didn't want you, he just didn't want anyone else to have you. The moment someone did, look at how he acted? You couldn’t let it get to you, couldn’t allow your mind to fuck up, to go back to the girl you’re trying to bury.
Thinking of your parents with you in this state left a sinking feeling inside your stomach, the damage they could do.
You force yourself to stand, your limbs feeling wobbly, the mirror over the sink shows you a stranger. Your eyes are swollen and rimmed with red, puffy from the tears, your lips still faintly swollen from kisses – whose, though?
Your husband who hates you, or your trainer, who clearly wants you?
You scrub at your lips again, harder this time, trying to wash away the memory of his taste, the feel of Satoru’s tongue forcing its way into your mouth, over and over until your gums bleed, and that’s all you taste – but It’s useless. You can’t get rid of it – can’t shake this sinking feeling.
Even when Satoru left you… would Sukuna ever…
Would he want to be with you?
Were you good enough for him?
Lost in your thoughts, your insecurities, you hear a soft click from the direction of the front door. The distinct sound of it opening, then slamming shut.
Satoru left.
*****
The next night
Dinner with your parents and the man that single handedly has made it his life’s goal to make you miserable?
Sounds like so much fun.
Satoru says nothing as he sits in the back of that Limo next to you, if you thought he was cold and distant before – nothing prepared you for what it was like when you got ready for this dinner. Nothing prepared you for his cold, calculated tone, his dismissive bored glances, the way he acted so goddamn hot and cold, as if now he was punishing you for doing what he did.
And he was, he made sure to let his gaze linger on you when you asked if the dress was okay, shrugging a shoulder. He’s non stop on his phone, you’re fiddling with your hands in your lap, Sukuna’s out of town and you don’t want to bother him, yet in this long ride you can’t help but let your mind drift.
What if you were with him, instead? It wouldn’t be a cold ride, opposite sides of that limo, no it would be on his lap, in his arms.
Sukuna is Fire, and Satoru is Ice. One burning for you, hot to the touch, the other so cold you’re freezing, shivering in your evening gown, imagining the warmth of Sukuna’s touch.
However nothing prepares you truly for what happens that night, when your parents disappointment and anger hits, you feel it the moment you walk into the room, the impending sense of doom. And Satoru might pretend to hold your waist, to smile perfunctory at them, but you know in your heart –
You’re all alone.
Wow this is messy - warning, the next chapter will be HEAVY ANGST!!! (like heavier than this imagine LMAO)
Patreon for more exclusive fics - Kofi link (commissions here)
In which Sukuna’s pretty little wife is mesmerized on seeing his hair down for the first time —and he enjoys every second of it.
You had come to the bath chamber for something mundane,a towel, a bathrobe, maybe just to remind him about dinner—but the sight that met you stopped you cold.
There he was. Sukuna. Reclining in the bath, water rippling over his broad shoulders. Usually meticulous, his hair was down today, slightly longer than usual, damp strands sticking over his forehead and framing his sharp features in that effortlessly chaotic way that made your chest flutter.
He leaned back, eyes closed, exhaling slowly, looking impossibly at ease. You froze for a heartbeat, your pulse quickening.
Then he speaks,low
“Come in.”
You blinked. Huh? Your mind stuttered, but curiosity—and something far more dangerous pulled you forward.
He let his eyes remain closed, one hand resting along the edge of the bath, the other brushing water over his shoulder. The water gleamed, clinging to him just so, and the damp hair brushing his forehead made your gaze linger longer than it should.
A few steps closer, your nerves taut, and he tilted his head, slow and deliberate, finally opening his eyes just a fraction. Lidded, heavy, glimmering with amusement. Your stomach flipped.
“You…?” you whispered, flustered.
He smirked, eyes still partially closed, voice teasingly lazy
“Come in.”
Your breath hitched. That smirk… the way he leaned back, confident, dangerous, and yet at home in his own bath, utterly him… you couldn’t look away.
This time, you stepped fully inside the room. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you tried...and failed...to pretend your attention wasn’t fixed entirely on him. Every detail seemed magnified, the way his hair clung damp to his forehead, the faint curl of a strand, the curve of his jaw, the water trickling over his chest.
He opened his eyes fully now, slow, deliberate, lidded still, and you felt yourself melt. He noticed your stare, of course, and that smirk widened—cocky, teasing, utterly satisfied with your flustered state.
“Still staring,” he said, voice low, possessive. “I told you to come in. Are you going to obey, or just gape like that all day?”
Your cheeks burning, heart hammering. Every instinct told you to glance away… and yet, every part of you wanted to obey, to step closer, to be caught in the spell of him.
“Good,” he murmured, as you walked towards him.
He let his eyes linger on you, dark and lidded, a glint of amusement and possession flickering in their depths. Slowly, deliberately, he brushed a damp strand of hair off his forehead with his fingers, letting it fall back just so, knowing full well your gaze would follow every movement.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Even after all this time… my pretty wife, still mesmerized by me.”
