🥀 Summary- You were married to him to forge peace, a non-sorcerer bride offered to a cult leader who sees you as filth in silk. He never wanted you. He never hides it. And still... you stay. Caught in his orbit. Worshipping the god who spits at your devotion.
‼️Warnings- Cult themes, angst, infidelity, heavy emotional neglect, sexual content, verbal disrespect, enemies to lovers, power imbalance, obsession, worship, non-sorcerer reader (repeatedly insulted), slow burn, no to mild comfort, minor self-worth themes, soft obsession from reader, sharp hatred from Geto, very toxic
honestly, just anything you're up to atp. your writing is incredible, you're one of my fav tumblr notifications rn, lol.
love your works 😙
cultleader!geto who guides you through sucking his dick
he sits on his throne, legs spread with his priestly attired covering him apart from where his cock stands tall. you kneel in front of him, swallowing nervously. he smiles down at you softly, admiring your anxious demeanour. his fingers run through your hair, before lifting your chin gently.
"there's so need to be nervous. i am not going to judge you, little one."
you let out a shaky breath, eyes focused on his thick, leaky cock. the way it twitches every now and again, and how geto looks down at you, so aware of the power he holds over you.
"may i, m-may i p-pleasure you now, sir?"
"yes, you may. and please, call me suguru."
you shudder slightly and shuffle forward, hand tentatively reaching to wrap around his cock. his lets out a deep sigh and rests his head on his hand, eyes never leaving your face. you kiss the tip of his cock gently before taking it into your mouth, working your tongue around it's ridges.
"you look so beautiful down there darling. thank you for letting me see you this way."
you push down a little deeper, hand pumping what you can't fit. eager to impress, you go a little too deep and gag. suguru quickly pulls your head back, letting you breathe.
"stop, i don't want you to hurt yourself. you don't need to impress me. come on, try again."
you nod and take him in your mouth again, lapping your tongue over his tip, sucking hard. he grunts and leans back again. his eyes shuts and his head lolls back as he lets out a shaky breath. you use your other hand to fondle his balls and he breathes in sharply.
"that's it, good girl."
your belly warms at his praise and you continue to pleasure him. his hands clutch his throne's armrest and he lets out a soft curse. he pants softly, running a hand through your hair again.
"i'm going to cum, okay? swallow it for me."
you nod and soon enough, his hot liquid shoots down your throat. he bucks his hips into your mouth and watches you swallow every drop. when you pull off his throbbing cock, he smiles.
author's note ⸺ Hello gang! So happy you guys are liking this series, I love it, and I luv u <3
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
content ⸺ platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, slight tension, studying mentioned, modern au, the good-ole-days, reader uses female pronouns, 4.2k, this is an 18+ series - mdni
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
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Sleep came quickly, tugging at the edges of your consciousness.
Then—just as you were about to slip under completely…
Your phone buzzed against the nightstand.
Your eyes cracked open, pulse skipping despite yourself. For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it.
But eventually, you did.
You turned over swiftly, the sheets rustling as you reached out, fingers fumbling against the smooth surface of your nightstand.
The cool metal of your phone met your palm, and you pulled it close, the glow of the screen cutting through the dim room as you blinked against the brightness.
Your thumb hovered over the screen for just a second before you swiped to unlock it. The notification stared back at you, crisp and clear against the dark backdrop of your bedroom.
Geto: How’s Friday?
Your breath left you in a slow exhale.
Not a lot of fanfare. No excessive punctuation, no embellishments. Just a simple question, efficient and to the point—exactly like how you remembered him.
Your eyes flicked to the top of the screen, where the time blinked back at you—10:42 PM. Wednesday.
Two days.
A part of you had half-expected to wait another few days before he got back to you. Maybe the plans would fall through entirely, slipping through the cracks of life’s inevitable distractions. But there he was, responding just hours after you reached out.
You licked your lips, your fingers tapping out a quick reply.
You: Works for me. What time?
The three little dots blinked on the screen almost immediately.
Geto: I’m assuming you work until 5…does 5:30 work?
You: Yeah, that’s fine. Where where you thinking?
Geto: I’ll send you the location on Friday morning. Looking forward to catching up :)
You stared at the screen for a beat longer than necessary, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed—
You: Sounds good. Me too.
Too much? Maybe. But before you could second-guess it, the message was sent, disappearing into the ether of late-night conversation.
The read receipt popped up almost instantly, followed by one more reply.
Geto: Dream sweet.
Simple. Unassuming. And yet, it left something warm curling in your stomach.
You set your phone down on the nightstand, exhaling as you sank deeper into the pillows. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city beyond your window, but your mind was anything but still.
It had been a long time since you last saw him. Since you last spoke like this, in small, measured words that somehow still felt significant. It was just dinner.
Just a catch-up between two people with a mutual friend.
Two friends-of-friends catching up…That’s all.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
Morning came too soon, the alarm slicing through the quiet like a dull blade.
A sharp inhale, a stretch, the heavy warmth of sleep still clinging to your limbs.
But before you even shifted beneath the covers, your hand had already reached for your phone, fingers wrapping around its familiar weight.
The screen lit up. No new messages. No last-minute changes. Just the same notification from last night, waiting in silence.
You weren’t sure what you had expected…A follow-up? A confirmation? Something to make the evening ahead feel more real? Whatever it was, it wasn’t there.
The morning routine carried on as always—water rushing against porcelain, steam curling over the bathroom mirror, the muted sound of the city filtering in through the window.
Everything was the same. Everything should have felt the same.
