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MDNI 18+ 〃 Suguru eats you out in front of your ex-boyfriend Satoru
“Tell me, Satoru.”
Suguru's voice is a velvety drawl. He’s positioned between your thighs, big hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking gentle circles over your skin. Mocking. “Why’d you never eat her out?”
You freeze, heat crawling up the back of your neck.
Across the room, Satoru leans back in his chair like he couldn’t care less. But his posture still betrays him somehow, shoulders rigid and jaw ticking and tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, chewing on words he can’t spit out.
Suguru chuckles. Leans forward, pressing a kiss against the plush inside of your thigh, slow and open-mouthed. He leaves a wet print behind, and you shiver.
“That’s what I thought,” Suguru hums against your skin, tone rich with amusement. “Too wrapped up in yourself. Couldn’t even give her the bare minimum.”
His thumbs spread your folds apart, the pad of one brushing briefly against your clit and making your breath hitch. His eyes flicker up to yours, all heavy-lidded and dark, before sliding over to Satoru. “Pathetic, really.”
Then he lowers his head.
The first drag of his tongue is languid. Flat against your fluttering cunt before sweeping up, up, until he takes a swirl around your puffy clit. Your hips jolt, a broken gasp tearing out of you before you can bite it back, and he smiles against you in satisfaction. Lifts his gaze to Satoru as he licks his lips.
“She’s sweet,” he drawls, fingers pressing against your inner thighs to keep you spread wide. “You wouldn’t know that though, would you?”
Satoru doesn’t answer. He stares at you both, mouth pressed thin.
And then Suguru's head bobs down again, tongue circling your clit all slow and deliberate before flicking the tip against it in light, maddening passes. Every sound you make has his lips curving against you, self-satisfied, until your hands are tangled in the sheets and your knuckles straining white trying to hold on. And just when your body tenses on the edge, he pulls away, mouth glistening.
“Mm,” he murmurs, dragging two lazy fingers through your syrupy folds. Pushing inside. The stretch makes you gasp, thighs clenching, and he uses his other hand to lock your knees together and force your legs back. Away, so your clenching cunt is facing him, and you can’t do anything but take, take, take.
He fucks you slow. Curls his fingers just enough to graze that spot deep inside before withdrawing almost entirely. “Sensitive little thing. You ever hear her cry out like this, Satoru? No?”
He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe. Instead, he dips down, mouth sealing over your clit. Sucking hard, tongue swirling while his fingers pump faster, knuckle-deep, twisting and stroking and spreading inside you until your back arches off the sheets. You cry out his name and he hums into you, eyes snapping to Satoru’s.
He doesn’t look away. Not once. Holds Satoru’s gaze like a challenge while you fall apart beneath him, trembling around his fingers.
And when you slip into your high, walls fluttering and milking his fingers, Suguru groans like a man starved. You drip all over his hand and wrist, down his chin, coating his lips – and still, he doesn’t flinch away. If anything, he works his fingers in harder, crooks like he's coaxing for more and dragging it out until you’re sobbing his name.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, finally easing back. Then he lifts his hand, rivulets glistening down his wrist, and angles it toward Satoru with a slow, smug grin. “Ever make her squirt like that? No.. of course not. You wouldn’t know how.”
He snorts. Presses his fingers to Satoru’s mouth.
The other man stiffens, jaw clenched, but Suguru pushes harder until his lips part, two digits sliding between them.
“Go on,” Suguru croons. “Taste her.”
Satoru’s lashes lower, throat bobbing before his tongue moves. Slow, curling around Suguru’s fingers, sucking them clean.
“Sweet, isn’t she, Sa-to-ru?”
And for all the arguments you had with Satoru – how he always put himself first and never listened when you told him what you needed and left you aching for the faintest aftertaste of affection – he still glances over at you now, Suguru’s fingers lying on his tongue, with the same look of worship he used to give when you were his.
a collection of my favorite geto suguru fics i’ve read over the years that i want to spotlight, consisting of pieces that include fluff, angst, smut, and more. fics are divided by series/oneshots/drabbles. please heed all warnings & give all included authors their very much deserved flowers! shamelessly plugging my own geto fics as well :p i’ve marked superscript next to authors to indicate if they’ve been included multiple times in this post!
series:
best friend!geto (ongoing?) by @fricks ; i’ve reread all of the entries in this series so many times that i could beam this shit onto the back of my eyelids and reread them all over again just like that. i adoreeee geto’s characterization here (fricks is a geto expert truly) he’s such a charming little shit and the witty convos between him and reader are just tew good. i can’t decide on a favorite part cos they’re all amazing IM SERIOUS. THIS IS MY LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA PLEASE DONT BURN IT DOWN!!!!
dishonorable (complete) on ao3 ; regency/bridgerton aus are always divine and this fic is no exception. duke geto and reader’s chemistry is too good 🚬 love how they want to strangle each other yet they flirt with each other in the same breath. duke geto take it out its hurtingggguuuhhhh
six degrees of separation (complete) by @starmapz ² ; i read this yeaaaars ago so imagine my surprise when i dug this fic up again and realized trish wrote it 😭 the angst in this has stuck with me for YEARS . geto loves so hard and that facet really shines in this fic. the entire thing is incredibly true to his character as a whole and serves as an amazing analysis of his character. how am i even allowed to read this masterpiece without a price? like wdym this is FREE?
strangers (ongoing) by @yenayaps ; this fic will hit you hard cos jfc this is a truck of ANGST. i’ve never wanted eternal happiness and peace for two people so badly in my life. geto and reader have grown distant after a miscarriage and are in the process of learning & choosing to love each other again, and it makes me wanna bawllll. their arguments and thoughts are so grounded and feel incredibly real, making this fic all the more immersive and making the angst pack a few extra punches. i think about the diabolical restaurant scene once a month at least 😭
no. one party anthem (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; this rockstar suguru right here is one i would suck right off the bone like hes a box of chicken wings. girl dad? charmer of the year n hes slick wit it too? THE PINING THE CHASING THE GROVELING THE TRYING TO BE BETTER FOR READER??? top tier truly. indie always shows out with her various geto series and this has gottaaaaa be one of the best. the angst and smut here are unparalleled. that hotel sex scene STAYS living in my head (gif of the duck smoking and shaking its head with a satisfied smirk). im forever rooting for geto in this fic IDGAF!!!!
meow or never (complete) on ao3 ; geto’s little shit of a cat (aptly named gojo) gets reader’s cat pregnant and chaos ensues. geto wants reader’s cookie so bad lmfaoooo just like gojo with reader’s cat… this whole fic is genuinely SO hilarious. super domestic, fluffy, and very slice-of-life too!
fwb!suguru (ongoing?) by @eraserbread ² ; elly’s prose is to die for and her word choice is so unique too so her works are always a treat to the soul. the way she writes geto.. mm… truly a five course meal. need geto and reader to communicate and stop trying to win the nonchalant-off (they’re both failing to be nonchalant). i’m shaking them. god i wanna smash these two together like barbie dolls 😢 (😏). let me get my wallet because it must be illegal to read this piece of art for FREEEEE?
lazy sunday morning and whispers in the library (complete) on ao3 ; going from domestic intimacy and first times in the first fic to some freaky exhibition shit in the second fic… yeaaaah this is my bread and butter. geto is SO romantic and sweet in these installments, especially the first part 😪 this geto needs to be in my bed by yesterday or i’m hanging myself by the ears on the nearest tower
smoking with stoner!getou suguru (complete) on ao3 ; been a while since i’ve read this but geto is slick and sexy ass motherfucker in this fic. his dialogue had me cheesinggggg I WANT HIM BAD BRAH! the exposition here is so lively and perfectly immersive, idk how to explain it but its SUCH a vibe. gojo and toji are total clowns in this fic lmfao the shit they were pulling in the background had me ctfuuuu. this fic is a certified fave
the roommate part 1 & part 2 (ongoing?) by @kenzieluvsnanami ; call this puth british with the way roommate geto is innittttt 🇬🇧 the way geto is written in these makes me nut untouched and on the spot… this man is a sexy ass fiend and ykw i like them crazy just like this. ESPECIALLY when it’s geto. love his cheekiness and tomfoolery here lmfaooo he’s entertaining asf
sometimes i peep on the handsome dad next door (complete) on ao3 ; the dilf suguru to beat all sugurus 🙂↔️ every time there was so much of a mention of either 1. his gray streaks or 2. how he interacts with nanako and mimiko, i started shaking like a little rabid dog on steroids. reader is such a freak in this LMFAOOJTKWHR just like me fr… i too would wake up at 5am just to watch geto get dressed 🤤 he’s so hot and assured and confident in this fic and it makes me wanna jump his bonessss. his and reader’s relationship and build-up is something you don’t wanna miss out on!
darling (complete) on ao3 ; the second i saw black reader x musician geto i knew this would be toe-curling. AND IT IS! op did such a lovely job of portraying the hard of hearing reader here. i adore how geto and reader use each other as inspiration for music and for writing, and seeing their arrangement develop into a relationship is so worth the read c:
breathe me in on ao3 ; fwb!suguru in this fic… i gotta light a blunt every time i think of him. i was sold the second he asked reader to come over not for sex but to cuddle and to have someone simply there with him. geto is soooo sensual to his core here like every thing he does and says feels like honey… and he’s SO smooth jfc. so fine. my sweetheart AND my little shit :,) the smut here is toe-curling
the ethics of relationships (complete) by @gojonanami ; i typically don’t read prof/students but this fic is just one of those onessss and if you haven’t read it then you’re missing out 🙂↔️ that’s how yummy this whole five course meal is. i’ve harassed so many friends with the link to this fic LMFAO i just want everyone to read this BAD… i’m due for a reread because it’s been a WHILE but so many scenes in this fic stand out in my memory. super good overall!!
brat (ongoing) by @kunareads ; producer geto and pop star reader you are so very famous to me! reader is such a vibe in this fic and it makes her relationship with geto all the more fun & enticing. their dynamic feels like snorting a line of coke in the best way possible but also i need these fools to communicate asap 😣 the formatting of this fic is SO fun and feels super interactive/immersive!!
vault boy (ongoing) by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; fallout/apocalypse au!! if u havent gotten into fallout, indie makes the universe easy to understand. geto is such a sweetie pie in this fic and his humanity is devastating… MY POOR BABY :( i wanna hide him away in a bunker. speaking of bunkers, give me one to shack up with him in and we’d repopulate the entire world in just a few years TRRRRUST 🤣✌🏽
oneshots:
#INTRO2MUNCH101 by @satorena ; another situation where i read a fic years ago and became mutuals with the author later on (haiii serena). this fic is comedy fawking golddddd no joke but its also hot as hell. serena is too good at building up the chemistry between geto and reader (#welovemeanreadersbtw) and i love how desperate geto is here, he wants that cookie BAD. his fake nonchalant shit had no one fooled and every time reader called him out i was ctfu. the smut had me writhing brah WRITHING (and giggling profusely for many reasons)
rock you up on ao3 ; TA geto and professor reader is an unmatched dynamic brah YALL DONT EVEN GETTTT HOW MUCH I FUCK WITH THEM ANDDD THIS FIC… submissive geto was a very exciting surprise HEHEHEHEEEE i love seeing my man getting his shit rocked <3 the banter here is too mfing good and is something this writer very much excels at!!