Your cheeks flamed. “I—” you tried to speak, but the words stuck, trapped under the heat of his gaze.
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, almost predatory, as he leaned slightly forward in the bath. The water rippled over his chest, and you couldn’t help noticing how perfect it all looked—the way the droplets clung to his skin, the damp hair falling lazily over his forehead, the curve of his jaw catching the light.
“Come closer,” he said, softer now, but with an edge that made your pulse leap. “Don’t just stand there like a lovesick fool.”
Your steps were slow, almost hypnotized. Every nerve in your body thrummed with awareness of him. You reached the edge of the bath, your fingers brushing the warm steam, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
Sukuna tilted his head, a finger tracing a lazy path through the water, closer to you than necessary, teasing, inviting. “That’s it… my pretty little wife. You like seeing me like this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, breathless, cheeks burning hotter by the second.
He chuckled, low and possessive, a sound that seemed to vibrate in your chest. “Good. I like it too… watching you lose your composure over something as simple as my hair.”
He leaned back slightly, letting a few drops of water trickle down his shoulder, eyes still fixed on you, and that smirk,cocky, satisfied, completely in control ... never wavered. “Stay there. Watch me. Memorize it. Because you belong to me, and I’m going to enjoy reminding you… every chance I get.”
You shivered, not from the steam, not from the water, but from the heat and intensity radiating off him. And Sukuna… he leaned just a fraction closer, the faint scent of him surrounding you, the teasing promise in his eyes making it impossible to look away.
“Now,” he said, voice low, almost a growl, “why don’t you come even closer… and see what else you can't resist wife?”
Perhaps,you both remained in the bath chambers for quite a while after that.
note: something of sukuna and his pretty lil wife after a while
streamer roommate!sukuna who is impossible to live with, but the rent is dirt cheap and the view’s not bad either—when he’s not clogging the hallway mirror taking shirtless selfies or making you sit through another ten-minute monologue about how twitch “doesn’t deserve him.”
streamer roommate!sukuna who decides to do a hot tub stream on a random thursday night, which you find out about only after walking into the shared kitchen and seeing him shirtless, tattoos on full display, rubbing baby oil across his abs with a smug little glint in his eyes. he tells you he needs “maximum shine,” and asks if the lighting makes his chest look bigger. you don’t answer. because it does.
streamer roommate!sukuna who doesn’t bother explaining himself. just drags your patio tub in front of the window, fills it halfway, throws some LED strip lights around the edge, and hops in like it’s the most normal thing in the world. water sloshing everywhere. condensation fogging the windows. his chat is already a mess before he even hits go-live.
streamer roommate!sukuna who flexes obnoxiously for his followers, wet muscles rippling under shitty colored lighting, sweat and steam and water all clinging to his skin like it’s curated. he reads out usernames like they’re thirst traps, voice low and raspy, lips curling into a grin every time someone drops a dono asking to see more of his tattoos.
“RAW RAW RAW RAW RAW RAW NEXT QUESTION”
“DADDY TAKE THE SHORTS OFF”
“i have something innapropriate to say.”
“born to ride forced to scroll.”
“READY? SET... GOON!”
“sukuna lookalike contest in my room rn”
streamer roommate!sukuna notices your username in the chat mid-rant. you weren’t even gonna watch—but the living room’s only ten feet away, and he’s being so loud about it. so obnoxiously hot about it. so you click in, just to lurk. just to see what the fuss is about. and then he says your name.
like out loud. on stream.
“oh? you’re here now?” he says, smirking into the camera. “chat, behave. my roommate’s watching.”
the comments explode.
“ROOMMATE FACE REVEAL”
“WHY DO YOU SOUND DIFFERENT WHEN YOU TALK TO HER”
“oh he’s in love.”
“tell her to sit on your lap rn”
streamer roommate!sukuna who keeps looking at your name in chat, even after you stop commenting. especially when satoru shows up.
moderator!satoru, his longtime mod-slash-nemesis, who knows exactly how to get under his skin. his chat name is always in all caps, and he types like a menace.
“BRO WHY YOU MOANING WHEN YOU STRETCH LMFAO”
“ARE YOU GONNA FLEX OR FUCKING EVOLVE”
sukuna’s face darkens immediately. you can see the vein in his temple twitch. he’s halfway through calling satoru a “bleach-haired bitch” when someone donates twenty bucks to ask if he’s single.
and he pauses. just for a beat. then shrugs. “i guess it depends on her.”
you should close the stream. should roll your eyes, pretend you didn’t just spend the last ten minutes sitting cross-legged on the couch with a pillow pulled over your lap and your name lit up in the corner of his screen like a neon sign. but your thumb hovers. doesn’t swipe. not even when the chat loses its mind again.