But there was something about today, a small hitch in the rhythm, an offbeat in the usual melody of your day.
At work, tasks filled the hours like usual. Emails stacked into neat little rows, keyboards clicked in hurried bursts, voices blurred into the steady hum of office chatter.
You answered messages, skimmed reports, lost yourself in half-distracted conversations.
And yet—before noon, your hand found your phone again.
A flick of the screen. A glance. Still nothing.
You weren’t sure why you kept checking. It wasn’t like you normally did this.
Your messages weren’t exactly unpredictable.
Gojo texted often, usually in long, chaotic bursts—half-thoughts, inside jokes, dramatized retellings of his latest workplace disaster.
Your roommate’s texts were more routine—grocery lists, rent reminders, the occasional complaint about your neighbours. A familiar pattern, easy to follow, easy to expect.
But now?
Now, your fingers hovered over the screen for just a second longer than necessary before you locked it again, pressing it face-down against your desk, pressing your fingers into your temples briefly before forcing yourself to refocus.
Lunch came and went in a series of half-heard conversations. The scent of reheated leftovers hung in the air, blending with the ever-present bitterness of burnt office coffee.
A coworker complained about their weekend plans, and another debated whether they had time to grab a latte before their next meeting.
You responded when necessary, nodding at the right times, but your mind remained elsewhere—somewhere just outside of reach.
Then—without thinking—you picked up your phone again.
Still nothing.
You exhaled, locking the screen and setting it aside. You didn’t know what you were expecting to happen. It wasn’t as if anything had changed since the last time you checked.
And yet, the absence of a message felt noticeable in a way that it shouldn’t have.
By mid-afternoon, the habit had settled in.
Your hand moved before you could stop yourself, unlocking the screen with a flick of your thumb. Waiting.
But the screen remained the same—quiet, still, steady.
And yet, despite that silence, tomorrow night loomed closer. Inevitable.
The weight of it settled in long before the day had ended.
The thought of being alone with him for hours wove itself into the spaces between tasks, filling the pauses in conversation, curling around every absent glance at your phone.
At some point, the screen stayed dark long enough for a sense of finality to creep in. No more checking. No more reaching. It didn’t change anything.
Still, something simmered beneath your skin, restless and unresolved.
The feeling made no sense.
Geto had never been a source of unease before.
If anything, he was one of the easiest people to be around—steady, unhurried, a presence that never demanded anything from you. His words always measured, his energy effortless.
He was a fixture in the periphery, present in the way a familiar song fills the background of a car ride, inextricably linked to something larger.
Gojo.
Geto had always been part of a pair—One half of a whole.
His presence had been a condition of Gojo’s—the two of them moving through the world like a force of nature, colliding with everything in their path, dragging you along in their wake.
Conversations that turned into debates, nights that stretched too late, laughter that came easy, never isolated, never belonging to just one of them.
Tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow, there would be no Gojo.
The realization sat heavy, threading unease through the anticipation. This was new. Unfamiliar.
The rhythm had changed, and you weren’t sure what to do with the space it left behind.
The walk home felt longer than usual.
The city hummed around you, headlights casting fractured light against wet pavement, snippets of conversations floating past in bursts of sound. A car horn. A ringing phone. The hiss of a bus kneeling at the curb.
Inside your apartment, the quiet stretched.
The overhead light flickered once before settling. A jacket shrugged off, shoes nudged aside, the soft creak of wood under your steps. The routine unfolded like muscle memory—bag on the counter, fridge open, fridge closed, a glass of water filled and left untouched.
Then—your phone, facedown where you had left it.
Fingers hesitated before reaching. The screen lit up, bright against the dim kitchen. Nothing new.
A slow breath pushed through your chest.
Tomorrow loomed ahead, fixed and inevitable.
A meeting set in place, agreed upon in neutral tones, as casual as a hundred other plans that had come before it.
But still, something shifted under the surface, unspoken and undefined.
There was no reason for this weight in your stomach. No logic to the way your pulse had started counting down hours before the night had even arrived.
And yet—
Your grip tightened around the phone. The glow of the screen faded to black.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
Friday Morning at 5:45am
The alarm cut through the stillness, its sharp trill pulling you from sleep. A breath, slow and steady, before your hand reached out, silencing it with a practiced swipe.
For a moment, you stayed there—burrowed beneath the blankets, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. The weight of the day settled in, stretching out ahead of you in quiet inevitability.
With a sigh, you pushed yourself up.
The floor was cool beneath your feet as you padded toward the bathroom, the fluorescent light flickering to life above the mirror. Water rushed against porcelain, the steady rhythm filling the quiet as you rinsed sleep from your skin.
Back in your bedroom, the closet door yawned open, revealing rows of neatly hung blouses, slacks folded with precision, dresses lined up like choices waiting to be made.
The usual routine would be easy—something simple, something safe. But today, your fingers lingered a little longer, hovering between options, the usual rhythm disrupted by something almost imperceptible.
It wasn’t like this was anything special. Just another workday. Just dinner after. Nothing to warrant the quiet indecision pressing at the edges of your thoughts.
And yet—your hand skipped past the standard choices, grazing over fabric with absent consideration.
The crisp button-down felt too stiff, the usual sweater too plain. A dress, maybe? No, too much.
Eventually, you settled on something in between—polished but not overdone. Something that fit seamlessly into the workday but still felt…intentional.
The fabric smoothed over your frame as you adjusted the hem, checking the mirror with a glance that lasted a beat too long.
Still, there was no real reason for this hesitation. No reason at all.