why suguru’s wife is the best cook in the world! by @yunamoona ; a super good take on geto and his relationship with food AND the cutest meet cute to ever meet cute… yeah this is a banger. repeating what i said in the comments but when geto ate reader’s cookies i was smiling at my phone like a freak, because sometimes all it takes is just the act of kindness/love to be able to guide you down a path of healing :,) i love this fic sm. it’s one of a kind
what if you’re just someone i want around (i’m falling again) on ao3 ; post-jjk0 fix it fic where reader is assigned to watch over geto 😣💔 < the sound of my heart shattering. you can feel geto’s jadedness and bitterness radiating through the screen due to how vivid and deeply thoughtful each scene is written out. but despite it all, geto is such a sweetheart and lover to his core 😢
i’m afraid that’s just the way the world works (but i think that it could work for you and me) on ao3 ; an au where geto never defected and years later, reader and geto take in nanako and mimiko. such a heartwarming fic all around. i love my miminana forever and ever and they deserve the world
bed chem by @nanamiskentos ; this is sexy AND fucking hilarious, what MORE could you ask for. suguru had me curling my toessss in this fic jhtjwhrjsi his dialogue has me hot and ready like lil caesars. the descriptions here make me wanna lick my screen and digest every single word. best believe i’m cleaning my plate every time i reread this
it’s true i never write, but i would gladly die with you by @summer-oil ; post-defection fics where geto and reader used to be friends always destroy me in the best way possible :,) and ugh the prose here… no words can describe how beautiful and impactful it is. oh geto you yearner…
the haunting by @starmapz ² ; if you like horror fics this is absolutely the fic for you :3 if geto were my ex… shittttt i would crack him again and take him back too. this fic is a perfect blend of hot smut, angst, and unsettling horror. i can’t say much else cos of spoilers but the ending had me GAGGED
it will come back by @hellowoolf ; ballerina au with instructor geto and ballerina reader!! their push and pull in this fic had me reading with my hands (and puth 😣) clenched… the chemistry is SO buzzy and so loud. the smut is mfing fantasticcccc and the build-up to it is EXCELLENT. dialogue is on point toooooo everything geto says makes me giggle
top of the class on ao3 ; if my TA was as pretty (and pathetic) as geto in this fic, i’d crack tf out of them too 🤭 love the switch-up in the power dynamic here and how reader sooo effortlessly has geto wrapped around her finger
ghostface pussy killer by @saintkaylaa ; one thing about me is i loveeee a good fic where one chases the other and then they fuck nasty 😣 the aphrodisiacs being involved makes the stakes sm more intense (and hotter 😏). i’m obligated to reread this everyyyy october because this fic is peak
the best kind of remedy by @reignpage ; santa can i please get herbalist geto under my tree for christmas 🙏🏽 preferably naked and already oiled up 🙏🏽 stoner geto is absolutely and 100% my kryptonite everyyyy time and he’s extra sexy asl in this fic. DREAMY SIGH. the smut is so buzzyyyyy
a guide to hooking up by @thedivinegeneral ² ; this is a certified hood classic iykwim. every time this fic pops up on my dash or in my memory, i just HAVE to reread it. jade is really and truly the god of managing to make fics perfectly fluffy, hilarious, and smutty like whewwwww… geto and reader here are so special to me I LOVE THEM DEARLY 😣😋
how to baby trap marry your best friend! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; FUCK MY BABY DAD ALRIGHT!!! i love idiot best friends in love bro like just put the crush in the bag and pop the questionnnnn, the yearning in this kills me in the best way possible! the first time they have sex and take pictures of each other is forever branded in my head cos its tooooo hot 🚬
lessons in love on ao3 ; oh to fall in love with dilf geto and to retire with him… whimsical sigh. such a comforting slice of life fic. if my future partner isn’t this sweet and devoted and understanding, i don’t want em! geto here is really the perfect husband 😋
cry for me by @bunnieeteeth ; coach geto and figure skater reader! really cannot say much about this fic for the sake of spoilers, but also because i genuinely have no words for how this fic makes me feel. just wow. trust me when i say that this fic will have you sitting up in your seat and staring at your phone in shock. i want geto and reader to get together so bad but at what cost 💔
the torture of small talk with someone you used to know by @betterinvienna ; rockstar geto (and your ex) and photographer reader how you’ve both moved me and changed me irreversibly. geto is a first class yearner with a ticket straight to piningville because ohhhh my goddddd he wants reader back so mfing bad . he’s losing the nonchalant war #chalantking and i’m happy about it! such a good angst & hurt/comfort fic. i love exes fics. EVERY SINGLE SONG IS ABOUT YOU… WAH…. 😢😢😢🥺🥺🥺🥺
the practice of kissing by @lovelivision ; we all cheer for kissing practice fics!!! geto is such a mouthwatering tease in this fic ughhtksjrns i have got to fuck him . he’s such a cocky little shit but also sososo sweet with reader and so accommodating… his duality is unmatched!
praisekink4praisekink by @cherrys-wrld ; cherry always excels with writing familiar and cozy domesticity even during intimacy… dreamy sigh. geto is such a romantic WHY ISNT HE REALLLL (edit: i will update the link when this gets reposted!)
golden brown by @sixxels ; princess reader and knight geto you will be my undoing… the forbidden love here really packs a punch because they’re so desperate to be with each other and so in love, but they have to comply with the system :( i teared up while reading this fic. please never hurt me like this again (DO IT.)
ghost of you by @suguruss1ut ³ ; this fic is my 13th reason ☹️ post-defection geto and reader who still love each other despite geto’s actions/ideals is lethal. so lethal. this fic had me rolling around in bed thinking about it for dayssss after finishing it… it’s so heartbreaking UGHHHH 💔
#THE PARTY AND THE AFTER PARTY by @screampied ; lock me in a room with stripper!geto for about an hour (please trap us together longer though.) and he’s walking out pregnant god willing. whole fic had me twirling my hair and checking my wallet for extra cash to toss geto’s way
you & me by @getosurya ; perfect perfect perfect hurt/comfort after an argument between geto and reader. despite everything, they love each other sm and it bleeds through each and every action of theirs… this fic is so tender and reassuring that it makes me melt :,)
geto’s bride by @thedivinegeneral ² ; the effect that this fic has had on me actually needs to be studied because why am i so charmed by chucky doll geto to the point that i’ve sent this fic to multiple friends individually 😭😭 this shit had me CRYINGGGGG cos of how fucking funny it is alllll the way through lmfaooohtkwhrj and imagining certain scenes had me cracking up. i am such a sucker for sub geto in this fic… MAKE HIM WHIMPER!!!!
simply ear-resistible! by @indiewritesxoxo ⁴ ; bunny geto is the cutest fucking thing to ever existtttt 🥺😭 even if he has a massive attitude LMFAO. him retaining a few bunny traits/habits after returning to his original form actually makes me want to chew on his cheek. reader and geto are TOOOO cute here and i want the best for them :]
maw on ao3 ; there are no words to describe this fic or how it makes me feel without my description/thoughts majorly falling flat. i simply cannot do this fic justice… PLEASE READ IT.
ask me to bleed (for you i will) on ao3 ; post-defection geto and non-sorcerer reader who works at a bakery… another fic that is my 13th reason lowkey. this is another fic that i cannot do justice nor summarize my feelings for properly but i am once again urging you all to read this
purrrfect surprise by @suguruss1ut ³ ; do you like men who crawl on all fours while wearing cat ears?? look no further cos this is the fic for YOU!!! i love me some sub geto and this fic is pure peak. need him desperate justttt like this
drabbles:
(i’ve written so many summaries/thoughts already that i won’t be doing so for these fics. titles are all pretty self-explanatory for the most part, and these are all super good short reads!! 🫶🏽)
emo!suguru and his pretty pink princess by @epicderpface
suguru + independent gf by @satoruined
mornings with suguru by @hayajiku
sub!suguru wax play by @bluukive
arcturus beaming by @oporotheca
love, as if it were carved in stone by @go6jo
tutor!geto getting overwhelmed by @eraserbread ²
suguru volunteers to model for your art class and you didn’t expect him to have such a perfect dick by @gojosconsort
afterglow by @feyrinnn
kissing suguru by @sugurusbadhabit
binded bunny by @meowguru
domain expansion: unlimited creampies by @suguruss1ut ³
SYNOPSIS: kamo choso is a famous streamer who doesn’t seem to care about anything, but when you suddenly start reaching out and gojo satoru is determined to get you two together, he finally finds something to care about.
GENRE: fluff, social media au, strangers to lovers
AUTHOR’S NOTE: i will complete this smau!!!!! i actually started writing this in september so everything is in my drafts ready to be posted. the chapters will however be posted in december but it’s worth the wait!!!! the profiles will however be posted this week!
mdni. he says he’s 83. but he possibly can’t be, so you laugh and let him finger you at the bar anyway.
yuji itadori has always been terrible at lying.
so when you ask his name—after he’s been staring at you all night in that bar behind your workplace—he tells you it’s yuji. and when you ask how old he is, he tells you he’s 83. you just stare at him for a second. then you break out laughing.
he can’t be that old. obviously. you assume he’s joking, and yuji laughs too, a little nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. because how could he possibly explain that he’s telling the truth? that he is 83, that he just ages very, very slowly, and that despite it all he still looks like he’s barely in his late twenties, at most.
not exactly the kind of small talk you drop on someone you just met. especially not someone you already feel, stupidly and suddenly, like you could spend the rest of your life with. so you treated it like a joke, and he let you.
the night wore on. customers left one by one. last call came and went. the other bartender grumbled something about cleaning the kitchen and told you both to get lost, but neither of you moved. the neon sign outside buzzes softly while rain taps against the windows.
you stay.
he stays.
and eventually the place was empty except for the two of you.
you hop up to sit on the bar, skirt riding up just enough to show the soft skin of your thighs. yuji steps between your knees without thinking—like his body knew where it belonged before his brain caught up.
“what are you doing?” he asks, playing dumb.
your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. “you’re cute when you’re flustered,” you murmured.
his hands land on your thighs—tentative at first, then bolder when you don’t pull away. you part your legs a little wider. his breath catches when his fingers slip under your skirt, past the waistband of your panties, finding you slick and warm already.
“yuji…” you whisper.
he groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder. “god, you’re so—” he can’t finish the sentence. his fingers slide through your folds, slow and careful, circling your clit until your hips jerk against his palm. he pushes one finger inside you, then two, curling them just right while his thumb keeps moving against your clit. you gasp against his neck, nails biting into his shoulders through his shirt.
he wants to tell you everything.
about the curses crawling through tokyo at night. about the monster he saved you from before. about how he’s been quietly watching over you long before tonight—walking you home from a distance, lingering in the shadows outside your workplace, making sure nothing with teeth or claws ever got close enough to touch you.
about how he’s twenty-three going on forever and terrified you’ll run screaming if you ever saw the real him. about how he’s never wanted anyone like this—like air, like gravity, like something he can’t survive without.
instead he kisses you—deep and desperate—while his fingers fuck you in this shitty little place in shibuya. you clench around him, moan into his mouth, and he thinks maybe he can keep the lie going just a little longer.
“eighty-three, huh?” you pant against his lips after you came down from your high—shuddering, soaking his hand.
he laughs, breathless. “yeah. old man perks.”
you kiss him again, softer this time.
he thinks he might tell you the truth tomorrow.
or maybe the day after.
for now, this—your legs around his waist, his fingers still buried inside you, your smile against his—is more than enough.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
asshole!sukuna and his soft spot for shy!girlfriend!reader ༊*·˚ (18+)
asshole!sukuna doesn’t fuck with a lot of people. i mean, when you’re a 6’5, 90 kg guy with bold tattoos littering your entire body, you’re not really trying to attract sociable people. still, the borderline loner had a few exceptions, his frat brothers, a select few professors, and you.
you were the main exception.
asshole!sukuna met you one day at a fundraising event his frat was hosting, a dollar for a slap. girls would line up in front of a long table and choose a guy to hit, then pay a small donation that went towards the rspca. you and your friends were keen to donate, put some of the guys who’d fucked with their feelings in their place, or however they’d phrased it. you were mostly there for the experience, not too in tune with the whole frat fuckboy lore your friends loved to gossip about.
when you arrived, you started to feel really bad. all these guys’ cheeks were raw and red, and despite their cocky smiles, it just couldn’t be all that fun. when it came to your turn, you had to choose a guy, and your eyes drifted to asshole!sukuna. he was the biggest there, had only a slightly red cheek, and looked like he could take a hit.
asshole!sukuna forced a smile when he saw you walk up to him, your head lowered as you shyly handed over a fiver. he accepted with a, “thanks, sweetheart. go ahead.” he leaned down to your level, bracing for impact, but all he felt was a light pat on his stinging cheek.
“the fuck?”
“oh, i’m sorry! i tried to go soft, i—”
“you call that a slap? what, think i can’t handle it?” he scoffs. “slap me again, hun, harder. don’t waste your money.” he leans down again, looking you in the eye to challenge you.
but again, all that comes is a light tap.
“oh, for god— it’s a dollar for a slap, not a dollar for a fuckin’ cheek massage.” he huffs, looking over your expression with an irritated scowl, only to catch that hesitant little frown on your face.
asshole!sukuna can’t help but crack a smile. he’d had about ten girls come and slap the fuck outta him today. they were all old flings desperate to get their get-back, but that was hardly the point. you were this new thing entirely, a soft thing that seemed sweet regardless of if he was notorious for being a cunt or not.
“what’s y’ name, sweetheart?”
asshole!sukuna decided he wanted to see you again after that. you’d caught his interest, which doesn’t happen often. he asks for your number. your instagram, your snapchat, everything. it was kinda pathetic how eager he was to get to know you, but you handed them all over anyway. your friends warn you after the fact that he’s definitely not good news, but you can’t help but want to see where this goes after only dating squares for most of your life.
asshole!sukuna takes you on a date the very next day, and you were pleasantly surprised at how chivalrous he was. he pulled out your chair at the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant he took you to, he paid for everything, and even more surprisingly, made you feel comfortable. you talked for hours about everything and anything.
you learned that asshole!sukuna had a lot of hobbies. he played guitar, drums, did a fair few building sketches in the art room with his friend geto when he had time, and had a real connection to film. all of which were things you found extremely attractive, and he could tell, because the next time you two went out he took you to his dorm and showed you his musical endeavors.
“you’re like... super talented, it’s really attractive.” you smile gently, sitting at the foot of his bed, watching as he finishes up a love song he’d been learning for you.
“yeah, y’ think so? gonna come to all my gigs when i’m a famous musician?”
“will i get a backstage pass?”
“oh, absolutely.”
asshole!sukuna had officially swooned you after about five dates. he'd mustered up the courage to ask you to be his at that same restaurant he’d taken you to on that first date, and the rest was history. you and sukuna, the couple everyone of his mates envied due to how perfectly you two fit together.
“how the hell did a guy like you bag a girl like her. yr' gonna destroy the poor thing.” geto teased while they were smoking up one night.
asshole!sukuna could only reply with, “god, don’t you just hate jealous, hating ass motherfuckers?”
asshole!sukuna loved to not so subtly brag about you to literally anyone he talked to. (which wasn’t many, but still.)
“eugh, you’re buying lunch? my girlfriend made me food today, fucking loser.” he’d laugh at the dining hall when gojo and geto sat next to him with a greasy burger and fries. they just gave each other a look, smiled, and rolled their eyes.