“HE’S IN LOVE I’M CRYING”
“no bc that was personal”
“roommate get in the tub rn i’m shaking”
streamer roommate!sukuna who goes quiet when someone drops a $200 donation. no message. no request. just money on the table and a silent dare in the air, and suddenly the whole stream feels heavier. hotter. more real. his smile twitches, but he doesn’t say thank you. doesn’t even blink.
no message. no emoji. no nudge or wink. just a fat stack of cash dropped into the chat like a rock in a pond, and sukuna going dead silent as the alert pops on screen. you watch his face shift—eyebrows twitching, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek like he’s holding something in. his gaze skims across the screen.
he just looks toward you.
streamer roommate!sukuna who doesn’t raise his voice. doesn’t beg. just grins into the mic and says, “c’mon, baby. you have to now,” in that low voice that makes your stomach clench and your thighs press together on instinct. he knows how to play his audience. worse—he knows how to play you.
streamer roommate!sukuna who watches you from the tub like a king waiting for you to fold. when you say “absolutely not,” he shrugs like he expected it. like he knew you’d give in anyway. “don’t be rude,” he says, like the two hundred bucks isn’t burning a hole in your resolve already.
streamer roommate!sukuna who doesn’t say anything else. just waits. while the chat eats it alive.
“PLEASE OMG”
“IS SHE ACTUALLY GONNA???”
“I’M BARKING SO LOUD RN”
streamer roommate!sukuna who doesn’t even pretend to be surprised when you stand up, face burning, hoodie off, legs bare, just a simple bikini. he doesn’t say a word as you cross the room barefoot, so awkward and absolutely pissed at yourself for caring, for watching, for clicking in at all. he just watches you step into the tub like it was inevitable. like this was always gonna happen.
streamer roommate!sukuna who laughs when you try to sit beside him. “nah,” he says, voice warm, hands already sliding beneath the water. “closer.”
and he pulls you onto his lap like it’s casual. like it’s funny. like there’s not a camera still streaming to thousands of people and your tiny little bottoms are soaked and riding up and you can feel everything. thighs spread over his, water lapping at your hips, cock hard against your core through the fabric.
streamer roommate!sukuna who smiles when you freeze.
“don’t look so shocked,” he murmurs, mouth low against your cheek. “you wore this tiny little bikini in front of five hundred people. what’d you think was gonna happen?”
streamer roommate!sukuna who keeps talking to the chat like nothing’s happening, flexing his arms behind you, laughing at donos, reading usernames while his thumbs are tracing lazy little circles on your bare hips beneath the water. he makes sure his viewers know you’re nervous. he says it out loud. "she's nervous, chat. be nice to her."
streamer roommate!sukuna who leans in like he’s about to whisper something sweet. doesn't. he bites the shell of your ear instead. just enough pressure to make you jolt. you gasp, and he smiles cause the chat goes fucking feral.
“WHAT DID HE SAY”
"god i wish that was me"
“IM SWEATING THRU MY CLOTHES”
“I NEED TO LIE DOWN”
streamer roommate!sukuna who stares straight into the camera after that. eyes low-lidded, cocky as hell. the water beading down his neck as if he was shooting in a magazine.
“might be time to switch platforms, yeah?” he murmurs, eyes flicking to the camera. “somewhere a little less… pg.”
synopsis. after a tiring day at your bakery, you head home on a bullet train. and for whatever reason, the universe has you sitting beside a man with a blindfold on, who's apparently a lover of sweet things.
wc. 5,3k ๑ tags → pure and pure fluff, stranger to crushes, mentions of red string theory, ijichi cameo, canon universe, canon divergence, pov alternating. credit. art by yamada_shouko
rie's. a special one-shot to celebrate toru's birthday and five years of me crushing on him! anyways, this is a very self-indulgent piece because this is practically me. once again, not proofread. hope you all enjoy! 🤍
today has been nothing but a long, exhausting day full of flours and eggs. with a sprinkle of curse words every so often.
for a while now, you've been occupied with rebranding your bakery. wanting a fresh start. and oh god, it has your hair falling out, your sleep schedule all over the place, and a loss of appetite because the only thing you do is bake and bake for a new menu.
maybe it wasn't truly the greatest idea of rebranding your shop and releasing new pastries. although technically, those two side-by-side is something that everyone will run themselves to. some bakery rebranding their image and putting out a new menu? say less, it'll be packed within a blink of an eye
after all, the internet loves sensations and people these days are struck with ‘fear of missing out’.
still though, it got you running ragged like a broken washing machine. you're not doing it alone, no, you have your partners. they've been very helpful and as sweet as the matcha cream cheese cookie that is on trial for the last few weeks.
however, where's the fun in all of this if you don't jump into the chaotic mess, wanting to do most of it yourself? the excitement that's there would drop to zero from a hundred in a second.
and now, in the dimly lit bakery of yours where the moon is gleaming brightly, you found yourself sitting on one of the chairs all alone. accompanied with the sounds of people roaming outside, melody of the song that's on speaker, and a warm cup of tea on hands.