And yet—
The thought slipped away as your phone buzzed from the nightstand, breaking the quiet with a sharp vibration.
Your breath stilled.
You hesitated for only a second before walking over to it and picking it up.
Your fingers tightened around your phone before turning the screen toward you.
Geto: Morning. Here’s the place for tonight.
A location link followed, sitting there unassuming, waiting to be pressed.
Your thumb hesitated over the screen before tapping it. The maps app opened, the address pulling up with a smooth flicker.
A small pin dropped into place, marking a street you didn’t immediately recognize—tucked between taller buildings, almost easy to miss.
The image loaded, revealing a dark storefront, nothing but a sleek, unmarked door tucked beneath a flickering neon sign.
You swiped through the photos.
Inside, the space stretched narrow, lined with moody lighting and dark wood, bottles glinting along an illuminated back bar.
The kind of place that didn’t need to advertise itself—exclusive but not pretentious, refined but comfortable.
And the food—unexpectedly elaborate for a bar, plated like something out of a fine dining restaurant.
Of course.
Something about it felt so distinctly him—lowkey but effortlessly cool, the kind of place you’d never have found on your own.
Before you could type out a response, another message drew your eyes to the top of your screen.
Geto: If you tell me which station you're at, I can meet you there.
Your breath stalled, pulse knocking against your ribs in a way that made no sense.
The words sat there, simple and unassuming, yet something about them sent a ripple through your chest.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
It was a thoughtful offer—practical, even.
It would make things easier, and save you from navigating alone, from the awkward shuffle of stepping into a new place by yourself. A small thing.
Still, a strange tension crept into your shoulders.
Geto had always been easygoing, a casual presence that had never demanded anything from you. But that presence had always been conditional—always shadowed by Gojo’s loud energy, balanced by the familiar push-and-pull of their dynamic.
Now, without that buffer—without Gojo filling the space between you—it felt different.
Not bad, not uncomfortable, just… noticeable.
You smoothed your hand over the fabric of your skirt, fingers tracing absent patterns against the hem.
Maybe it was the anticipation humming beneath your skin. The awareness of the hours still stretched between now and tonight, every moment edged with something undefined.
Maybe it was the way Geto’s name looked on your screen—alone, unaccompanied, as if he existed in a separate context now.
Or maybe it was nothing at all.
You exhaled, slow and steady, before typing out a response.
You: It’s okay, I can just meet you there.
The message sent in an instant. Final.
You locked your phone, setting it facedown against the vanity as if that might quiet the small, unspoken weight in your chest.
Then, a breath.
‘Alright tine to get yourself together…’ You thought to yourself
The routine should have unfolded as usual, the same series of motions you could do half-asleep.
But today, each step carried a little more weight.
You reached for your makeup bag, fingers brushing over familiar products. Concealer smoothed over skin, concealer dabbed beneath your eyes—nothing too heavy, just enough.
A sweep of blush, a touch more than usual. A careful flick of eyeliner, precise and steady, stretching just a little further than the way you usually wore it.
Your reflection stared back at you, almost unchanged—almost.
The brush glided through your hair in slow, deliberate strokes, smoothing flyaways, shaping strands into something more intentional. A little extra effort. Nothing obvious, nothing dramatic, just…more.
The soft chime of a notification pulled you from the mirror. Not Geto—just an email reminder, something about a report due by noon.
A quick glance at the clock on your wall let you know it was time to go.
You grabbed your bag, slipping your phone inside before second-guessing and tucking it into your jacket pocket instead.
Shoes on, keys in hand, one last look around the apartment before stepping out into the crisp morning air.
The city stretched ahead, unchanged, unaware.
But as your footsteps carried you down the shiny tiled stairs, something lingered in your chest—light but steady, like a held breath waiting to be released.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
The clock inched toward 5 p.m., the final minutes of the day ticking away slowly, yet with an urgency you could feel in your bones.
It had been one of the busiest Fridays you’d ever had—emails to answer, reports to review, meetings that bled into each other without any real break. The pressure was constant, a low hum beneath your thoughts, and yet… you were grateful for it.
Grateful that there was no room for your mind to wander, no space for thoughts to spiral.
If today had been any slower, if you’d had even a moment of quiet, you knew exactly where your thoughts would have gone.
To Geto. To tonight.
To the pull in your chest that wouldn’t seem to loosen, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.
You backed up your things a few minutes early, tucking everything into your bag with methodical precision. It wasn’t until you had everything in place, zipper pulled tight, that you realized you were practically holding your breath.
Five o'clock.
Finally.
You stood up, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear, and made your way to the door.
The office was quieting down, the buzz of energy that had filled the room all day beginning to dissipate as everyone else filtered out. You left without another glance back, fingers pressing the button for the elevator.
Outside, the city was as busy as always, people rushing by, their faces a blur. You slipped into the flow, a part of it, but somehow still detached. Every step took you closer to the subway, closer to the anticipation that built in your chest.
It wasn’t that you were nervous, exactly. No, that wasn’t quite right. You were just… unsettled. A kind of restlessness that had no real source.
You pulled your phone from your pocket and typed out a quick message to Geto:
You: On my way over.
The text sent, and within seconds, the three dots blinked back at you.
Geto: See you soon.
You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. It was almost a relief that he replied so quickly—something about it soothed the jittery feeling that hadn’t quite settled.
Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you descended the stairs to the platform, your feet tapping lightly against the ground in rhythm with the train’s arrival.
But even as you joined the crowd and boarded the car, your mind drifted to that last time you saw him—the night that felt so far away and yet so close.