“hm? nah, can’t tonight. me and my girl are getting hot pot. have fun drinking your problems, tho.” he’d turn toji down, turning his nose up at the idea of bar hopping like he wasn’t the most frequent man along the strip a few months back.
“a two man? i’m not bringing my girl around your little one and done situation, don’t ask me that shit again.” he’d laugh in jogo’s face, hating the idea of his precious baby being around a sleaze bag like him.
asshole!sukuna always puts you first. his frat’s planning something big, another fundraising night where they really care about attendance, and he’s meant to be there early to help set up. but out of the blue, you’ll send him a text just to say that you've had a slightly shitty day, and boom, he’s suddenly nowhere to be found. his phone’s off, car’s out of the driveway, and he’s at your door with your favorite food and that pissed look, how dare the world have the nerve to bother you.
asshole!sukuna likes to keep you very close to him when you’re out and about, with either an arm at your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, he’s most comfortable when you’re right there where he can see you. that way, if anything were to happen, you’d be there for him to protect.
asshole!sukuna lets you get away with absolutely everything.
“ryo, can i draw on you? like, draw on your back while we watch a show or something?”
“sure, baby.”
“ryooo, can i braid your hair?”
“of course, love.”
“hey, ryomen? could you drive me to my friend’s house? she lives on the other side of town, though.. it’s okay if you don’t want—”
“no, no. let’s go, sweetness.”
“ryo, you smell.”
“shower with me then, baby.”
with anyone else, asshole!sukuna would have either yelled or broken their jaw for even thinking they could ask him such questions. but with you? the princess gets what the princess wants or whatever the saying he made up in his head was.
asshole!sukuna fucking hates when people talk over you. it’s a common occurrence due to your soft-spoken nature, you’ll be in the middle of saying something, and someone’ll cut in with whatever thing they think is funnier or more worth listening to. sukuna never lets it slide. “she was talking, dickhead.” he’d scoff, shutting them up and earning a shy, thankful smile from you, as you continued with what you were saying, far more important than whatever that clown had to yap on about anyways. (in sukuna’s mind, at least.)
asshole!sukuna spends a shit ton of money on you. you almost always go against the idea, but he just can’t help it... when he sees your eyes light up when you see something you like at the mall, he physically can’t resist. he’ll bookmark the product, then order it online to come to your apartment the next day.
“ryo... why do i have another package?” you whine over the phone, earning nothing but a chuckle from the other end.
“could tell you wanted it, so just enjoy it, sweet thing. you deserve all the fruits of my labour.”
“you don’t work? isn’t it your parents’ mon—”
“semantics. just enjoy, baby.” and he hangs up the phone, grabbing his keys to drive to your place and see how you like the new gift. he thinks it was a new dress? couldn’t be sure, it was hard keeping up with the millions of notifications from the post office.
asshole!sukuna remembers everything about his girl and makes sure you’re always getting exactly what you want. if he’s out getting dinner before driving to your place, he’ll stop at five different places if that meant getting your order perfectly correct. local maccas has a broken ice cream machine? he’s driving to the next location to try his luck there. one place doesn’t have the kind of noodles you like? he’s making his way to the closest chinese place to see if they do. he is the embodiment of “if he wanted to, he would,” and it’s all worth it seeing your face light up when he holds up the paper bag with a smile.
“your favourite.”
“oh my god? this is the place out of the city? how did you—”
“don’t worry about it, angel.”
and that was another thing, ashole!sukuna didn’t let you worry about anything. your place felt too messy? he was over there turning on mlp equestria girls and helping you clean. you wanted a home cooked meal? he’s at the store buying the ingredients. you needed help with an assignment? he’s pushed back his own work to sit down and help you smash them out.
asshole!sukuna is so overly territorial when it comes to functions. he doesn’t know, there’s just something about people drunk and horny all around you that ticks him off. he’ll always have you either sat next to or on his lap at frat parties. you stick to him regardless, but he has to make it obvious to all the fuckwits blatantly staring at you that you are indeed, his.
if they don’t get the hint the first time and are still gawking after his mild pda, asshole!sukuna would up the ante. he’ll take you off to some hallway or, if the guys are being particularly sleazy, he’ll kiss you right there. his lips trailling up and down your neck while he stares them dead in the eye, challenging them to look away.
“ryo... people are looking!” you whisper nervously.
“let them, sweetheart. you’re too pretty not to stare at.” he grins against your neck, sucking and biting at your soft skin.
by that point, they always look off. whether that be due to his death glare or the realisation that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon was beside the point.
asshole!sukuna gets embarrassingly hard at the smallest little things with you. you’ll just be sitting on the couch together and you’ll start scratching his back or head, boom, hard. when you’re sitting next to him in the library and you’re biting your pen, boom, hard. even when you’re just laying in bed, tired from the day, he’ll lay next to you and just sigh.
“how the fuck do you just look like that. you make it so hard to keep my shit to myself.” he groans as his arms snake around your waist.
“jeez, i can feel that thing poking into my back... what did i do now?” you smile sleepily.
“i wish i knew. seems like one look at you and i pop a boner.” he admits, a little embarrassed.
“can i help you out?”
asshole!sukuna loved how willing you were to service him, but preferred it the opposite way round. sukuna would spend hours between your pretty thighs if he could, sloppily kissing and sucking at your cunt with dazed eyes, loving nothing more than the pretty moans and groans he could pull from your throat.
“fuck yeah, y’ like that, baby? you like my tongue, hm?” he’d tease with his mouth full, pumping two fingers in and out of your soaked pussy as he dragged you closer and closer to your orgasm.
asshole!sukuna knew how wet his filthy words could get you, and he abused that knowledge each and every time he needed you prepped and ready for him.
“y’ think you can take me, baby, yeah? think you can take this fat cock?” he’d taunt, slapping the thick head against your cunt as your slick coated the pink, glossy skin. “fuckkkk, pretty pussy’s beggin’ t’ get drilled.”
“what’s that? you need me? well, isn’t that fuckin’ cute. beg a little more and maybe i’ll give you what you want.”
“be a good girl n’ say please and it’s all yours, angel.”
asshole!sukuna was massive, but you always took him so well. “you can do it, baby. i know you can.” he’d coo in your ear, lining up the monster of a thing.
“one, two, fuckkk.”
asshole!sukuna saw stars every time he’d push in, letting go of a long, pornographic moan as he began to thrust slowly in and out of your tight entrance. the look on your face as your eyes rolled back in pleasure made coming in less than a minute extremely hard, but the intense need to make you finish first overrode any sort of selfish desire to fill you up to the brim in the first few minutes.
asshole!sukuna loved missionary the most because he could see your pretty face. he enjoyed a bunch of freaked-out positions, but nothing could beat watching your pupils dilate and your lips quiver the second you finally came, his name on your tongue as you let go of the tension building in your tummy.
“y’ gonna come, baby? y’ gonna come on this cock?” he’d grunt, slamming his member deeper and deeper the louder your cries got, faster and faster until— “fuck, ryo! m’ cumming!” you’d stutter, your insides spasming on his cock, drawing out his own orgasm with one final pound, filling you up with hot ropes of his seed.
asshole!sukuna was the king of aftercare. words that were filthy before, now soft and caring.
“you okay, baby? did i go too hard on ya?” he’d ask through tired pants, standing to grab the wet wipes in the side drawer to wash your messy parts off.
“you want me to order something? anything you want, love. i’ll get you anything and everything.”
“c’mon, sweetheart. drink some water.”
asshole!sukuna never made you feel small after intimacy, in fact, sometimes you enjoyed the aftermath more than the mindblowing sex.
“m’ okay, ryo. just wanna cuddle.” you’d admit shyly, reaching for him to come back to bed.
his eyes would soften and he’d plop down next to you, pulling you into his lap. “anything for you, angel.”
sure, sukuna was an asshole, but he couldn't even dream of mistreating you, his biggest exception.
“love you, baby.”
“love you too, ryo.”
a/n: i wrote this semi off my face so excuse any bad word or structural choices 💘
Synopsis: Ryomen Sukuna is a good knight. Perhaps he might be the greatest in history. You are his childhood friend, the one who torments his dream, the princess he swore to protect. However you are arranged to marry Gojo Satoru, a lord from the North. Will he confess his love for you? Or will he destroy himself as he watches the woman he loves marry another?
summary description: very loosely loosely based off the game of thrones universe( you will see some easter eggs)Sukuna and reader are bad at feelings, angst, oc sukuna, oral( fem. receiving), smut, angst with happy ending, sukuna's tattoo's as scars, erm some lobotomy kaisen references… I was bored sorry
Word count: 5k
a/n: tiny reuplod because tumblr flagged me, :(
Your face was made by a lady from the south and by a king
You are the realm’s delight. But to Sukuna you were his hunger— his ruin.
At the age of thirteen, he trained to be a knight. Before he was an orphan, a loveless child who was a scavenger trying to survive. He grew up in the capital, living rough and fighting every day to prove he belonged there, that he was someone worth fearing.
You remember the first time you met him, you were trying to run away from your governess. She was an old stern lady but meant well. You had hidden in the stables, and he happened to be on rotation and by the gods you scared him half to death.
Your begged him to not rat you out. Only wanting a break from your royal duties, only wanting for once to be a child.
You were glad he did not, because he became your friend.
At age seventeen, he was promoted to the king's guard. Sometimes you’d visit him at his station in the monastery garden to complain about your day—how your ladies-in-waiting were snobbish and obsessed with finding husbands. He’d rant about his difficult comrades. He often teased you about your lavish dresses and your perfectly proper pronunciation of words.
He loved pulling pranks on you, too. Once, he caught a rat scurrying through the kitchens and waited patiently for you to approach before releasing it at your feet.
Atlas, at the age of eighteen, the day came when war came. Many were called to arms, Sukuna among them.
You wept into him, clinging to his armor, begging him not to go, not to leave you. “Who is going to steal pastries from the kitchens with me?” you sobbed. “Who will stand beside me when I torment my poor governess?” He held you close and soothed you, murmuring against your ear that he would return—stronger, taller.
“I don’t care,” you said. “Cut down every man who threatens this land. Just come home. Come home to me.”
He left the following morning.
You couldn’t bear it. Your face was covered in snot and tears. You looked unrecognizable. Weeks later, a letter came from him—from the front lines. He teased you, saying you had looked like a fish when he left. You sent one back, calling him a boar.
The letters were what helped keep you sane. For the last three years he fought for the crown, for the safety of the realm, for you.
When the war ended, you rejoiced. He would be coming home to you. Rumors of his victories reached you long before he did—stories that spread like wildfire through the castle halls. They called him the Strongest, the Disgraced One. To the kingdom he was a savior.
But to you… he was Sukuna.
When the army reached the throne room. He was the first to enter. You gasped because he was taller, his pink hair darkened by age. He looked more mature since you last saw him. His armor, once ornate, was now battered by war. His face carried the weight of the war. A scar ran horizontally across the bridge of his nose, and at the center of his forehead lay a crown-like, trident-shaped mark
He was beautiful.
Your father, the king, rewarded Sukuna by assigning him to be your personal guard. His salary is now triple the amount he started than most of the guards.
You were happy.
However, that happiness soon turned sour because by the next month, a week after your name day, like every woman of your time…they need to marry.
“Satoru Gojo?” The name left your lips in disbelief. You had heard stories of the high-born heir from the northern lands. They are a noble house, and have striking platinum blonde hair. They are very honorable and known for their loyalty to themselves. You recalled that they had remained neutral in the last war, untouched and unbothered, tucked away in a region where winter was endless and harsh. But the man himself? He was a stranger to you. You knew nothing of his character, nothing of how he treated those around him.“But I don’t wish to marry! Why must I?” you protested.
“Enough of this foolishness, child!” your father snapped. “You are my heir. You will be queen one day, and a queen must provide an heir of her own.”
He sat across from you at the long dining table. Your plate was nearly empty, and between you both, a towering bowl of fruit blocked half of your parents’ faces from view. Your mother’s voice softened the air between you.
“Please, (y/n). He is a good man. pledged us their military support and unwavering loyalty. The crown needs this alliance.” You shook your head.
“But I do not know him.” Your lips are quivering.
“As I did with your father.” Despite the tower of fruit blocking your view, you see your mother lean toward her husband and place a gentle but firm hand over his shoulder. “Now we are happy.” She then turns to you. “Trust me, you will be happy. Give it some time.”
“Absolutely ridiculous!” You are in your quarters, your body sprawling on the bed. It's half till midnight and Sukuna is in the corner of your room, his posture is firm but soft. “Selling me off like I’m some unfurnished good,” you mutter, snatching the pillow beside you and screaming into it. You heard Sukuna chuckle.
“They mean well. You are of age now and the small-folk are beginning to worry why haven’t you married yet.” You pick up your head from the pillow and turn to him, eyes fix and burning. “Your parents are only doing what’s best for you and the crown.”
“Don’t defend them,” you snap.
“I’m not,” he resorts. “I’m trying to be the voice of reason.” You scoff and hurl your pillow at him. He, of course, caught it naturally.
“Blah, blah, blah. Tell me something I don’t know already,” Rolling your eyes, you push yourself off the bed; the wooden frame creaks beneath your weight. Sukuna shifts from his right leg to his left, giving you a teasing, almost charming smile.