you run your hand through your hair, staring at the laptop in front of you that's filled with numbers all the while your eyes screaming frustration. the cost of everything, precisely.
something that's rarely talked about is the very truth that ingredients cost a lot. one thing anyone should know before jumping into this field is that everything is absurdly expensive. baking cost tons of money.
the price of your pastries aren't exactly high either, as you already tried your best to make sure that every circle of people are able to have a taste of the works you've poured everything into. the love of baking, the joy of seeing people's happiness, the relief of being able to continue something you adore; every single thing.
it’s just that you only earn a small amount from all of this. ingredients, tools, rents, salaries for two of your staff— everything is distributed into many sections and leaves a little for you. that's something you've assured yourself is alright. one day, everything will be worth it.
nonetheless, it's still eating you up that everything feels worthless now. you barely earned something for yourself and the people who came by for your pastries now doesn't necessarily bring you excitement anymore.
everything is down the drain. you lost the spark in you with the one thing that used to make you glowing.
you sigh as you take a sip of the tea, eyes still locked on the laptop through the rim of your cup. looking at the cost of everything has been making you dizzy these days. making you want to quit everything and just think of something else to live for.
of course, you don't want to. baking has been a part of you. if it were to be taken away from your life by your own hands, you understand that you'll never live it down and will always be haunted by what-could-have-been. alongside the disappointment painted on younger you that'll slip your mind every so often.
a little miracle is all you need at the moment. in whatever forms it may take.
the alarm on your phone set-off, bouncing around the whole place as it shatters the calm atmosphere that was enveloping the little room, causing you to startle a little on your seat. your finger went to turn it off as you placed down the cup of tea aside.
it's an alarm you set to remind you of the lemon blondies that you have in the oven. one of the many things you love to bake, one of the few new things you're going to put up on the menu.
you stand up as the chair creek against the wooden floor, taking steps towards the kitchen on the back. when the door opens, you're greeted with a warm, citrusy scent of the goods that has your heavy heart softened slightly. lifting a little of the burden that's gnawing at you.
a soft, tired, and somewhere content smile creeps on your face. there's always little things that somewhat make life worth going through. and in this case, it came to you in the form of lemon blondies that'll be your company on the train back home.
the very key to all lemon desserts that exist is to use lemon juice rather than extract and to not overuse the amount of lemon juice, because it'll just lead one thing after another. with lemon blondies, the measurement of ingredients has to be right and precise.
lemon blondies usually just need around two spoons of lemon juice for one baking pan. you don't want to add too much lemon juice or it'll come out mushy and absurdly sour. worst case, when you're mixing everything, you'd think it needs more flour and then you'll end up with a large amount of base. and when you bake it, the lemon blondies will be cakey, sometimes.
and no matter what people say, lemon zests are a must. both lemon zests and lemon juice are the main profile for lemon blondies. it truly tastes different if you're using lemon extract from a bottle if that isn't obvious enough. lemon extract gives this odd taste of lemon and not exactly the kind that'll have you want some more.
though of course— different people have different taste palates, different people have different preferences. it's totally up to who bakes how they want their creation to be like. there's nothing wrong with using lemon extract, it's just advice that has been passed down by one to another around you.
using your oven mitts, you take out the baking pan and place it on the cooling rack to cool down. you take off your mitts before walking towards the fridge to put out the glaze you've prepared earlier, letting it thicken a little by placing it on the fridge.
your gaze darts to the clock that's hanging on the wall, showing that it's almost time to leave and head home. you don't want to miss your train, too, obviously.
so, as you wait for the lemon blondies to cool down, you strode back towards where the laptop is and tidy everything up. your laptop has found its place on your bag, the chair has been put in its rightful place, and the cup of tea is on its way with you to the sink.
after you clean up around the bakery, with your clean hands and a spatula, you take out the lemon blondies from the baking pan and pour the glaze on top of it. once again, setting the lemon blondies aside to cool, as you gather the dirty dishes in the sink to wash everything clean.
you hummed a melody to your favorite song as your whole body moves around in coordinations to washing the dishes. your hands with a sponge on one hand, brush the remnants of the lemon blondies that sticks to the bottom of the pan. and when it's clean, your body moves leanings towards the drying rack to set it aside.
it's your least favourite thing to do when it comes to this life of yours. but there's something comforting as well as therapeutic about washing dirty dishes that's the very proof of your hard work.
when you make sure that everything is spotlessly clean, you wash your hands for the umpteenth time today and go ahead to take a small container for the lemon blondies. and that's when you realize that you still have one thing to wash clean: the tray you use to set aside the dessert, for it to cool down.
you groaned in frustration before you quickly washed the dirtiness clean and packed the lemon blondies to bring home. after washing your hands, of course.