It had been just after graduation, the last time you were all together like that.
A night of drinking, good food, and laughter, shared memories of the years behind you, of the moments that had solidified your friendship.
You leaned back against the cold train window, eyes closed for just a moment as you let the memories sweep over you.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
*1 year and 3 months prior — Graduation Celebration at KBBQ*
Graduation had come quicker than expected–It truly felt like a finish line that once felt distant was now suddenly beneath your feet.
The ceremony itself had been a blur—flashes of caps in the air, the hum of applause, the stiff feeling of formalwear that barely felt like your own.
But this? This dinner, this night, this group—this was what felt real.
Somewhere between the first introductions and the years spent studying together, these people had become a constant.
Not just classmates or drinking buddies, but something more—a tangle of friendships built over sleepless nights, library study sessions, and long conversations that stretched past closing hours at your favourite spots.
Gojo had been the first familiar face, but through him, the circle expanded. Geto, quieter but no less magnetic. Shoko, always ready with a sharp remark. Nanami, steady and unwavering. Utahime, initially wary of Gojo’s chaos but undeniably part of the group. Hibara, warm and easygoing, always pulling everyone together.
The group had settled into something comfortable, something natural.
And tonight, for what might be the last time in a while, everyone was here.
The Korean barbeque restaurant buzzed with the warmth of lively conversations and sizzling grills.
The sharp scent of spices and grilled meat filled the air as the plates kept coming, steam rising from the center of the table where everyone sat clustered around.
The group was loud, a mix of voices competing with the hum of the crowd and the crackling sounds of the grill. Gojo's booming laugh punctuated the noise every so often, drawing chuckles from Shoko and Hibara, who were sitting beside from him.
You sat between Utahime and Geto, the cool air from the ceiling fans brushing your skin, just enough to keep the warmth of the meal from becoming too much.
The grill tables were relatively small, so Geto was close, his knee brushing yours under the table as the group passed plates of food around.
He didn’t seem to mind, just as you didn’t, the space between you both shrinking with each subtle shift.
Occasionally, Geto would lean in slightly when he spoke to you, his breath almost grazing your ear as he commented on the food or made a quiet remark about something Gojo had said.
The closeness felt natural—effortless, and yet, in a way, it stood out.
A part of you noticed how much quieter it felt when his voice dropped to a low hum as if sharing something just between you.
Across the table from you, Gojo made some outrageous comment, his animated gestures nearly knocking over his drink, and everyone burst into laughter. Your gaze met Geto’s in the midst of it all—his eyes holding yours for a fraction longer than anyone else’s.
It wasn’t an obvious moment, just a quiet beat where his stare lingered, and you couldn’t help but notice the pull, the intensity beneath it, even if you quickly looked away to join in the laughter.
The evening stretched on, the conversation meandering between stories and jokes, but there was always something in Geto’s attention when it turned toward you.
When plates of food arrived, he was the first to make sure your plate was full, his hand brushing against yours each time as he slid something onto your side of the grill.
"Here," Geto said, his voice steady as he slid a piece of cooked meat onto your plate.
He glanced at you, a quiet certainty in his expression, lips tugging into a small, effortless smile—like he knew something you didn’t.
"Thanks," you replied, your gaze briefly meeting his again before turning back to the others.
His eyes stayed on you for just a second longer than they should have, a quiet intensity hidden behind the casualness of his smile.
There was no hurry in his movements as he leaned back slightly, his attention still fixed on you as you returned to the conversation.
Gojo, sitting directly across from you, noticed how Geto was looking at you. His eyes gleamed with mischief as a knowing smirk grew upon his lips. His hand tapped the edge of his glass as he made sure his gaze found Geto’s.
Before Gojo could say anything, Utahime cut in, her voice light as she dragged Gojo into her conversation.
"I always thought you were the one who thought you were above all the tests and exams, Gojo," she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"But look at you now. Obviously, you weren’t entirely ‘above’ it all, or you wouldn’t have graduated!."
A laugh bubbled up from you, easy and warm, the playful jab aimed at Gojo hitting the right note.
Geto’s eyes flicked toward you instinctively, a slight shift in his posture as he watched you laugh.
For just a second, his gaze softened, lingering on the way your eyes crinkled and your mouth curved up.
It was subtle, but the way he looked at you in that moment—unobstructed and full of quiet admiration—was impossible to miss, even if you didn’t notice.
Gojo rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his own chuckle, clearly unbothered by Utahime’s jab.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’m the only one keeping this table from sinking into the abyss of academic mediocrity and you all know it."
His words were light, but his gaze flicked over briefly to Geto again, catching something in the way he sat facing you, the way his attention never seemed to stray too far from you—and Gojo noticed, how could he not?
The night went on, but the unspoken connection between you and Geto never fully slipped away.
Every now and then, when you caught his eye again, there was something that was undeniably there—a spark that he didn’t try to hide, but never overtly acknowledged. It was quiet, comfortable, and real in a way that felt like it had always been.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
You stepped off the subway car, your shoes clicking softly against the platform as you shook off the last remnants of your thoughts.
The evening air outside felt cooler than you expected, the slight breeze tugging at your sleeves as you ascended the stairs.
The weight of your bag settled comfortably against your shoulder, and with every step upward, the tension in your chest seemed to loosen just a little, like a knot unwinding slowly.
The train ride had felt long despite the short distance.
Anticipation had gnawed at you the entire way, but now, with the weight of the day finally behind you, there was a space in your mind where you could let your thoughts breathe.