”Like what? Princess.” You cringe. You’ve told him countless times that when it’s just the two of you, to not use that royal title. “If memory serves me correctly, when you were younger, you cried to me and your parents that you wanted a husband. A prince to sweep you off your feet, and give you babies.” He dramatically leans back against the wall, his armor clacking against the stone. “Oh, sweet Sukuna,” he mocks, pitching his voice into a ridiculous falsetto. He throws one hand to his forehead and clutches his chest with the other. “I need a husband… you’re a terrible soldier… are you sure you’re even a knight?”
Heat sneaks up to your cheeks as you run towards him. He is being so loud and it was embarrassing. You slap your hand over his mouth just as you reach him. Even though he towers over you, you rise on your toes, your chest brushing his armor. “Shut up, are you mad? I did not say that nor do I sound like that.” His lips curve beneath your palm; he’s laughing. You can feel the vibrations, buzzing up your arm and down your spine. “Did you get a concussion in the front lines?” You hiss, pressing your hand against his mouth, harder this time.
While you are close to him, you notice the scars on his face appear almost translucent—dark and subtle traces softened by the dim candlelight. In the warm glow, he looks almost angelic. Your breath matches his own and you feel the hair in the back of your neck stand up. He smells of mint and sweat—evidence of the hours he spent training with the other knights earlier that day.
“Perhaps I did,” he mumbles against your palm, and instinctively you snatch your hand from his lips. “ Perhaps, a mace must’ve hit my head.” His voice is low and almost gruff. He straightens slightly and seemingly leans closer to you, as if pulled by an invisible string you both refuse to acknowledge.
For a moment, none of you speak. The silence weighs heavy on you both. Your fingers curl on each side as if trying to persevere the warm tingling sensation from his mouth. Sukuna eyes flicker to your hand, then back up to your face. You notice his jaw tightens and lips press to a thin line. He is holding himself back, steadying himself.
You swallow, unable to stand the silence any longer. It’s dangerous…painful almost.
”I…should go to sleep,” you mutter softly, and step back. “Y-you are excused.”
He glances at you briefly before nodding and steps out of your room. His scent takes him and you watch when he shuts the door.
The wedding will be in four days, and a celebration will take place in the realm’s capital.
On the first day, the noble house of Gojo arrives at the grand hall of your home. They enter gallantly. They came in with wealth and opulence. Chills shoot through your body. Although they are not the crown, you can see how much power they have.
Your parents allow you and Satoru to wander freely through the monastery garden, with Sukuna following not far behind. Your betrothed is tall, his silvery hair a striking contrast to the vibrant flowers around you. He reminds you of the illustrations in the storybooks from your childhood. But it is his eyes that truly capture you—like winter skies, pale as frost yet sharp as a blade. He is unworldly.
“Your eyes are very beautiful, my lord,” you say quietly. “I’m sure our children will take after you.” Your shoulders tense, nails pressing into your fingertips as you pray he is not a terrible match.
“Yes, to my eyes,” he replies, “and I hope not to my family’s kindness, because they are so fucking annoying.” You freeze. His casual vulgar formalities are uncommon especially from someone of noble birth.
“I…I’m sorry, my lord?”
“Please call me Satoru.” He tilts his head and a grin tugging at his lips. “If we’re going to get married in four days, I think we can skip the ‘my lord’ business. Makes me sound old.”
“Oh,” your body begins to relax. “S-Satoru,” the name sounds foreign in your tongue. His freeish personality makes everything much easier than you expected. "How is being in the capital suiting you?” You muse.
“It is alright. I must say I will need to get used to this weather, will it always be hot here?” He tugs at his collar in exaggerated distress.
“It's not all that bad,” you hide your smile. “It can be quite refreshing sometimes.” He chuckles and you both pass around the same fountain twice now, hyper fixating in the conversations about your family's expectations and the duty you must take when you are older.
“I’m glad you’re the one I’m marrying,” He says earnestly and it makes your heart flutter. “You are not as bad as I thought.”
You laugh, “What were you expecting?” He leans toward you, he is strangely close.
“I was expecting you to be snobbish,” He rolls his shoulders very dramatically . “Like those types of noble girls who eat from a golden spoon.”
“You can say bitch, I don’t mind,” you snort. “And for the record, I did eat from a golden spoon. And plate.”
He hums in mock judgment. “Yes, of course you did. I should have known my future wife was terrifyingly luxurious.” You elbow him again, but he only grins wider.
“So, tell me more about this tourney father mentioned. The one they’re holding in our honor.” His tone then shifts into something mischievous. “I heard rumors of jousting.”
“Yes! Jousting is always the most exciting part. Knights and high-borns from the far provinces come to compete. It’s loud and dangerous. Everyone watches.”
Satoru’s eyes glitter like he’s already picturing himself there. “Dangerous and loud? Sounds perfect. I’m definitely entering.”
“You?” you laugh. “In a joust?”
He gasps dramatically. “You doubt me?”
“I’ve known you for an hour and you’ve complained about the heat.”
“Well yes! A good fight should cool me down. Pray tell future wife, is there anyone strong enough to defeat me?” You bite your lip and turn behind you.
Sukuna, who has been following at a respectable distance, has let out an irritated sigh; his expression is anything but composed. His jaw is tense, his gaze sharp, and the slight twitch in his brow makes him look as though he’s moments from ripping someone in half with his bare hands.
“Hmm,” you smile and turn back. “My guard Sukuna. The strongest man I know.”
“Really?” You nod. And Satoru glances Sukuna, eyes glinting with interest. “Will he enter?”
You lift a brow and laugh. “Do you honestly think you can win? He is the reason we won the war.”
“Yes, yes, yes the disgraceful one.” Satoru muses, waving a hand. “I’ve heard stories.” He then glances back at you “If he enters or not, it does not matter. Because if I win—and I will—I expect a kiss.”
You pause, blinking “A kiss? Whatever for? We will kiss at the ceremony.”
“A victory kiss,” he clarifies. “For morale. For motivation.” His grin sharpens. “For bragging rights.”
You swallow, heart thrumming. “That depends,” you clear your throat, “will you win?”
“Nah I’d win”
On the second day of the celebration, it is the tourney.
The games —tests of strength, archery, wrestling, and many others were fun to watch. You watch many trials, many victories, and many bruised egos. Then in late afternoon your favorite event finally approaches—jousting.
Sukuna, of course enters. Without needing to tell you. He simply appeared in the lists. He is standing beside his horse as he tightens the saddle strap. He already won the last three matches and with the bracket you saw earlier, you know he will go against Satoru next.
You brighten immediately and hurry closer to him, leaning against the rails.
“Please go easy on him,” you say with a smile.
He doesn’t look at you. His jaw ticks, sharp and noticeably irritated. “Why? Wouldn’t want your precious prince getting a bruise.” He turns to you, sunlight shines on his pink hair, and unintentionally forms a halo. Its a stark contrast to his red eyes—it is anything but angelic. “He is trained, is he not? I’m sure he can take it.”
“I just don’t want you hurting him too badly,” you resort. Eyes furrowing, the insult is obvious but you ignore it. “You’re stronger.”
“I wasn’t planning on killing him,” he snaps.
“That’s not what I meant.”you snap back. You see his mouth begins to tighten.
“Then what did you mean?” You hate how your mouth closes. You hate it more that you don’t know how to answer. You care about Satoru because he is kind, funny and your betrothed. You care about Sukuna because—
Because.
But you don’t know how to say any of that. You don’t know how to turn the tangle feeling in your chest into words. So you say the wrong thing.
“I just want the match to be fair—”
“Fair?” His laugh is harsh. “What do you know of ‘fair’?”
Your brows knit. “Sukuna, what is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing,” he bites out.
“You’re clearly upset.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re snapping at me!”
“Because you’re—” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing.
You wait.
He doesn’t finish. He can’t.
So he doesn’t say anything at all. He mounts on his horse, the movement is angry and reckless. "forget it."
Satoru won the jousting and you gave him the kiss he wanted.
Late in the evening, dinner is held in the grand hall. The tables of the Gojo family and your own family stretch long. The air smells faintly of roasted meat and spice wine. You are still thinking about Sukuna—the way his words struck you.
Across the hall, he sits rigidly, a plate untouched. His gaze finds you and your heart lurches. You look away, and he shifts slightly, just enough that you catch another brief glance. The stolen glances are painful between you and your cheeks heat up. You know his heart must be hammering as hard as yours.
When time drags, you notice him standing. He is leaving a rotation change. You stand too, heart jumping—but immediately freeze as every head in the hall turns toward you and your face burns.
”I…I have a headache,” you lie quickly, voice tight. “May I be excused?” Your father nods, still murmuring thanks for the evening, and you hurry toward the exit. Sukuna is already beside you, silent, like a shadow at your side.
The walk to your chambers is quiet. Your hands brushing just slightly against his as you move. You almost reach for his—but don’t. At your door, he stops. Unlike usual, he doesn’t enter first. He leans against the frame, arms crossed. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, voice quiet but firm, “after you marry… I want to be released from the King’s Guard. Perhaps retire. Live in the countryside.”
You freeze. “Why?” Your face searches for an answer, but can’t. He doesn’t even look at you. “Sukuna,” you say again, your voice sharp. His eyes meet yours and your stomach drops.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“That’s a lie.” His jaw flexes as you continue to press on, “I know you are lying. Tell me, why?”
He exhales sharply throng his nose. “Because my duty will be finished.” You stare at him and something inside you twists.
“So that’s what I’am to you.. a duty” This makes him snap as his eyes flashes with something furious.
“That’s what you think?” he snaps. “That all of this—everything I’ve done—is just duty?” He takes a step toward you, and instinctively you step back against the wall.
“N-No, of course not,” you stammer. Hands balled into a fist, nails digging deep to draw blood.
“No? Then answer me this?” Sukuna demands, voice breaking beneath the anger. “What am I to you?” The question cleaves you open. You feel the answer rising—dangerous, impossible, too heavy to speak. You reach for something safe. Something that won’t ruin everything. “Answer me!”
You flinch and panic. It makes you choose wrong, “You’re my…friend.”
His face changes instantly. “A friend?” He repeats, almost whispering the word like it tastes wrong. "That's what I am to you?”
“N-No—Sukuna I didn’t mean—” your eyes start to swell and try to find your words but he cuts you off.
“No.” He steps away from you, crowding too close, eyes burning. “Say it properly. Is that all I am to you?” Your breath falters. Your heart screams an answer you cannot give. You can’t speak. Your silence lands between you like a blade. Sukuna lets out a single laugh—sharp, broken, nothing like him. And before your hand can reach his sleeve, before you can do the thing you’re terrified to admit.
He turns and walks away. Leaving you with your heart in your throat.
The next morning Sukuna didn’t sleep last night, his mind became unruly. He shouldn’t have snapped at you. He shouldn't have said any of it. And the evidence is written on your face. Your eyes are a crimson red, as if you hadn’t slept at all. And your lips are dry and pressed together, trying to hold you steady.
You are standing on a pony stool facing the mirror. Your wedding dress drapes around you in folds. The headdress moves quietly around you, pinning, adjusting and mooting the fabric carefully. While you…barely react, you look like a ghost. Sukuna remains at the doorway, unseen by the maids. He watches as they fix your hair and softly compliment you on how you will make a beautiful bride. How lucky you are to be wed tomorrow morning.
When one of the maids steps aside, revealing him fully in the mirror your breath stutters. You don’t turn, you don’t speak and neither does he. Your hearts splitting at each glance, it becomes more and more painful at each minute of your fitting.
Throughout the day, you both don’t speak to each other. He becomes what he always trained to be. A dog. A knight who has no value to anyone. Who stays silent and does their duty.
In the evening, your mind wanders. During the rehearsal of the vows and first dance you made several mistakes—too much for a princess. You claim it was stress from the wedding. But you lied as your mind was focused on him. You don’t want Sukuna to leave, you don't want to lose him.
When rehearsal finally ends, he leads you to your chambers, but doesn’t enter.
“Inside”, you order softly.
He stiffens, “princess—”
“Drop the formalities, I told you not to call me that." You cut in, voice now sharp. “Now get in.” Sukuna exhales from your command before opening the door. You step into your room and he follows behind you.
As soon as you hear the door click and shut you turn around to open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.
"(y/n) …please.” His voice is low…vulnerable. “I do not wish to fight with you.”
“And neither do I.” Your chest tightens. “I want to talk before…” You couldn’t find the words. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to confront reality. “I care about you. Truly I do. I don’t want us to fight. I was angry because you are going to leave and you have every right to do so.” You fight the hems of your dress, and pray to the gods you don’t start crying. “I talked to my father and he approves your resignation much to his dismay, since you are still young and strong. But regardless, he believes you deserve it since you are the reason we won the war.” Your voice begins to break as you continue. “T-there is land, half a day’s journey from here and we want y-you to have it. It used to belong to a duke a long time ago so no one lives there. You are also granted a title too.”
“I-“ his heart stops. A title. Land. All what knights want—all what they are hungry for.
But Sukuna doesn’t want that.
He wants you. He doesn’t want you to marry Satoru.
“You earned it,” you whisper—a tremble almost.
“Thank you.” He says and looks at you with gratitude and pain. He looks at you and all of a sudden the whole world goes quiet. As you step closer, you bite your lip, hard enough to leave a mark.