the jacket of yours that's hanging on the hanger now wrapped around your body, keeping you warm, while you turn off all the electricity that's on. your tote bag on your shoulder, a paper bag in hand as you looked around for the last time—making sure everything is off—before locking the door and leaving your bakery.
it's been one heck of a day.
satoru has been non-stop humming with excitement at the revelation of the newfound sukuna vessel. his body is buzzing from thrill on what to come in the future, the moment yuuji life as sukuna vessel starts ticking.
this is something interesting. a student from the countryside with no prior history of his family being a jujutsu sorcerer is able to become a vessel for the king of curses. it excites him.
now, with his kikufuku mochi in hand on the bullet train home, satoru leans on the seat and sighs softly. he has been teleporting here and there within an hour for megumi, yuuji, and two of yuuji schoolmate. taking care of everything like the adult he is.
with ijichi helps, of course.
he's too exhausted to use his power of teleport anymore, that's why he opted for the train as a transport back home. satoru can rest for a while in a comfortable seat, too, so he always loves taking the train after a long day.
the man glanced around the train, taking sight of the people that's boarding at the same time as him. mostly it's just people who came off work, a normal day-to-day view. and then his eyes halted at the woman who sat next to him.
well, with the alley between them.
ever since satoru steps inside the bullet train and sat on his designated seat, the woman beside him has been grumbling around with her tablet in hand. and a stylus pen.
from here, he can see that she's been scribbling something similar to a … poster? or a catalogue? it could be a menu. the point is, she's been busy and stressed. it kinda ticks satoru off because everyone is sitting with their eyes closed while this pretty woman fighting her life with a device.
satoru wanted to ignore her, he really is. it's just there's this sweet scent of freshly baked goods surrounding her and it's pulling his senses towards her. as if there's a red string that's twirling around his pinky finger, he feels the other hand tied around hers and tugging it for him to focus on her direction.
and maybe, maybe she feels it, too. because now her eyes are glancing towards him with her furrowed eyebrows in sight.
“... what's your problem?”
or maybe not. from the tone of her voice, she absolutely sounds distraught like he's some stalker. which now that he thinks about it, he has been gawking at her like some stalker.
satoru clears his throat, shaking his head at her. “no, nothing. i just … you smell delicious.”
the woman beside him stares at him with a face full of disgust and bewilderment. she's frozen for a moment before scoffing at the words he just uttered. “excuse me?”
alright, now he pissed her off. he shouldn't have worded it like that. the wording was trash and should never be heard again, it really should be buried deep six-feet-under. a total garbage and now he feels nothing but ashamed of himself.
“sorry! that wasn't what i mean!” he paused, making sure the wording this time isn't offensive. “there's this … freshly baked scent coming from you.”
satoru’s eyes blinked a few times beneath the blindfold as he took in the sight of her, finally understanding what he meant.
her cheeks burning and mirroring this shade of the flower ‘red aster’ he saw on display at some florist earlier this day. the man watches her composing herself as she places down her tablet in her lap and pulls out a paper bag from her side.
a clear container left the paper bag and came into view. from where he sits, he can see the way it's filled with something like yellow bars. probably a food or something? not that he actually knows what it is.
the woman opened the container before handing it in his direction. her face is facing the other way as she mutters something.
“... it's lemon blondies.”
satoru's gaze fell onto the said lemon blondies. you two spent a few minutes in silence while his eyes kept going back and forth between you and the dessert in sight.
he let out a chuckle, then. “do you have zero sense of danger? giving a stranger something? it could backfire on you, you know.”
you finally look at him again, eyes slightly narrowing. “well, truthfully, i don't feel any sense of danger. it's only the feeling of weirdness from seeing a man using a blindfold.”
satoru laugh at your words, relishing over the fact that this pretty woman who's offering him a dessert is now, pretty much, bashing him. really, it never gets old when someone question his blindfold.
“you're funny. has anyone ever told you that?” he said as his hand went to reach for the container, eyes on yours.
“you're insufferable. has anyone ever told you that?” you answer almost immediately. your brows raise as he laughs harder.
don't say that he's a crazy person who should be on lease, you think to yourself.
your eyes lock in the way his hand went to reach a piece of the lemon blondies before popping it on his mouth. a whole bar in one go. and well, your eyes widening at the scene in front of you.
the lemon blondies have been purposely cut and portion a bit larger than usual for you to finish it quicker. and he just put one big cut of the bar on his mouth like it's any normal day.
… maybe he does eat like that everyday. well, what do you know? this man is a stranger you have zero knowledge about. a man who was staring at you because apparently he can smell the scent of the freshly baked lemon blondies.
satoru swallows the lemon blondies after a few chews. he lets out a soft, pleased humming as the taste of the tangy from the lemon and sweetness from the sugar dance around on his tongue. he seems like he enjoy it, hitting you with the joy of seeing people liking something you make.