It was almost calming, knowing that once you stepped out of the subway station, you’d be heading straight to the bar to meet Geto. A casual evening with no expectations.
Just the two of you.
You reached the top of the stairs, the sound of your footsteps fading into the background as you made your way toward the exit.
The station was busy with the usual rush of people, but your eyes were focused on the small patch of city street ahead, imagining the two-minute walk to the bar, the dim lighting, the low hum of voices inside.
But as you turned the corner—
There he was.
Your steps faltered.
Standing just beyond the turnstiles, casually leaning against a pillar, one hand in his pocket, the other offering a small, easy wave.
The half-lit fluorescents cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the familiar, effortless coolness of him, making everything around him fade just slightly.
Geto. Here.
His expression softened as he watched you stumble a bit over your own feet, and his smile grew just a little, as if he were waiting for you to get your bearings, to process the fact that he was standing here, in front of you, instead of across the table at the bar like you had expected.
"Hey," he said, his voice a touch smoother than usual, though it still held that casual tone that you recognized.
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the concept of Suguru having a cute little kohai, who he always checks over after a mission and it becomes routine that she obediently goes to his room n lets him look at her thoroughly. he’s so patient n gentle, praises her n apologizes for making her squirm ໒꒰ྀི ˶> ˕ <˶꒱ྀི১
…and after Suguru is gone, she doesn’t know what to do, so she goes to Satoru’s room and he soooo reluctantly tries to do the same but it’s awkward and tense and feels wrong and Satoru just misses Suguru so much, he has to stop before he can finish :(
☆ notes: Suguru won the poll!!! So here is the fic as requested. Please feel free to send requests, I love reading all your ideas! 🍒🫶🏼 A/N: AGHHHH IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😔
☆ word count: 528!!!
"Y/N, hurry up. We're gonna miss the bus!"
The familiar voice calls at you through the door. Having Suguru as your boyfriend meant that your day was never boring. In the morning, he was always waiting for you at the door, with a warm drink in hand of the weather's cold.
"I'm coming, need to find my umbrella!" You yelled back, in a rush.
You found him at your doorstep, holding two cups of coffee, one black and the other with your favourite order. As he gave the warm cup to you, he gave you a kiss on the cheek - quick, but cute.
"Did you sleep well, Y/N? It's not like to be late," he joked. He knew damn well that you were never on time.
"Haha, very funny," you replied, as you started to reach the bus stop. From across the road, you could see a light-haired figure and a shorter brunette already waiting under the shelter.
"AYYYYYYYY THERE ARE THE TWO LOVEBIRDS!!!" Gojo screams from across the road, making some people passing by turn their heads. Shoko just shook her head in dismay, whistle fumbling for her lighter.
"Shut it, Satoru, no need to be so loud. We've been dating for like a year. It's nothing new." Suguru elbows Satoru in the stomach, making him pipe down.You and Shoko could help but laugh at the pair fighting like kids.
They only stopped when they realised that the bus had pulled in.
When you all arrived at school, Suguru gave you his usual quick kiss before heading with Satoru to the boy's classes. "You know, I've never seen him so whipped. Sure he's dated before...but he's never shown so much affection." Shoko says whilst packing her blunts into her back pocket.
The thought of Suguru only being so smitten about you had your mind busy for hours.It was during the lesson before lunch, when you felt your phone vibrate in your bag.
~Can u meet me in the stairwell in 10?~
A text from Suguru.
"Girl, who you smiling at?" You didn't even know that you'd been grinning to yourself if it wasn't for your classmate telling you.
God, maybe Suguru isn't the only one that whipped!
Suddenly the bell rang out and people started to head out for lunch. But instead of heading to the cafeteria, you made your way to the stairwell.
You opened the entrance door to find...no-one.Well, no-one at first. You had to look up to see your boyfriend waving up at you from the top floor.
"Hey, Y/N, up here!" He calls, kinda like a dark-haired Rapunzel.
You finally made tour way up to the very top, to be met by a small arrangement of snack and sweets (probably stolen from the canteen), all neatly arranged on a blanket.
"Suguru, you didn't...it's beautiful!"
"Just something for us to enjoy before your maths test later, besides no-one comes up here anyway." Suguru grabs his jumper for you to sit on."Let's dig in!"
So for that 50 minutes, it was just you and the boy in the other class, all complete with the gauge piercings, messyuniform and long, black hair.
Just you and Suguru ♡
°•~blkbaecrimson~•°
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summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you'd had left?
chapter warnings: pregnancy, mentions of declining mental health (suguru), mentions of unprotected relations...
masterlist
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"She's acting strange, I'm telling you."
Satoru speaks through the gritted teeth of his smile, waving widely toward you while Shoko sees you out. What had been another work week filled with training and teaching had ended with drinks; this week's rotation leading the four of you to Shoko's apartment. Though of course, much like last week's invitation, you declined, instead choosing to return to your own home with promises of an early night.
Only once you're safely down the corridor, the door firmly closed behind you does Suguru turn his head to reply to his friend. A weight lifts from his shoulders, and he stands a little straighter once he's sure you're not coming back.
"Seems fine to me." He attempts to throw Satoru from the painfully strong scent, forcing a nonchalant demeanour as he takes a sip from his newly opened bottle. There's been an obvious awkwardness and distance wedged between the pair of you and the group, though Suguru couldn't fault you alone - he's equally to blame for this uncomfortable situation.