“Before you leave…before the ceremony…” you try to smile—lightly, playfully but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Say something to give me luck. So I don’t trip in front of the entire realm,” You laugh weakly. You know it's a lie. What you want—what you are begging for is for him to say something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something forbidden.
Sukuna knows. His throat tightens because he wants to say it too. he wants to say those three words. I love you.
But the words are stuck in his throat. It’s burning him. Sukuna the almighty strongest one, The disgraceful one. The one who killed many men in their father's armor, the one who killed many of the crown’s enemies…Is weakened by those three words. He looks at you, the apple of his eyes blurry and in pain. You were to be wed, to be someone else's by morning. He swallows. He mustn’t say it out, he can’t, so he won’t. “Ok ,” he whispers softly and he leaves, taking with him his futile devices.
“Fuck!”
Sukuna is a coward. He knows he is. He walks toward the knight's quarters.He regrets not saying it. should have let the words leave his throat instead of choking on them like a fool.
By the time he reaches his room, the guilt has curdled into anger. He thinks of every moment he’s guarded you. the times you made him laugh when he wasn’t supposed to, the stolen glances, the nights he was in your room, talking for hours about everything and anything. He thinks of you in that wedding dress, tired and hurting, still worrying about him. His jaw tightens. Damn it.
Fuck duty.
Fuck honor.
Fuck the crown.
Fuck everything that says he can’t have you. He turns sharply on his heel. And he marches straight toward your chambers.
When he opens the door, he finds you where he left you. Still standing in the center of the room, eyes are fixed on the floor. The soft sound of the door clicking shut and you lift your head. Your eyes meet his—wet and trembling.
He breaks the space between you in a heartbreak. And with no hesitation, no time to take a breath his hands are on you. Pulling you in, as his mouth crushes to yours in desperation.
“Sukuna,” you gasp as your hands fling to the back of his head. Fingers grasping his hair and pulling him deeper into you. His tongue licks your lips before entering inside your mouth. He moans and removes himself. His hands cup both of your cheeks and his voice breaks.
“I love you,” he breathes out. “I’m a coward and I love you,” He repeats the words as he presses soft kisses to the salt on your cheeks before claiming your mouth again.Your fingers tighten around his arm—the cold metal beneath his armor startling against your skin—and you let out a quiet sound as you work to loosen the straps at his shoulders.
“I love you too,” you admit, and he lets out a low groan as he helps you with the clasps of his armor. Your fingers move quickly, driven by the need to finally feel the warmth of his skin.He pulls his mouth from yours—much to your disappointment—and you let out a soft whine.but then find yourself smiling as he replaces them for your neck. Kissing it, licking it, tasting your throat. You pull his hair back, wanting his mouth to be back against yours again. “I’m yours,” you whisper and lean to kiss him. You know much about kissing courtesy of the dirty books you’ve read and due to the fact you had kissed Satoru the day earlier. His was nice, but it was nothing compared to the sweetest sin of your knight’s lips.
His hands slide along your waist, then lower, guiding you back until the backs of your knees touch the bed. His breath is warm against your cheek as he murmurs
“Let me worship you.” He sinks to his knees before you, his hands slowly gliding up your legs as if you’re something sacred. You nod letting him. He kisses your thighs, right over the wet fabric of your panties. You hiss as you catch a glimpse of his canines as he starts to nibble on the plush of your skin. Your hips buckle involuntarily as you grab his hair.
“Sukuna,” you moan. His hands move to the band of your underwear. His fingers teasing you before pulling them down. “Please,” your voice straining as you feel the cold air hit your cunt and he hums. He lifts and bunches the end of the dress up half-way up to your stomach and you start to feel hot and embarrassed. Now half exposed, your thoughts start to run— What if he thinks it’s ugly? What if he doesn’t like it?
As if he read your thoughts, Sukuna lowers his head and his nose touches your core. He inhales your scent of arousal, “you are beautiful.” He mutters and opens his mouth to taste you. His tongue is hot and wet, it shocks your body and you cry out.
“Kuna!” You gasp. He kisses and licks his tongue in the center. He flattens it, dragging it slowly, deliberately over the bundle of nerves. “Yes,” you groan, your head falling back. “It feels so good.”
He hums a vibration against your sensitive flesh and it sends sparks through your body as your hips buckle off the bed. Your hands tighten in his hair as his hips twitch and he gently sucks. “I’m yours,” he growls and he presses his tongue firmer, swirling it now. The coil of your belly starts to tighten, as Sukuna kneads your thighs and begins to hump his hips against the mattress.
You grip his hair, tighter. The sounds coming from both your mouths are loud and dirty and you pray no one walks past your door. Sukuna adjusts his angle, his tongue covering your clit. He moans then sucks your folds, his teeth gazing teasingly. You sob from pleasure “Oh gods,” and your eyes roll back, legs lock and tremble around his head as your orgasm rips through.
As you come down, Sukuna lifts his head. His chin and mouth glinting with your juices. “You taste so good, love.” You giggle and pull him up for a deep kiss, tasting yourself in his tongue.
Your heart splinters, and he pulls back just long enough to shed the last of the barriers between you. He guides you gently down to the bedframe, his lips finding yours again with a desperate kind of tenderness. His hands explore your body as your fingers curl into your shoulders. When he finally enters you, it steals the breath from your lungs. Your tears slip onto the pillow, both from pleasure and pain. You feel his breath and his warmth, his devotion—every movement he makes feels holy. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, holding tightly. His forehead presses to yours, his lips brushing your cheek as he gasps your name like a mantra. And in that moment both of you crash together
When he removes himself from you and mutters sweet praises as he cleans you up, you know you cannot sacrifice your heart for a kingdom. You trace Sukuna’s scars with your thumb.
Synopsis: Ryomen Sukuna is a good knight. Perhaps he might be the greatest in history. You are his childhood friend, the one who torments his dream, the princess he swore to protect. However you are arranged to marry Gojo Satoru, a lord from the North. Will he confess his love for you? Or will he destroy himself as he watches the woman he loves marry another?
summary description: very loosely loosely based off the game of thrones universe( you will see some easter eggs)Sukuna and reader are bad at feelings, angst, oc sukuna, oral( fem. receiving), smut, angst with happy ending, sukuna's tattoo's as scars, erm some lobotomy kaisen references… I was bored sorry
Word count: 5k
a/n: tiny reuplod because tumblr flagged me, :(
Your face was made by a lady from the south and by a king
You are the realm’s delight. But to Sukuna you were his hunger— his ruin.
At the age of thirteen, he trained to be a knight. Before he was an orphan, a loveless child who was a scavenger trying to survive. He grew up in the capital, living rough and fighting every day to prove he belonged there, that he was someone worth fearing.
You remember the first time you met him, you were trying to run away from your governess. She was an old stern lady but meant well. You had hidden in the stables, and he happened to be on rotation and by the gods you scared him half to death.
Your begged him to not rat you out. Only wanting a break from your royal duties, only wanting for once to be a child.
You were glad he did not, because he became your friend.
At age seventeen, he was promoted to the king's guard. Sometimes you’d visit him at his station in the monastery garden to complain about your day—how your ladies-in-waiting were snobbish and obsessed with finding husbands. He’d rant about his difficult comrades. He often teased you about your lavish dresses and your perfectly proper pronunciation of words.
He loved pulling pranks on you, too. Once, he caught a rat scurrying through the kitchens and waited patiently for you to approach before releasing it at your feet.
Atlas, at the age of eighteen, the day came when war came. Many were called to arms, Sukuna among them.
You wept into him, clinging to his armor, begging him not to go, not to leave you. “Who is going to steal pastries from the kitchens with me?” you sobbed. “Who will stand beside me when I torment my poor governess?” He held you close and soothed you, murmuring against your ear that he would return—stronger, taller.
“I don’t care,” you said. “Cut down every man who threatens this land. Just come home. Come home to me.”
He left the following morning.
You couldn’t bear it. Your face was covered in snot and tears. You looked unrecognizable. Weeks later, a letter came from him—from the front lines. He teased you, saying you had looked like a fish when he left. You sent one back, calling him a boar.
The letters were what helped keep you sane. For the last three years he fought for the crown, for the safety of the realm, for you.
When the war ended, you rejoiced. He would be coming home to you. Rumors of his victories reached you long before he did—stories that spread like wildfire through the castle halls. They called him the Strongest, the Disgraced One. To the kingdom he was a savior.
But to you… he was Sukuna.
When the army reached the throne room. He was the first to enter. You gasped because he was taller, his pink hair darkened by age. He looked more mature since you last saw him. His armor, once ornate, was now battered by war. His face carried the weight of the war. A scar ran horizontally across the bridge of his nose, and at the center of his forehead lay a crown-like, trident-shaped mark
He was beautiful.
Your father, the king, rewarded Sukuna by assigning him to be your personal guard. His salary is now triple the amount he started than most of the guards.
You were happy.
However, that happiness soon turned sour because by the next month, a week after your name day, like every woman of your time…they need to marry.
“Satoru Gojo?” The name left your lips in disbelief. You had heard stories of the high-born heir from the northern lands. They are a noble house, and have striking platinum blonde hair. They are very honorable and known for their loyalty to themselves. You recalled that they had remained neutral in the last war, untouched and unbothered, tucked away in a region where winter was endless and harsh. But the man himself? He was a stranger to you. You knew nothing of his character, nothing of how he treated those around him.“But I don’t wish to marry! Why must I?” you protested.
“Enough of this foolishness, child!” your father snapped. “You are my heir. You will be queen one day, and a queen must provide an heir of her own.”
He sat across from you at the long dining table. Your plate was nearly empty, and between you both, a towering bowl of fruit blocked half of your parents’ faces from view. Your mother’s voice softened the air between you.
“Please, (y/n). He is a good man. pledged us their military support and unwavering loyalty. The crown needs this alliance.” You shook your head.
“But I do not know him.” Your lips are quivering.
“As I did with your father.” Despite the tower of fruit blocking your view, you see your mother lean toward her husband and place a gentle but firm hand over his shoulder. “Now we are happy.” She then turns to you. “Trust me, you will be happy. Give it some time.”
“Absolutely ridiculous!” You are in your quarters, your body sprawling on the bed. It's half till midnight and Sukuna is in the corner of your room, his posture is firm but soft. “Selling me off like I’m some unfurnished good,” you mutter, snatching the pillow beside you and screaming into it. You heard Sukuna chuckle.
“They mean well. You are of age now and the small-folk are beginning to worry why haven’t you married yet.” You pick up your head from the pillow and turn to him, eyes fix and burning. “Your parents are only doing what’s best for you and the crown.”
“Don’t defend them,” you snap.
“I’m not,” he resorts. “I’m trying to be the voice of reason.” You scoff and hurl your pillow at him. He, of course, caught it naturally.
“Blah, blah, blah. Tell me something I don’t know already,” Rolling your eyes, you push yourself off the bed; the wooden frame creaks beneath your weight. Sukuna shifts from his right leg to his left, giving you a teasing, almost charming smile.
”Like what? Princess.” You cringe. You’ve told him countless times that when it’s just the two of you, to not use that royal title. “If memory serves me correctly, when you were younger, you cried to me and your parents that you wanted a husband. A prince to sweep you off your feet, and give you babies.” He dramatically leans back against the wall, his armor clacking against the stone. “Oh, sweet Sukuna,” he mocks, pitching his voice into a ridiculous falsetto. He throws one hand to his forehead and clutches his chest with the other. “I need a husband… you’re a terrible soldier… are you sure you’re even a knight?”
Heat sneaks up to your cheeks as you run towards him. He is being so loud and it was embarrassing. You slap your hand over his mouth just as you reach him. Even though he towers over you, you rise on your toes, your chest brushing his armor. “Shut up, are you mad? I did not say that nor do I sound like that.” His lips curve beneath your palm; he’s laughing. You can feel the vibrations, buzzing up your arm and down your spine. “Did you get a concussion in the front lines?” You hiss, pressing your hand against his mouth, harder this time.
While you are close to him, you notice the scars on his face appear almost translucent—dark and subtle traces softened by the dim candlelight. In the warm glow, he looks almost angelic. Your breath matches his own and you feel the hair in the back of your neck stand up. He smells of mint and sweat—evidence of the hours he spent training with the other knights earlier that day.
“Perhaps I did,” he mumbles against your palm, and instinctively you snatch your hand from his lips. “ Perhaps, a mace must’ve hit my head.” His voice is low and almost gruff. He straightens slightly and seemingly leans closer to you, as if pulled by an invisible string you both refuse to acknowledge.
For a moment, none of you speak. The silence weighs heavy on you both. Your fingers curl on each side as if trying to persevere the warm tingling sensation from his mouth. Sukuna eyes flicker to your hand, then back up to your face. You notice his jaw tightens and lips press to a thin line. He is holding himself back, steadying himself.
You swallow, unable to stand the silence any longer. It’s dangerous…painful almost.
”I…should go to sleep,” you mutter softly, and step back. “Y-you are excused.”
He glances at you briefly before nodding and steps out of your room. His scent takes him and you watch when he shuts the door.
The wedding will be in four days, and a celebration will take place in the realm’s capital.
On the first day, the noble house of Gojo arrives at the grand hall of your home. They enter gallantly. They came in with wealth and opulence. Chills shoot through your body. Although they are not the crown, you can see how much power they have.