“it's a perfect balance of sweet and citrusy. i can taste the lemon. kind of subtle, kind of like a punch. gets it?” he uttered to you as his gaze bore into yours. “i love this. did you make this yourself?”
you nod at his words, hands scrambling towards your tote bag to show him your business card. and he watches you doing so, lips tugging upward in amusement at how you suddenly beaming with happiness.
when the business card is in hand, you immediately shoved it towards him. “i have a bakery!”
a promotion to keep everything alive is always needed, after all.
satoru's fingers went to hold the card in between his fingers as he read all the information that's written down on your business card. “so, you're a baker … it tastes delicious. one of a kind.”
you smile wide and full of joy at his words. “mhm. and currently, i’m rebranding my bakery, so it's closed at the moment. but that lemon blondie you just ate is one of the things that'll be on the new menu!” you reply excitedly.
the moment this stranger said things to describe the taste of something you created with your hands and love pouring from your heart, you couldn't help but feel something sparkling in you. the excitement that was lost.
every so often, some customers who came to your bakery would just buy some pasties and take it away. or sometime, they'd just chill around the bakery and say something along the lines of everything being ‘nice’ and all.
there's nothing wrong with it. everyone has every right to do whatever they want. still, as someone who produced something, being complimented in that way for something you spend your time on is similar to a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. enveloping you in the feeling of appreciation.
it's validating the times where you feel like all of this isn't worth it, where you just want to close everything off and give up. because everyone deserves praise, even for something that might be insignificant for another soul.
what might be little for one soul can be a whole universe to the other soul who's roaming around the same world.
a sudden melody plays, echoes throughout the train, followed by voice announcers. your focus drifted to the speaker, source of the sounds. the train have arrived at your station, your stop— which means you have to get off the train soon.
“ah, this is my stop.” you heard the man beside you said. you blink once, twice, at his words. he got off at the same station as you.
he handed back the container with a content smile, “thank you for sharing it. i’ll make sure to visit sometimes.”
you didn't think twice before grabbing a paper bag that you always use to pack your pastries from your bag, as well as a clean chopsticks. the other hand that's free reaches to take the container back from him. you move as quickly as possible, moving some lemon blondies using the chopsticks, from your container to the paper bag. for him.
because the lemon blondies has a glaze, you tried your best to make sure it doesn't necessarily sticks to one another. and while you're on a haste doing that, satoru can't help but let a soft chuckle left between his lips.
the sight is endearing; a baker trying to hook a a customer whom she met on a train.
when you finish packing the lemon blondies for him, with a touch of your bakery's sticker to close the paper bag, you turned facing him. your hand, slightly trembling under the pressure of having to move fast, handed the bag full of lemon blondies to him.
“think of this as a … parting gift?” you mumble, slightly sounding unsure at the choice of words now that it left your mouth.
satoru's smile became a grin, kind of like a boyish grin. one that screams confident, yet at the same time slightly flustered and amusement.
“aren't you nice.” he takes the paper bag from you, eyeing it for a good one minute before putting it on the bag alongside the kikufuku mochi he bought earlier.
the train finally halted, then. you immediately stand up and gather your belongings before stepping to the alley and prepare yourself to leave the train.
when the man, the stranger you just gave your baked goods to stands up, you startled a bit. he's extremely tall. what is he, six-foot-two? six-foot-three? the man is too tall, you have to look up to truly stare at him.
you clears your throat before speaking again. “... i suppose i’ll see you around?”
his lips pressed into a thin line, seemingly like he wants to say something before choosing to a simple nod. “see you around.”
and the moment you flashes a soft smile at him while turning around and take your steps to the exit door, satoru felt the invincible red string tugging his finger again.
you walked through the endless road, wishing for your apartment to come in sight as soon as possible— wanting to clean up and be swallow by the comfy, fluffy of your bed.
it isn't exactly dark surround you. but suddenly, you feel too exposed in a way that you can't really feel anything but yourself. like some darkness is clouding around you, you found yourself unable to really sees anything.
a shudder runs down your spine, a goosebumps tickling your skin. your steps halted abruptly because you truly can't see anything now. your head suddenly feels heavy as if something just poured down to you. it's a feeling came to live; you're drowned in black paint, covering your sight.
dream? that would be impossible, you know for sure you're sober. hallucinations? you swears you didn't consume anything that might trigger it. so, what is it? a ghost?
you bite your lower lip as you try to compose yourself, standing your ground as your legs started to feel shaky. the feeling of heaviness is becoming more amplified, you feel like being pushed to a plummet by a compression machine of some sort.