"For once, I agree." Shoko steps away from the door, shoes kicked to one side to join the other pairs in a messy pile. Although she'd grown comfortable with taking them off on the carpet while seated on the couch, Suguru's constant remarks of her apartment's disorder had gotten to her. Not because she'd cared all too much, but because it was beginning to grate at her; though this new habit did mean she'd had to clean the floors less. But, she wouldn't tell him that.
"Something's up with her." Her eyes move from the heap shoes to her friends.
Suguru stalls his reply, taking an unwanted swig of beer while his heart picks up it's pace. He tries to reassure himself that there's no way they could know, that they're just too curious for his liking. It would've been unlikely you would indulge in sharing that sort of information with the others, you'd always been closed off unless it had come to him, and even then, he'd had to push. He's sure he could end this conversation now... he just needed to think of a good enough excuse.
"Probably just work, right Sugu?" Satoru pats his back a little too hard, turning to follow Shoko into the front room while Suguru lags behind. He's grateful this is coming to a close with little work from himself, and allows himself a moments reprieve.
"I don't think it is." Shoko places the keys on the scuffed coffee table, throwing herself onto the couch. Her own drink sloshes in the bottle with her thoughtless movements, but thankfully not enough to spill over. Her eyes move upward in thought, attempting to make sense of Satoru's initial concerns, linking the possibility of your recent absences to a conversation she'd shared with you a few days prior.
Shoko considers letting the others know, and although she does stop to consider the effects of sharing what should probably be kept between the pair of you, she decides this is better said than left secret.
"She asked if we had pregnancy tests in my office the other day."
Suguru tenses. He can't tell if the others notice every muscle in his body hardening, or his skin growing cold. There's a stagnant air left in place of their reactions and Shoko doesn't look to either party, trying to suppress the simmering guilt she feels for sharing what was probably personal to you.
"It's probably nothing, though." Shoko affirms herself more than her friends, brown eyes finally flickering up from the coffee table to gauge the damage she'd incurred. She winces at both of her friends' expressions, each of them displaying some depiction of shock with slack jaws and wide eyes. "I mean, she'd have told me if it was positive."
Satoru moves first, taking a seat beside Shoko on the couch, arm outstretched to rest over the back cushions. Suguru doesn't feel ready to take a seat, his emotional state wavering, but he knows he needs to avoid suspicions from the other two. They'd moved on, he needs to too.
"Yeah." He speaks, an attempt to convince himself that Shoko's statement is true while he sits down in the loveseat in the corner of the room. His eyes scan over various bits of clutter that seem to decorate it; Shoko was rarely home, and rarely cleaned at that. Books are stacked in various piles, a few pieces of stationary here and there, a mess of clothes pushed to one side.
He tries to focus on his surroundings, but his gaze turns hollow as he's distracted with imaginary scenarios, consequences of an unplanned pregnancy riddled with fear. He couldn't share his inner battle with them, because half of your quartet is blissfully unaware of an evening he'd willed himself to forget.
But it feel useless when no matter how hard he tries, he can still remember everything.
"Just crash here, it's fine."
Sleeping at Suguru's hadn't been part of your plan, though neither had staying beyond the bounds of Saturday. You look down at your phone, and with the time glaring back to reflect the early hours of Sunday morning, you agree to stay over with some reluctance. Although you'd stayed at Suguru's plenty before, there's still an uncomfortable twist in your stomach when you're sleeping beneath a blanket that smells like his washing, on a couch that smells like him. You're sure this will end as the others always had - with a bad neck and a hangover.
"See you later." Shoko raises a hand while Satoru wraps an arm around her, his much larger frame bending forward to bear his weight onto her smaller one. He smiles wryly, attempting to imitate her good-bye, though voicing only incoherent nonsense. She rolls her eyes, forcing him to take steps toward the door.
Suguru brings through a few blankets, throwing them over the arm of the couch. His hair is free over his shoulders, gentle waves flowing freely instead of tied in their usual bun.
"Need anything else?" Now the others have left his voice feels weaker, and for the first time this evening you focus on his eyes. They look tired, almost downturned, hanging lower than usual with purple blotches under the skin.
"Could I get some water?" There's some guilt in your heart as you watch him slowly moving toward his kitchen. You're sure he's likely stressed about work, there'd been an influx of curses as of late, and he worried about his student's wellbeing much over his own.
The TV is on - flickers of light and quiet chatter as some old movie was on, and you take a seat in front of it. It looked to be something to do with war, as uniformed soldiers carrying guns run amok. Suguru returns with your water, placing the glass on a side table next to you. You lift it up, bringing the cool liquid to mouth and taking a few gulps before placing it back over the wet ring that had been left without the use of a coaster.
He stands beside the couch, eyes locked to the screen, lips rested into a frown.
"Suguru." You pat the couch to your right, legs moving to accommodate him beside yourself. At first, you think he isn't going to move, though he eventually begins to plod toward the spot, and the cushions move beneath his weight.
"Are you okay?" The question leaves your mouth in a hushed tone, a small waver in your voice as you watch his stoic face turn to face yours.
"Hm?" His aloofness concerned you, and with an arm outstretched you place a worried hand over his forehead. It feels warm beneath your fingers, but not enough for him to have a fever. He looks to you in his confusion; you aren't usually so maternal with him, and touch wasn't something you often choose to give. At least, not as of recent.
He has distanced himself from you, from everyone, as of recent. The sudden closeness between the pair of you felt much more intense given that context, and he realises his breath has caught in his throat. Being a sorcerer was difficult at the best of times, but as of recent it had felt like wading through water each time he would grow closer to the school. He thought he'd kept it under control, but as you inch closer to him, he realises he hasn't.