Your parents allow you and Satoru to wander freely through the monastery garden, with Sukuna following not far behind. Your betrothed is tall, his silvery hair a striking contrast to the vibrant flowers around you. He reminds you of the illustrations in the storybooks from your childhood. But it is his eyes that truly capture you—like winter skies, pale as frost yet sharp as a blade. He is unworldly.
“Your eyes are very beautiful, my lord,” you say quietly. “I’m sure our children will take after you.” Your shoulders tense, nails pressing into your fingertips as you pray he is not a terrible match.
“Yes, to my eyes,” he replies, “and I hope not to my family’s kindness, because they are so fucking annoying.” You freeze. His casual vulgar formalities are uncommon especially from someone of noble birth.
“I…I’m sorry, my lord?”
“Please call me Satoru.” He tilts his head and a grin tugging at his lips. “If we’re going to get married in four days, I think we can skip the ‘my lord’ business. Makes me sound old.”
“Oh,” your body begins to relax. “S-Satoru,” the name sounds foreign in your tongue. His freeish personality makes everything much easier than you expected. "How is being in the capital suiting you?” You muse.
“It is alright. I must say I will need to get used to this weather, will it always be hot here?” He tugs at his collar in exaggerated distress.
“It's not all that bad,” you hide your smile. “It can be quite refreshing sometimes.” He chuckles and you both pass around the same fountain twice now, hyper fixating in the conversations about your family's expectations and the duty you must take when you are older.
“I’m glad you’re the one I’m marrying,” He says earnestly and it makes your heart flutter. “You are not as bad as I thought.”
You laugh, “What were you expecting?” He leans toward you, he is strangely close.
“I was expecting you to be snobbish,” He rolls his shoulders very dramatically . “Like those types of noble girls who eat from a golden spoon.”
“You can say bitch, I don’t mind,” you snort. “And for the record, I did eat from a golden spoon. And plate.”
He hums in mock judgment. “Yes, of course you did. I should have known my future wife was terrifyingly luxurious.” You elbow him again, but he only grins wider.
“So, tell me more about this tourney father mentioned. The one they’re holding in our honor.” His tone then shifts into something mischievous. “I heard rumors of jousting.”
“Yes! Jousting is always the most exciting part. Knights and high-borns from the far provinces come to compete. It’s loud and dangerous. Everyone watches.”
Satoru’s eyes glitter like he’s already picturing himself there. “Dangerous and loud? Sounds perfect. I’m definitely entering.”
“You?” you laugh. “In a joust?”
He gasps dramatically. “You doubt me?”
“I’ve known you for an hour and you’ve complained about the heat.”
“Well yes! A good fight should cool me down. Pray tell future wife, is there anyone strong enough to defeat me?” You bite your lip and turn behind you.
Sukuna, who has been following at a respectable distance, has let out an irritated sigh; his expression is anything but composed. His jaw is tense, his gaze sharp, and the slight twitch in his brow makes him look as though he’s moments from ripping someone in half with his bare hands.
“Hmm,” you smile and turn back. “My guard Sukuna. The strongest man I know.”
“Really?” You nod. And Satoru glances Sukuna, eyes glinting with interest. “Will he enter?”
You lift a brow and laugh. “Do you honestly think you can win? He is the reason we won the war.”
“Yes, yes, yes the disgraceful one.” Satoru muses, waving a hand. “I’ve heard stories.” He then glances back at you “If he enters or not, it does not matter. Because if I win—and I will—I expect a kiss.”
You pause, blinking “A kiss? Whatever for? We will kiss at the ceremony.”
“A victory kiss,” he clarifies. “For morale. For motivation.” His grin sharpens. “For bragging rights.”
You swallow, heart thrumming. “That depends,” you clear your throat, “will you win?”
“Nah I’d win”
On the second day of the celebration, it is the tourney.
The games —tests of strength, archery, wrestling, and many others were fun to watch. You watch many trials, many victories, and many bruised egos. Then in late afternoon your favorite event finally approaches—jousting.
Sukuna, of course enters. Without needing to tell you. He simply appeared in the lists. He is standing beside his horse as he tightens the saddle strap. He already won the last three matches and with the bracket you saw earlier, you know he will go against Satoru next.
You brighten immediately and hurry closer to him, leaning against the rails.
“Please go easy on him,” you say with a smile.
He doesn’t look at you. His jaw ticks, sharp and noticeably irritated. “Why? Wouldn’t want your precious prince getting a bruise.” He turns to you, sunlight shines on his pink hair, and unintentionally forms a halo. Its a stark contrast to his red eyes—it is anything but angelic. “He is trained, is he not? I’m sure he can take it.”
“I just don’t want you hurting him too badly,” you resort. Eyes furrowing, the insult is obvious but you ignore it. “You’re stronger.”
“I wasn’t planning on killing him,” he snaps.
“That’s not what I meant.”you snap back. You see his mouth begins to tighten.
“Then what did you mean?” You hate how your mouth closes. You hate it more that you don’t know how to answer. You care about Satoru because he is kind, funny and your betrothed. You care about Sukuna because—
Because.
But you don’t know how to say any of that. You don’t know how to turn the tangle feeling in your chest into words. So you say the wrong thing.
“I just want the match to be fair—”
“Fair?” His laugh is harsh. “What do you know of ‘fair’?”
Your brows knit. “Sukuna, what is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing,” he bites out.
“You’re clearly upset.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re snapping at me!”
“Because you’re—” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing.
You wait.
He doesn’t finish. He can’t.
So he doesn’t say anything at all. He mounts on his horse, the movement is angry and reckless. "forget it."
Satoru won the jousting and you gave him the kiss he wanted.
Late in the evening, dinner is held in the grand hall. The tables of the Gojo family and your own family stretch long. The air smells faintly of roasted meat and spice wine. You are still thinking about Sukuna—the way his words struck you.
Across the hall, he sits rigidly, a plate untouched. His gaze finds you and your heart lurches. You look away, and he shifts slightly, just enough that you catch another brief glance. The stolen glances are painful between you and your cheeks heat up. You know his heart must be hammering as hard as yours.
When time drags, you notice him standing. He is leaving a rotation change. You stand too, heart jumping—but immediately freeze as every head in the hall turns toward you and your face burns.
”I…I have a headache,” you lie quickly, voice tight. “May I be excused?” Your father nods, still murmuring thanks for the evening, and you hurry toward the exit. Sukuna is already beside you, silent, like a shadow at your side.
The walk to your chambers is quiet. Your hands brushing just slightly against his as you move. You almost reach for his—but don’t. At your door, he stops. Unlike usual, he doesn’t enter first. He leans against the frame, arms crossed. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, voice quiet but firm, “after you marry… I want to be released from the King’s Guard. Perhaps retire. Live in the countryside.”
You freeze. “Why?” Your face searches for an answer, but can’t. He doesn’t even look at you. “Sukuna,” you say again, your voice sharp. His eyes meet yours and your stomach drops.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“That’s a lie.” His jaw flexes as you continue to press on, “I know you are lying. Tell me, why?”
He exhales sharply throng his nose. “Because my duty will be finished.” You stare at him and something inside you twists.
“So that’s what I’am to you.. a duty” This makes him snap as his eyes flashes with something furious.
“That’s what you think?” he snaps. “That all of this—everything I’ve done—is just duty?” He takes a step toward you, and instinctively you step back against the wall.
“N-No, of course not,” you stammer. Hands balled into a fist, nails digging deep to draw blood.
“No? Then answer me this?” Sukuna demands, voice breaking beneath the anger. “What am I to you?” The question cleaves you open. You feel the answer rising—dangerous, impossible, too heavy to speak. You reach for something safe. Something that won’t ruin everything. “Answer me!”
You flinch and panic. It makes you choose wrong, “You’re my…friend.”
His face changes instantly. “A friend?” He repeats, almost whispering the word like it tastes wrong. "That's what I am to you?”
“N-No—Sukuna I didn’t mean—” your eyes start to swell and try to find your words but he cuts you off.
“No.” He steps away from you, crowding too close, eyes burning. “Say it properly. Is that all I am to you?” Your breath falters. Your heart screams an answer you cannot give. You can’t speak. Your silence lands between you like a blade. Sukuna lets out a single laugh—sharp, broken, nothing like him. And before your hand can reach his sleeve, before you can do the thing you’re terrified to admit.
He turns and walks away. Leaving you with your heart in your throat.
The next morning Sukuna didn’t sleep last night, his mind became unruly. He shouldn’t have snapped at you. He shouldn't have said any of it. And the evidence is written on your face. Your eyes are a crimson red, as if you hadn’t slept at all. And your lips are dry and pressed together, trying to hold you steady.
You are standing on a pony stool facing the mirror. Your wedding dress drapes around you in folds. The headdress moves quietly around you, pinning, adjusting and mooting the fabric carefully. While you…barely react, you look like a ghost. Sukuna remains at the doorway, unseen by the maids. He watches as they fix your hair and softly compliment you on how you will make a beautiful bride. How lucky you are to be wed tomorrow morning.
When one of the maids steps aside, revealing him fully in the mirror your breath stutters. You don’t turn, you don’t speak and neither does he. Your hearts splitting at each glance, it becomes more and more painful at each minute of your fitting.
Throughout the day, you both don’t speak to each other. He becomes what he always trained to be. A dog. A knight who has no value to anyone. Who stays silent and does their duty.
In the evening, your mind wanders. During the rehearsal of the vows and first dance you made several mistakes—too much for a princess. You claim it was stress from the wedding. But you lied as your mind was focused on him. You don’t want Sukuna to leave, you don't want to lose him.
When rehearsal finally ends, he leads you to your chambers, but doesn’t enter.
“Inside”, you order softly.
He stiffens, “princess—”
“Drop the formalities, I told you not to call me that." You cut in, voice now sharp. “Now get in.” Sukuna exhales from your command before opening the door. You step into your room and he follows behind you.
As soon as you hear the door click and shut you turn around to open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.
"(y/n) …please.” His voice is low…vulnerable. “I do not wish to fight with you.”
“And neither do I.” Your chest tightens. “I want to talk before…” You couldn’t find the words. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to confront reality. “I care about you. Truly I do. I don’t want us to fight. I was angry because you are going to leave and you have every right to do so.” You fight the hems of your dress, and pray to the gods you don’t start crying. “I talked to my father and he approves your resignation much to his dismay, since you are still young and strong. But regardless, he believes you deserve it since you are the reason we won the war.” Your voice begins to break as you continue. “T-there is land, half a day’s journey from here and we want y-you to have it. It used to belong to a duke a long time ago so no one lives there. You are also granted a title too.”
“I-“ his heart stops. A title. Land. All what knights want—all what they are hungry for.
But Sukuna doesn’t want that.
He wants you. He doesn’t want you to marry Satoru.
“You earned it,” you whisper—a tremble almost.
“Thank you.” He says and looks at you with gratitude and pain. He looks at you and all of a sudden the whole world goes quiet. As you step closer, you bite your lip, hard enough to leave a mark.
“Before you leave…before the ceremony…” you try to smile—lightly, playfully but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Say something to give me luck. So I don’t trip in front of the entire realm,” You laugh weakly. You know it's a lie. What you want—what you are begging for is for him to say something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something forbidden.
Sukuna knows. His throat tightens because he wants to say it too. he wants to say those three words. I love you.
But the words are stuck in his throat. It’s burning him. Sukuna the almighty strongest one, The disgraceful one. The one who killed many men in their father's armor, the one who killed many of the crown’s enemies…Is weakened by those three words. He looks at you, the apple of his eyes blurry and in pain. You were to be wed, to be someone else's by morning. He swallows. He mustn’t say it out, he can’t, so he won’t. “Ok ,” he whispers softly and he leaves, taking with him his futile devices.
“Fuck!”
Sukuna is a coward. He knows he is. He walks toward the knight's quarters.He regrets not saying it. should have let the words leave his throat instead of choking on them like a fool.
By the time he reaches his room, the guilt has curdled into anger. He thinks of every moment he’s guarded you. the times you made him laugh when he wasn’t supposed to, the stolen glances, the nights he was in your room, talking for hours about everything and anything. He thinks of you in that wedding dress, tired and hurting, still worrying about him. His jaw tightens. Damn it.
Fuck duty.
Fuck honor.
Fuck the crown.
Fuck everything that says he can’t have you. He turns sharply on his heel. And he marches straight toward your chambers.
When he opens the door, he finds you where he left you. Still standing in the center of the room, eyes are fixed on the floor. The soft sound of the door clicking shut and you lift your head. Your eyes meet his—wet and trembling.
He breaks the space between you in a heartbreak. And with no hesitation, no time to take a breath his hands are on you. Pulling you in, as his mouth crushes to yours in desperation.
“Sukuna,” you gasp as your hands fling to the back of his head. Fingers grasping his hair and pulling him deeper into you. His tongue licks your lips before entering inside your mouth. He moans and removes himself. His hands cup both of your cheeks and his voice breaks.
“I love you,” he breathes out. “I’m a coward and I love you,” He repeats the words as he presses soft kisses to the salt on your cheeks before claiming your mouth again.Your fingers tighten around his arm—the cold metal beneath his armor startling against your skin—and you let out a quiet sound as you work to loosen the straps at his shoulders.