“now, you really are a magnet that's pulling everything your way, huh?”
the familiar voice had your heart stop beating for a second. it's the stranger from the train. the man that you gave your lemon blondies to.
before you're able to answer him, the feeling of heaviness left your head. your eyesight that you swear were lost a few seconds ago are now returned, feeling like a clear and clean brand-new pair of glasses. being taken away from your right to see messes your brain.
and the sight that greets you is him, standing a few feet away from you with his finger tugging upward on the blindfold that covers his eyes. pair of eyes that's now are slightly in view for you to see.
his eyes are blue. the blue that's as clear as the blue pond you saw when you were younger on a field trip. the blue that's as deep as the ocean of your favorite beach that you always came to. the blue that's as blooming as the lotus flower.
it has you starstruck and rooted on the ground.
you've never seen someone with pair of blue eyes as mesmerizing as his. it's tantalizing in a way you want to dive into the limitless of his blue, throwing all senses.
“are you okay?” he asked as he walk closer towards where you stand. the man look at you from head to toe, assessing your condition. “do you live around here?”
“... yeah. i live around here. what are you doing here?” you answer after a moment of silence, waiting for him to stop his steps in front of you.
satoru's eyebrows raise at your answer. “really? you live around here? i thought you were just visiting.” his steps came to a halt when he's finally at a close distance with you.
“no, i live around here,” you mumble. it was then when you catches a sight of some monster from your nightmares on the corner of your eyes. it's truly a nightmare came to live.
out of reflex, you let out a yelp. that single action causes you to step backwards on your heels, almost hitting the ground before his arms wrapped around your shoulder— grounding you.
“you can see that?” he mused, his attention shifting from you to the monster that now walking towards where you two stand.
you let out an annoyed scoff aimed at him, with a hint of fear and disgusted at the sight of the monster in front of you. “do you not notice the two eyeballs that are able to see? in my eyes socket? that was looking at you just a few seconds ago?”
the man laugh, then. again. for god knows how many times since you've met him on the train earlier. well, good for him in finding joy in your irritation.
“that's a curse spirit, born from negative emotions. they're the cause of many unexplainable deaths all around. and pretty much blablablabla.”
“if you don't have any intention in fully explaining it, might as well just not explain it.”
he just shrugs at your words, with a wide smile that reaches his eyes and is plastered on his face. “you're not scared of that thing?”
“i'm more disgusted than scared. why does it look like that?” you asked while looking once more at the monster he just called ‘curse spirit’.
“do you expect it to look like, i don't know, sanrio characters?” he stares at you. sparkles of amusement painting satoru's eyes that had you lost in them.
you blink a few times, trying to snap yourself from drowning in the blue that's him. “well, i'm asking because i don't know a thing, mr. blindfolded.”
“that sounds like mocking.” his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed the way the tip of your ears starting to turn into a shade of cherry blossom. “you want to see something cool?”
when you just raise an eyebrow at him, he gestures towards the curse spirit that's been looking at you two since the beginning. you feel disgust creeping up on you, once again, the moment you realize it's watching you two as if it has some intelligence.
or maybe it does. not that you know since this is the first time you're exposed to this part of the world you have no knowledge about.
the man beside you flick his fingers, aimed at the curse spirit on sight. and on whatever sorcery he's in, it blows up. the curse spirit just popped blood into the road. what even is happening at the scene in your view?
right. no need to make sense of it, you thought to yourself.
“isn't that cool?” he grin at you and the sight of it has you wanting to punch it away from his face. the man near you is both interesting and infuriating at the same time.
he lowers his blindfold, covering the pair of eyes and obstructing the view of it from your sight. “so, we haven't introduced ourselves to each other.”
you mouthed an ‘oh.’ as the realization settled in at his words. he's right, you two have been sharing many seconds with each other, yet both you and the man still have no idea the name that was blessed upon the two of you.
with a slight doubt, you whisper your name into the night breeze that carries it right to his ears. and satoru doesn't know if it's the effects of consuming too much sweets his whole life or maybe because it's you— but your voice felt like it's laced with a ribbon of fate.
the invisible red string that has been nagging him since you two were sitting at the train earlier is tugging him, again.
he stays quiet for a moment before opening his mouth. which is cut off by the sudden yell of someone he knows very well.
“gojo-san! please stop disappearing out of nowhere, you have an appointment with—”
ijichi froze in track at the sight that greeted him. you, standing close to satoru gojo with his arm wrapped around your shoulder.
satoru gojo's infinity is off for a stranger. or maybe not. ijichi has no idea. one thing for sure is that this sight seems like a dream come true.
after all, the strongest and the honored one only let down his barrier to his people. and you as far as ijichi knows—for someone who has worked with the satoru gojo for a long time—is someone who's no more than a stranger. since this is his first time seeing you.
when you realize that the man in suits gaze is locked in how this stranger's arm is wrapped on your shoulder, you immediately take a step back.
“thank you.” you finally thank him for helping you.
you watch as he clears his throat before glaring at the man in suits. you don't know it at that time, but satoru is mentally scolding ijichi through his eyes and well, ijichi immediately lowers his gaze in fear.
satoru's gaze returns to you, watching how your gaze darts anywhere but him. which he assumes that you're feeling awkward about the whole situation. a sight that he'll always remember as one of the first times he sees you pouting, albeit slightly.