Perhaps leaning toward him wasn't the right thing to do, but with your hand on his cheek, you're not able to hold back any longer.
Smooth lips lock with yours, and your once concerned hand fell mellow against him, slipping back to lace beneath the dark waves of his hair, a gentle tug. There's a subtle taste of whiskey on his lips as you continue to kiss him delicately. The subdued motions are returned, palms finding your hips to move you toward him. You set on your knees, though he tugs more, and you find yourself seated within his lap.
Suddenly, the lull of the television is drowned out by the sound of your own heart racing within your ears, the quiet smacking of lips, the slow breaths from your chest. Everything feels heightened, leaving you with a sense of both belonging and urgency - you want so much more of him. Want overpowers any other logic in your mind, and although you suspect you will come to regret this in the near future, you can't help but entertain the thought of spending more time like this, within his arms.
Suguru's tongue finds your own in a ploy to deepen this kiss, and you shyly accept. To begin with, the motions are a little sloppy, though you're soon dancing against one another in a languid pace. He raises his tongue and glides against you, and you gracefully repeat the action, growing closer, chest to chest, hands locking one to the other as desperation grows with every drag of his lips over yours.
When your mouth is left bare, his finds itself at the nape of your neck, open mouthed kisses and nips igniting spark under skin. His fingers tilt your head backward to allow himself more room, and a soft bite at your flesh gives rise to a groan in your throat. His fists tighten over your shirt.
He tugs at the fabric, palm kneading bare skin before deciding to discard of the garment altogether. Soon enough, there's a trail leading just shy of his bedroom door, and he finds himself asking the question; "Are you sure?"
You don't allow yourself to think twice, to consider the consequences that may arise from sleeping with a close friend, and ignore the bubbling in your stomach. There's a voice telling you to take it slow, though it is overpowered by want. Years had been spent beside him yearning to be more than just friends - this would prove his loyalty to him, wouldn't it?
"I want you." You feel sure of it, even if there could've been a date first, a confession of longing. If this is the opportune time, then so be it.
When you wake the next morning, there's an empty space beside you. It makes sense, you're just friends after all, but it still stings all the same. Your skin is bare beneath the blanket, and when you sit up to glance around the room, you notice your clothes folded into a neat pile at the foot of the bed.
When you're dressed and up Suguru isn't in the apartment, and you realise what this is. He's unhappy, and you were just caught up in his sheets after he'd needed stress relief.
You don't wait up too long for him because you're sure he doesn't want to see you. In your last moments you look naively for a note he may have left for you, hoping for the promises of breakfast - though of course, there wasn't any. There's no text either, and you're back at work soon enough, trying to ignore the fact he won't even look at you anymore.
Weeks later, you're teary eyed and looking down at the result you didn't want to see. Of course, you're pregnant.
It's difficult to come to terms with the positive before you. Out of many imagined scenarios you played within your mind since childhood, finding out you were pregnant within the staff toilets of Jujutsu High had been the last of your predictions for what should be a magical moment within your life.
There were suspicions that led you to this moment, and perhaps you could've done this at home, maybe taken some time to discuss with someone other than your rapidly racing mind, but you simply couldn't take it anymore. Your period was a week late, you felt tired, your stomach weak - it was evident without the test that something was up. The two pink lines had simply confirmed your fears.
Your fingers shake, eyes welling with tears that you wish wouldn't fall. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, you'd planned on speaking to him about that night, to admit those feelings you ignored for far too long. Before then, there'd been little progression on the budding crush you harboured throughout your adolescence, though now you felt stupid for ever growing close to him.
There's a few options that cross your mind among picturing yourself telling Suguru the news. You hadn't even built the confidence to tell him your feelings, how would you tell him you were carrying his child?
This was something you were hoping to reserve for a lover, for someone who'd adored every fibre of your being, who would love and support you through the difficulties of carrying and raising a child. As much as it pained you, you weren't that person to Suguru.
Your heart pulses in your chest, and you try to picture a life with him, one the pair of you would make along with a third, though you can't help but remember his lack of passion for you following those moments entwined with him. Because since that night, he'd done nothing to display any form of fondness toward you.
You would have to deal with this on your own.
You put the test in your pocket, pulling yourself together and placing your hand on the stall's lock before stepping out into the hall. It's a near silent journey back to your classroom, the sound of your beating heart and uneven breaths your only soundtrack, a whirring in your head that you don't seem to notice until you're at your desk, putting the test into the opening of your bag.
"You're still here?"
Satoru's voice causes your body to jolt, eyes wide as you glance to your classroom door. His arm rests at the frame, head cocked to one side. You wonder if he'd seen anything, though you're sure he would've reacted by now, so you stay quiet.
"Are you drinking with us tonight?" There's a smile on his face, one that hasn't changed through the years you'd known him and it takes you back to the innocence of your junior years, before any of you had really harnessed the power of the cursed energy that resides inside you.
You think of the child you hold, of their energy. Would they take after you, or their father?
"No," You clear your throat. "I've got a bunch of paperwork to fill out." It's a lie, but you sell it well with an open gesture to a pile of paper next to you. It's mostly student reports and letters, but you rely on the fact he won't notice.
"Eesh." He sighs exuberantly, exaggerating his expression with bared teeth. "Sucks to be you!" His exclaim is followed by a creek of wood as pushes himself from the frame, turning. "See you tomorrow."
You sigh with relief, though it's only temporary - you have a lot to think about.
It made things easy after some time--you could hold conversations without expectation, offend without having to apologize.