“I love you too,” you admit, and he lets out a low groan as he helps you with the clasps of his armor. Your fingers move quickly, driven by the need to finally feel the warmth of his skin.He pulls his mouth from yours—much to your disappointment—and you let out a soft whine.but then find yourself smiling as he replaces them for your neck. Kissing it, licking it, tasting your throat. You pull his hair back, wanting his mouth to be back against yours again. “I’m yours,” you whisper and lean to kiss him. You know much about kissing courtesy of the dirty books you’ve read and due to the fact you had kissed Satoru the day earlier. His was nice, but it was nothing compared to the sweetest sin of your knight’s lips.
His hands slide along your waist, then lower, guiding you back until the backs of your knees touch the bed. His breath is warm against your cheek as he murmurs
“Let me worship you.” He sinks to his knees before you, his hands slowly gliding up your legs as if you’re something sacred. You nod letting him. He kisses your thighs, right over the wet fabric of your panties. You hiss as you catch a glimpse of his canines as he starts to nibble on the plush of your skin. Your hips buckle involuntarily as you grab his hair.
“Sukuna,” you moan. His hands move to the band of your underwear. His fingers teasing you before pulling them down. “Please,” your voice straining as you feel the cold air hit your cunt and he hums. He lifts and bunches the end of the dress up half-way up to your stomach and you start to feel hot and embarrassed. Now half exposed, your thoughts start to run— What if he thinks it’s ugly? What if he doesn’t like it?
As if he read your thoughts, Sukuna lowers his head and his nose touches your core. He inhales your scent of arousal, “you are beautiful.” He mutters and opens his mouth to taste you. His tongue is hot and wet, it shocks your body and you cry out.
“Kuna!” You gasp. He kisses and licks his tongue in the center. He flattens it, dragging it slowly, deliberately over the bundle of nerves. “Yes,” you groan, your head falling back. “It feels so good.”
He hums a vibration against your sensitive flesh and it sends sparks through your body as your hips buckle off the bed. Your hands tighten in his hair as his hips twitch and he gently sucks. “I’m yours,” he growls and he presses his tongue firmer, swirling it now. The coil of your belly starts to tighten, as Sukuna kneads your thighs and begins to hump his hips against the mattress.
You grip his hair, tighter. The sounds coming from both your mouths are loud and dirty and you pray no one walks past your door. Sukuna adjusts his angle, his tongue covering your clit. He moans then sucks your folds, his teeth gazing teasingly. You sob from pleasure “Oh gods,” and your eyes roll back, legs lock and tremble around his head as your orgasm rips through.
As you come down, Sukuna lifts his head. His chin and mouth glinting with your juices. “You taste so good, love.” You giggle and pull him up for a deep kiss, tasting yourself in his tongue.
Your heart splinters, and he pulls back just long enough to shed the last of the barriers between you. He guides you gently down to the bedframe, his lips finding yours again with a desperate kind of tenderness. His hands explore your body as your fingers curl into your shoulders. When he finally enters you, it steals the breath from your lungs. Your tears slip onto the pillow, both from pleasure and pain. You feel his breath and his warmth, his devotion—every movement he makes feels holy. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, holding tightly. His forehead presses to yours, his lips brushing your cheek as he gasps your name like a mantra. And in that moment both of you crash together
When he removes himself from you and mutters sweet praises as he cleans you up, you know you cannot sacrifice your heart for a kingdom. You trace Sukuna’s scars with your thumb.
Yuki using you to teach choso how to eat pussy !!〃∀〃
"Alright, Choso," Yuki said, her voice smooth and teasing, one hand stroking your hair gently. "Eating pussy isn't just about diving in—it's about making her beg for more. Watch how I start slow. Spread her lips for me, kid."
Choso hesitated for a second, his pale cheeks flushing, but he leaned in, large hands carefully parting your folds. You shivered at the cool air and his tentative touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Yuki chuckled, guiding his wrist. "Gentler. Like this—expose her clit without rushing. See how pink and swollen it is? That's what you aim for first."
She dipped her head down, her blonde hair cascading over your thighs as her tongue flicked out, tracing a light circle around your entrance. You gasped, hips twitching upward, and Choso's breath hitched, his gaze locked on the way her lips glistened with your arousal. "Taste her," Yuki murmured against your skin, pulling back slightly. "But flat and broad—lap like you're savoring every drop."
Choso nodded eagerly, replacing her mouth with his own. His tongue was warmer than expected, pressing flat against your slit in a slow, deliberate lick from bottom to top. The sensation sent sparks through you, your fingers clutching Yuki's thigh as you moaned. "Good boy," she praised, her hand now on the back of his head. "Now, focus on that clit—suck it softly, like you're pulling her soul out."
He obeyed, lips sealing around your nub with gentle suction, his tongue swirling in tentative patterns. You arched, the pleasure building sharp and insistent, your breaths coming in pants. Yuki watched intently, her free hand slipping under her own shirt to tease her nipple. "Feel how she's clenching? That's you doing it right. Add a finger—curl it inside, hit that spot that makes her squirm."
Choso's thick finger slid into you easily, slick with your wetness, and he curled it just as instructed, stroking your inner walls. You cried out, the dual assault of his mouth and hand overwhelming. "Y-Yuki... Choso... oh god," you babbled, thighs trembling around his shoulders.
"Shh, let him learn," Yuki cooed, leaning down to kiss your forehead before turning to Choso. "Don't stop sucking—build the rhythm. Faster now, but not too rough. Listen to her moans; they're telling you everything." His pace quickened, tongue flicking relentlessly, finger pumping in sync, and you felt the coil tightening deep in your belly.
She reached over, adjusting his angle. "Tilt your head—get deeper with your tongue. Yeah, like that. See how she's dripping? Lick it up; don't waste a bit." Choso hummed in response, the vibration buzzing against your clit, making you buck wildly. His free hand gripped your hip to steady you, holding you open for his eager mouth.
Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly, waves of heat pulsing through your core as you screamed, pussy fluttering around his finger. Choso didn't pull away, lapping through your release with fervent dedication, swallowing every gush. Yuki grinned, petting his hair. "Perfect. Now, watch what happens when you edge her—back off just before she cums again."
He withdrew slowly, lips shiny with your juices, eyes dark with lust as he looked up at Yuki for approval. She nodded, then pushed his head back down. "Tease her entrance first—circle it, make her chase your tongue." You whined in frustration, hips grinding air, desperate for more contact.
Choso's tongue danced around your hole, dipping in shallowly before retreating, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "Please... Choso, more," you begged, voice breaking. He glanced at Yuki, who smirked. "Give her what she wants, but slow—build it until she's a mess."
he plunged his tongue inside, fucking you with it in firm thrusts while his thumb rubbed your clit. The stretch was delicious, his nose bumping your mound as he devoured you. Yuki leaned in closer, her voice husky. "Suck her folds now—pull them into your mouth, nibble lightly. Make her feel owned."
He latched on, sucking your labia with just enough pressure to border on pain, teeth grazing teasingly. You sobbed with pleasure, hands fisting the sheets, another climax hovering close. Choso's finger joined his tongue again, two now, scissoring you open, stretching your walls.
"That's it, kid—feel how tight she gets? You're wrecking her," Yuki encouraged, her own arousal evident in her quickened breaths. She slipped a hand between your legs, pinching your clit lightly to heighten the sensation. You shattered again, squirting lightly onto Choso's face, his moans muffled as he drank you down.
Pulling back for air, Choso's chin dripped with your essence, his expression one of pure awe. "Did I... do good?" he asked breathlessly, voice rough. Yuki laughed softly, wiping a streak from his lip with her thumb before sucking it clean. "More than good. Now, let's see you make her cum with just your mouth—no fingers this time."
He dove back in with renewed vigor, lips and tongue working in tandem, alternating between broad licks and pinpoint flicks. Your body was oversensitive, every touch electric, and you writhed under him. "Choso... fuck, yes... right there," you gasped, guiding his head.
Yuki watched, her hand now stroking herself openly through her pants. "Hood it—use your lips to cover her clit, then vibrate with a hum." Choso did, the low rumble sending you spiraling, your third orgasm ripping through you harder than the last, legs locking around his head.
As you came down, panting and spent, Yuki pulled Choso up for a deep kiss, tasting you on his tongue. "Told you he'd be a natural," she murmured against his lips, then turned to you with a wink. "How's my student doing, huh? Ready for round two?"
You nodded weakly, still buzzing, as Choso's shy smile turned predatory. "I want to practice more," he said, voice laced with desire, already leaning back down. Yuki's hand joined his, spreading you wider. "Then show me—make her scream my name too."
His mouth descended once more, tongue delving deep, and the room filled with wet sounds and your shared moans, the lesson far from over.
summary - gojo’s six eyes are burning him out from the inside, slowly shredding the parts of his brain that make his technique possible. he’s admitted to the hospital, where you — a tired, too-soft-for-your-own-good med student volunteering on the ward — end up assigned to him. what starts as banter and irritation turns into something raw and terrifyingly intimate as his condition worsens.
tags - hospital setting :: nurse x patient :: slow burn :: mutual pining :: self-destruction :: terminal illness :: found family :: hurt/no comfort :: non-sexual intimacy :: head on lap :: hair washing :: love confession :: unresolved tension :: HEAVY angst :: heartbreak :: teary goodbyes :: tragic romance :: doomed trope :: guilt :: arguments + kissing :: grab the tissues folks :: emotional hurt
wc - 15.6k
a/n - this is for @sweethearticism angst bakery event ! ty for letting me participate !! <3
the fluorescent lights of the tokyo metropolitan curse technical hospital hummed with a monotonous rhythm that had become the soundtrack to your volunteer shifts. three days a week, you traded your university textbooks for medical charts, your caffeine-fueled study sessions for the quiet company of cursed energy users whose bodies had betrayed them in ways most couldn't comprehend. you'd seen it all—limbs regenerated too many times, organs permanently damaged by cursed energy backlash, minds unraveling under the weight of techniques that demanded too much too often.
and then there was him.
room 307. satoru gojo.
the first time you'd been assigned to his room, you'd done your homework. everyone knew who he was—the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the modern era, the six eyes user, the limitless technique inheritor. you'd expected arrogance, maybe even a touch of a god complex. what you hadn't expected was the way he made the sterile room feel like a lounge, the way his blindfold somehow seemed more fashionable than functional, the way he turned your nervous introduction into a playful interrogation.
"so you're the new volunteer," he'd said, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "let me guess—nursing student? pre-med? or are you here to fulfill some 'give back to the community' requirement for a fancy private university?"
you'd stammered something about psychology and community service, and he'd laughed—a rich, warm sound that seemed to vibrate through the very walls.
"psychology? perfect. i could use someone to analyze my clearly fascinating psyche. especially since the actual doctors seem more interested in my brain scans than my conversation."
that had been three months ago. now, you found yourself looking forward to your tuesday and thursday afternoons with an intensity that bordered on concerning. not because you'd developed some crush on the six-foot-something jujutsu sorcerer with impossible ivory hair and an even more impossible smile. no, it was something else. something in the way he carried his strength like a casual coat, the way he made death seem like a minor inconvenience.
you adjusted the small bouquet of wildflowers you'd brought—something you'd started doing a few weeks ago, when you'd noticed the stark white vase in his room remained perpetually empty. the nurses had told you he rarely received visitors.
"delivery for the world's strongest sorcerer," you announced, pushing open the door to room 307.
gojo was sitting up in his bed, blindfolded as always, but today he had a pair of sleek black headphones perched over his ears. he tapped a finger against his wrist, indicating you should wait. you did, watching the subtle movement of his fingers as he apparently navigated whatever playlist he had going.
when he finally pulled off the headphones, a smile spread across his face that temporarily blinded you in more ways than one. "ah, my favorite volunteer! come to analyze me again?"
"something like that," you said, placing the flowers in the vase. "thought these might brighten the place up. hospital decor leaves something to be desired."
he leaned forward, sniffing appreciatively at the wildflowers. "nature's rebellion against institutional sterility. i approve." he paused, then added, "though i have to say, the flowers are nice, but your company is the real highlight of my week. don't tell the nurses i said that—they'll start charging admission."
you rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "flattery will get you nowhere, gojo. especially when you're supposed to be resting."
"rest is for the weak," he declared, though he made no move to get out of bed. "and boring. absolutely, mind-numbingly boring. you know, i think they're trying to kill me with monotony."
"or maybe they're trying to save your life," you countered, taking your usual seat by the window. "the doctors said you need to take it easy after that last mission."
he waved a dismissive hand. "pfft. 'last mission."it was a couple of curses—lower grades, at that. barely broke a sweat. though..." he paused, rubbing his temples with two fingers. "there might have been some minor exertion."
you studied him more closely. his usually impeccable posture seemed slightly slumped, and there were faint lines of tension around his eyes that the blindfold couldn't completely hide.
"minor exertion that gave you a migraine so bad you needed intravenous medication?" you asked, keeping your tone light but watching his reaction carefully.
gojo chuckled, but it sounded slightly strained. "it's nothing. the six eyes work overtime, that's all. processing all that cursed energy—it's like running a supercomputer at maximum capacity without any cooling. things get a little... overheated."
he said it so casually, as if discussing the weather rather than what sounded like a neurological crisis. you'd been volunteering long enough to recognize when someone was downplaying their symptoms. the other sorcerers who came through here did it all the time—pride, stubbornness, or some combination of both.
"have you talked to dr. shoko about it?" you asked.