“satoru gojo. you can just call me satoru.”
satoru.
his name sounds nice on the ears. it has your heart beating loudly as if it wants to let itself free from the prison of your ribcage; wanting to let themselves be handed over his hands.
you repeat his name, rolling it out of your tongue like the melody of your favorite song that you have played on repeat. it feels right coming out of your mouth. and satoru gojo, standing at a distance from you, swears that he's being pushed towards you.
the invisible red string is pulling him even closer to you.
“... you live around here, right?” he asked which you replied with a nod in a heartbeat.
“my bakery is in sendai because it’s cheaper there in terms of rent.”
satoru nod at your words, writing the information on the walls of his brain. “i’m a teacher at the, you know, that private school in the mountains. tokyo’s outskirts.”
“okay … i see,” you reply shortly after comprehending that this man is trying to know you. it only clicks the moment he suddenly tells where he teaches. satoru could've just stopped at the ‘i’m a teacher’, yet he chose to state specifically where.
your glance at the watch that's decorating your left hand, noticing that it's getting too late for you to stay outside longer.
“well, satoru … i have to leave. it's too late at night,” you smile at him all the while you take a step forward. “i guess i’ll see you again?”
the man slightly pouted in disappointment before reluctantly nodding at your sudden departure. “right. i’ll visit your bakery someday. when the rebranding finished.”
oh, he remembers.
a soft chuckle left your lips, then. well, with how everything is unfolding, you might as well just invite him for a cup of tea now.
“i’m always at the bakery, you can visit me anytime. i’m baking a matcha cream cheese cookie tomorrow, if you want. i saw that you eat a kikufuku mochi with matcha filling on the train.”
you flash him a gentle smile of a stranger becoming something more, then leaving him behind with a feeling of crush blooming vibrantly it’s running through every fiber in his body.
he stays quiet for quite a while, making ijichi stares in worry because satoru gojo has always been a chatterbox. yet somehow he's as still as the poodle of water on the road beside him.
that, before he lets out a laugh so loud and unfamiliar that ijichi jumps from where he stands. “gojo-san …?”
satoru runs a hand through his hair. a smile of someone that's on the verge of falling into the deep end of being a lovesick is tugging the corner of his lips.
it seems that the red string theory is real. setting aside the fact he keeps feeling like he's being pulled by it towards you— the universe really sent him someone who's a baker. he, who loves sweets more than anyone else.
and in the night where the wind keeps whispering the chuckle that left between your lips, satoru gojo understands in the very second that he has been charmed by both you and your dessert.
well, guess he has to travel to sendai again tomorrow. with a bullet train to relieve the ride with you last night. full of sweetness, like you.
rie's. thanks to little ol' me who listens to the buzzing of season one when it airs, hihi. five years of crushing satoru has been one heck of a ride (i'm staring at you, gege.)
your puppy eyed boyfriend leans over your curled body, his lips drooping at the corners.
"why would u even ask that?" you grumble, pulling the blanket over you a bit more to hide yourself from his gaze.
satoru rests his chin over your shoulder, his hand landing on your hip. "i take it you're still mad at me then?" his thumb moves back and forth and he presses his chest against your back.
"was that not already obvious? you cheated, satoru,"
"i did not." he whines.
you scoff and roll around to face him, giving him disbelieving glare. sitting up, you turn your back on him just like before. "yes, you did. i literally watched you cheat right in front of me."
a quiet click comes from his pouty mouth, hands reaching out to grab at your waist.
"baby?" satoru begins pulling you back towards him.
"baby..." his arms wrap around you and tugs you onto his lap.
"baby, please..." he whispers, peppering kisses to the side of your neck.
your lips push together and you have to physically stop yourself from giving into him. "just admit you cheated already."
satoru sighs, pulling back and turning your head so that you're forced to meet his eyes. "i, satoru, your handsome and extremely loyal boyfriend, did not cheat..."
he pinches your cheek and follows it up with a smooch. "you just suck at uno."
I'd give you everything, I just want to see you win ⸻ clan head Gojo
SERIES MASTERLIST
description ⸻ Navigating a married life is hard enough, it is harder when you know nothing about your husband other than his heroic scars and dizzying smile.
pairing ⸻ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader
cw ⸻ canon divergence, nsfw, MDNI, clan and jujutsu world politics, arranged marriage, husband Gojo, Gojo with scars, slow burn, yearning, they are both a little stupid about e/o, misogyny (not by Gojo), internalized misogyny on reader's part, insecurities, dysfunctional families, fem oriented reader, use of she/her pronouns, emotionally detached Gojo, eventual happy ending.
a/n: you can also find this series on AO3. make sure to also check out the playlist. art by 3-aem (on tumblr and twt), find the used art here. to be added to the tag list, please leave a comment below
pixelskylines
izzy806
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