One year ago, when he asked you to join him on his last mission, you couldn't think of a reason not to.
You remember the embers in his eyes, drowning in pools of black ink, the orange glow casting shadows of himself against his skin. You remember the wailing and the thunderous splintering of wood.
You stood next to him, not knowing what he was thinking, and not needing to.
~~~
After Riko died, his eyes always lingered.
He didn't care if you felt it, which you always did.
The first thing he noticed was the white ribbon in your hair--how similar it was to hers, how he could have sworn you had ripped it from her dead body.
He latched onto it like a magnet. It was the only thing he cared about when it came to you.
When you stopped wearing it, he stopped looking. You kept it on after that.
~~~
The first time you truly took note of him was on the train.
There was a fog behind his eyes. His face was downcast, his eyes hollow and cheeks sunken. His skin clung to his jaw like a lifeline.
You saw his reflection in the window against the green. It's all you needed to see through him.
You had forgotten your ribbon that day. He didn't notice.
~~~
The next time you saw him was after Haibara died.
His presence was undeniable, as if he had reached some sort of enlightenment. He looked like an anchor being untethered, a dead weight lifted by a riptide.
He was glowing. He was the sun.
~~~
You feel the heat of an unyielding stare on the back of your neck, as if you're in the sights of an imminent attack. You ignore it and focus on your task--the metal in your hand, and turning its imbued cursed energy into flame.
The steel rod sits loosely in your fist, occasionally twirling around your thumb and forefinger. Your grip tightens ever so slightly, and it ignites into flames, embalming the steel in blistering red heat. You loosen your fist, where fresh burn marks paint over old ones along the creases in your palm. You look down, unamused.
You hate training. You never wanted to be a sorcerer, but the world needs more of them than you need to have other dreams.
You're trapped in this heat every day--the beating sun on your nape, the eyes on your every move, the fire in your hands.
You're not particularly attached to the politics of jujutsu, nor do you care about your place amidst it all. You're here to get in and get out, and hopefully live a somewhat comfortable life once you've accumulated enough money from missions.
Get in. Get out.
~~~
Get in. Get out.
You look at the steel rod in your hand, now the length of a staff. It glows red in your fist. Wood splits like the crack of a whip, shrinking to charcoal in seconds. Fire licks the straw-edge of each roof and collapses into the rooms below them. Flames engulf screams, smoke suffocates cries.
He stands amidst the destruction like something reborn, his eyes absorbing the light and killing it.
Ash falls from the sky like gray snow, landing on your hair and uniform. Your hand gently tugs at the white ribbon in your hair, now smeared in soot. You don't need it for him to look at you anymore. Now, you're all he has left.
You let the fabric sift through your fingers. The sweeping gale carries it into the inferno, where it becomes another piece of ruin.
"Did you know the cost of freedom can be freedom itself?” you ask, your voice steady like a secret in the wind--a rustle through the foliage, "Are we free by choice? Or are we made free, and made to pay for it later?"
You look at him, and you see something take shape and solidify in the stillness before your eyes.
"Gojo Satoru will never be free as long as he's alive," you say, your eyes sharpening as they land on him. "What's the point in being the strongest if you're not free?"
You watch his unblinking eyes trained on the village below, and that same heat rises in your nape. You miss his gaze on it.
"But you're different," you continue--it's almost a whisper as it leaves your lips, like the final breath of a dying cinder before it turns to ash--
"You can be strong and free."
~~~
After, you were back on the train.
You stood next to each other, each holding onto a hanging handle as the city dissipated into the flat green, and your lives slipped farther and farther away from your present.
You watched your reflections in the window in front of you, light as a feather and still as stone--two ghosts trapped in a mirror.
You didn't ask for a reason. You didn't say much of anything. You agreed to do a favor, and in return, you gained an escape.
Summary/tags: Suguru talks his girlfriend into going to a haunted house. Fluff
Yn couldn’t believe that she let her boyfriend talk her into this. She was a scaredy cat, horror movies made her cry and left her unable to sleep for days.
Suguru was always by her side when their friends insisted on torturing her with anything scary. He knew how much it effected her, so why he thought a haunted house was a good idea was beyond her.
A loud creek to her left has Yn jumping, hands coming to clutch onto Suguru’s arm. Her nails dig into his skin through his thick sweatshirt. Suguru’s laugh is drowned out by the screams that echo around them.
He tugs her along, a teasing smirk resting on his lips. “You’re such a baby.” If she wasn’t so scared she’d tell him off. Unfortunately he was her life line right now.
Flexing her numb fingers, Yn steps closer to his side. Her voice turns into a whine, “How much longer Suguru?” He shrugs, facing forward as he continues walking through the dark hallway. “I hate to break it to you but we just started.”
Yn groans, her head falling against his shoulder. An actor jumps from the right, the chainsaw in his hands revving to life. She shrieks loudly, pushing herself further into her boyfriend.
She can feel his laughter against her body. “You’re so mean to me.” Her eyes close tightly letting Suguru lead her the rest of the way out. “Oh come on you big baby. It’s not that bad.”
Yn doesn’t dare move from his side. “You owe me for this. All I wanted was a cozy night at home.” Suguru hums, keeping a steady pace so his girlfriend doesn’t trip. “Whatever you want sweetheart. We’ll even go home and watch spirited away after this.”
It’s only when Yn sees a bit of light does she lift her head. Her eyes blinking to adjust from the darkness. Her grip tightens once before letting go completely. “Never letting you talk me into anything ever again.” Suguru chuckles, arm coming around to rest on her waist. “Sure baby.”