"ieri worries too much," gojo said, shifting position wince slightly. "it's just a headache. happens to the best of us."
you didn't push, not yet. you'd learned that with gojo, subtlety was your best approach. direct questions about his health were deflected with jokes or changed subjects. but you made a mental note to mention it to shoko later—she was his regular doctor and had been more forthcoming about his condition than any of the doctors.
"soooo," you said, changing the subject. "what's on the agenda today? more 'rest,' or are we breaking hospital rules?"
he grinned, that infuriatingly charming smile that made you forget you were supposed to be monitoring his health. "how about we play a game? twenty questions, but with a twist. you can only ask about my love life."
you laughed. "is that supposed to be tempting?"
"extremely," he said, leaning back against the pillows. "come on, you know you're curious. the great satoru gojo—relationship status? single? dating? married to my work?"
"i'm not sure that's appropriate for a volunteer-patient relationship," you said, though you couldn't help but smile at his persistence.
"rules are made to be broken," he countered. "besides, i'm practically a guest here. not a real patient."
"tell that to the iv stand in the corner," you retorted, nodding toward the equipment that had been there since your first visit.
he glanced at it as if noticing it for the first time. "ah, yes. the evidence of my 'debilitating' condition." he made air quotes with his fingers. "it's just saline, you know. mostly. sometimes they add vitamins. makes it feel like a fancy smoothie."
you shook your head, but couldn't suppress a laugh. "you're so stupid."
"thank you," he said, bowing his head slightly. "i try."
the afternoon passed in a blur of conversation that ranged from the absurd (his theory that cats were actually cursed spirits in disguise) to the philosophical (whether strength was a gift or a curse). you found yourself opening up in ways you rarely did, sharing snippets of your own life—your struggles with university, your complicated relationship with your family, your dreams that felt increasingly distant with each passing semester.
and he listened. really listened. his blindfold never wavered, but you had the strange sensation that he saw more with those covered eyes than most people did with their sight wide open.
as the afternoon wore on, you noticed him growing quieter. the playful energy that usually surrounded him had dimmed, replaced by a thoughtful stillness. his fingers, which had been gesturing animatedly moments before, now rested lightly on the blanket.
"you okay?" you asked softly.
he blinked slowly, then shook his head as if clearing it. "just tired. these 'rest periods' they insist on—they're actually exhausting."
"maybe that's the point," you said gently.
"probably," he admitted. "but i hate feeling useless. being stuck here while everyone else is out there handling threats..." he trailed off, then added with forced lightness, "guess i'll just have to content myself with your sparkling company."
you stayed until the nurses came to give him his evening medication, watching as he accepted the small pills with a nod that was almost imperceptibly weary. as you were leaving, he called your name.
"hey," he said, his voice softer than usual. "thanks for coming today. i enjoyed spending time with you. more than you know."
you paused at the door, surprised by the sudden sincerity. "of course, gojo. i'll see you on thursday."
"looking forward to it," he said, and this time, his smile seemed to reach the eyes hidden behind the blindfold.
as you walked down the hospital corridor, the neon lights suddenly seemed harsher, the silence more profound. you thought about his earlier comment about feeling useless, about the way he'd winced when shifting positions, about the saline drip that seemed to be a permanent fixture in his room.
something was wrong. really wrong. and you had the sinking feeling that whatever it was, gojo was determined to face it alone.
the next morning, you found yourself seeking out shoko during your break. she was sorting medication in the supply closet, her movements efficient and precise.
"morning, shoko," you said, trying to sound casual.
she looked up, surprised. "what brings you here? not another bouquet for our favorite patient, i hope?"
you smiled. "not today, i've spoiled him enough. actually, i was wondering about him. yesterday, he mentioned having a headache, but he brushed it off. is he... okay?"
shoko's expression shifted, becoming more guarded. "satoru is a private person. he tells us what he wants us to know. i don't think he's being entirely truthful about his symptoms."
"i understand that," you said quickly. "but i'm worried about him. he seemed different yesterday. tired."
shuko sighed, setting down the box she was holding. "the six eyes are both a blessing and a curse. they process cursed energy at speeds no human brain was meant to handle. for years, that idiot has pushed himself beyond his limits. the human brain can only take so much overclocking before things start breaking down."
you felt a chill despite the warm hospital air. "breaking down? what does that mean?"
she lowered her voice, glancing toward the door. "neurological degradation. it's rare, but we've seen it in sorcerers who've pushed their techniques too hard for too long. the brain tissue that supports the six eyes... it's wearing out. like a processor that's been running at maximum capacity for too long."
"can it be treated?" you asked, your heart pounding.
shoko shook her head slowly. "we've tried experimental cursed techniques, medications, everything. the degeneration is tied to his ability itself. it's irreversible." she paused, then added softly, "he doesn't have much time."
the words echoed in your mind, a death sentence delivered with the clinical detachment of a medical diagnosis. gojo, with his impossible strength and even more impossible smile, given "not much time" to live?
"he doesn't know, does he?" you whispered.
"not the full extent," she confirmed. "he knows something's wrong, but he's... compartmentalizing. satoru has always faced everything with confidence. this... it's different. it's something he can't fight his way out of."
you thought about his laughter the day before, his jokes, the way he'd made you feel like the most interesting person in the world. and beneath it all, this quiet unraveling. this neurological time bomb.
"thank you, sho," you said, your voice tight. "for telling me."
she nodded. "he cares about you. you should know what you're dealing with."
as you walked away, the hospital corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly, each step taking you further from the illusion you'd built around gojo and closer to a truth that felt both devastating and inevitable.
when you returned to room 307 that afternoon, you carried with you a knowledge that felt like a physical weight. gojo looked up as you entered, his blindfolded face turning toward you.
"there you are," he said, a smile already forming. "i was beginning to think you'd abandoned me for some exciting life outside this crappy room."
you forced a smile in return, placing the flowers—sunflowers this time, bright and defiant—on the nightstand. "never. you're stuck with me."
he chuckled, then winced slightly, rubbing his temples. "sorry, shit— these headaches... they're getting worse. like someone's digging into my brain with a drill."
you sat down heavily in your usual chair, the words shuko had spoken replaying in your mind. "gojo—"
"satoru."
"what?"
"you can call me satoru, if you want."
"okay then, satoru. have the doctors told you anything specific? about what's causing your headaches?"
he waved a dismissive hand. "just stress, they say. overexertion. nothing a good night's sleep won't fix." he paused, then added, "though i have to admit, even sleep doesn't feel like rest anymore. it's like my brain won't shut down."
you watched him, really watched him, seeing the exhaustion that lurked beneath the surface of his usual confidence. the way his fingers trembled slightly when he reached for the water glass. the way his blindfold seemed to sit crookedly, as if his head was too heavy to hold it straight.
"satoru," you began, then stopped. what could you say? that you knew he was dying? that you knew his brilliant mind was literally breaking down?
"yeah?" he prompted, tilting his head in your direction.
you took a deep breath. "i'm worried about you. that's all."
his smile softened, becoming something more genuine, more vulnerable. "i know. and i appreciate it. really." he reached out, his fingers brushing yours where they rested on the armrest of your chair. the contact was brief but electric. "you're good at this whole caring thing. maybe i should keep you around."
you pulled your hand back slightly, surprised by the intensity of the moment. "i'm just doing my job."
"not really," he said, his voice dropping lower. "volunteers don't have to sit with patients for hours. they don't have to remember how they take their coffee or bring them flowers." he paused, then added, "you choose to be here. with me."
the air between you suddenly felt charged, thick with unspoken words and possibilities you hadn't allowed yourself to consider. you looked into his blindfold, trying to see beyond the fabric to the eyes you knew were watching you with an intensity that was both unnerving and compelling.
"i do," you admitted quietly. "because i enjoy your company. even when you're being infuriating."
he laughed, a real laugh this time, devoid of the strain you'd noticed earlier. "good. because i enjoy yours too. even when you're trying to psychoanalyze me."
as he spoke, you noticed something new—a faint tremor in his hand that he quickly tried to hide by clasping it with his other hand. the casual mask was slipping, revealing the cracks beneath. and in that moment, you knew with certainty that this was more than just a volunteer assignment. this was something real, something that was growing between you despite the circumstances, despite the ticking clock you now knew was counting down the days until the inevitable.
you reached out again, this time taking his hand in yours. his skin was warm, but you could feel the fine tremor running through it. he didn't pull away, but turned his hand slightly, his fingers lacing through yours.
"hey," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "what's going through that pretty head of yours?"
you met his gaze, holding it even though you couldn't see his eyes. "just thinking," you said softly. "that you're not as invincible as you pretend to be."
he was quiet for a long moment, then squeezed your hand gently. "maybe not. but i'm still here. right now, anyways. that's what matters."
and in the sterile white room of the tokyo metropolitan curse technical hospital, with the afternoon light filtering through the window and your fingers intertwined with his, you knew he was right.
—
the days that followed shoko's revelation blurred into a haze of hospital routines and stolen moments with gojo. each visit became a delicate dance between the carefully constructed illusion he presented and the crumbling reality you now knew existed. you found yourself arriving earlier, staying later, inventing reasons to linger—offering to read to him, bringing books from the library, simply sitting in companionable silence as the afternoon light slanted across the room.
one tuesday, you arrived with a thermos of hot tea and a collection of short stories you'd been told were particularly engaging. satoru was already awake, sitting up in bed with his laptop balanced on his knees, the screen illuminating his blindfolded face.
"breaking hospital rules with unauthorized electronics?" you teased, setting down the tea and books.
he minimized his screen with a flick of his wrist. "just checking emails. the higher-ups can't seem to resist bothering me even when i'm supposedly 'resting.'" he gestured to the thermos. "is that that fancy jasmine blend you brought last week? the one that smells like a flower garden?"
"guilty as charged," you said, pouring two cups. "thought it might help with the migraines."
he accepted the cup with a nod that seemed more dulled than usual, his fingers brushing yours as he took it. the contact sent a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the tea.
"you're too good to me," he said, taking a sip. "keep this up and i'll turn soft."
you smiled, but your eyes were drawn to the way his hand trembled slightly as he raised the cup. the shiver was subtle, almost imperceptible to someone who didn't know what to look for, but to you, it was another crack in the facade.
"how are you feeling today?" you asked, keeping your tone casual.
"never better," he declared with his usual bravado. "though i did have a spectacular headache this morning. felt like someone was trying to rip out my medulla." he took another sip of tea, then winced, setting the cup down carefully.
you watched him, noticing the way he pressed his fingers against his temples, the slight tension in his jaw. this wasn't just a headache; this was something more, something deeper.
"satoru," you began, then stopped.
"yeah?" he prompted, turning his head in your direction.
you took a deep breath. "can i... can i see your hands?"
he looked surprised, but held them out, palms up. they were steady now, but you remembered the tremor from moments before. you reached out, taking one in yours. his skin was colder than before, but you could feel the fine shakes that had returned, running through his fingers like an electrical current.
"what are you doing?" he asked, though he didn't pull away.
"just checking something," you murmured, tracing the lines on his palm with your thumb.
he was quiet for a long moment, then his fingers tightened around yours. "you're different today," he said. "more observant."
"i'm always observant," you countered, though you knew that wasn't entirely true. something had shifted in you since shoko's diagnosis. you couldn't unsee what you now knew to look for.
"maybe," he conceded. "or maybe i'm just getting worse at hiding things."
you looked up at him, meeting his blindfolded gaze. "are you in pain right now?"
the question hung in the air between you, fragile and charged. gojo was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. then, slowly, he nodded.
"a little," he admitted. "it comes and goes. mostly in my head. sometimes... sometimes it spreads."
"where else?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
he hesitated, then said, "my eyes. they ache behind the blindfold. like they're trying to burn through it." he paused, then added, "my hands too. sometimes they feel... disconnected. like they don't belong to me."
you wanted to ask more, to press him for details, but you could see the effort it was taking for him to even admit this much. instead, you simply squeezed his hand.
"i'm sorry," you said.
he shook his head. "don't be. it's not your fault. it's just... the price of power, i guess." he managed a weak smile. "though i have to say, i expected a more dramatic end. not... this. not fading away in a hospital bed."
the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. this wasn’t the satoru you’d come to know—the flirty, overconfident jujutsu sorcerer who made death seem like a minor inconvenience. but there was something different now, a quiet understanding in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. it wasn’t shock. it wasn’t fear. it was just... awareness. the realization that he wasn't invincible—that, maybe, the end was closer than he liked to admit.
It made your chest tighten, a protective instinct rising within you, one you didn’t even know you had.
"i don't think anyone expects to fade away," you said softly.
"no," he agreed. "we all think we'll go out in a blaze of glory. fighting some impossible curse, saving the world, that kind of thing." he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years. "not like this. not with my brain turning to mush."
the room felt too still after he said it, like even the air didn’t want to move. he looked so small in that moment — so unlike the man everyone believed couldn’t be touched by anything. his shoulders were hunched forward just slightly, the posture of someone who had been fighting the inevitable alone for far too long.
you opened your mouth to comfort him, to reach for any piece of softness you could offer, but nothing felt right. nothing felt enough.
instead, you reached out gently, your fingertips brushing the edge of his blindfold right above his right eyebrow. the fabric was warm from his skin, damp with sweat, familiar in a way that made your throat close up. he leaned into the touch just a little, like it helped him breathe.
the silence stretched for a long, heavy moment — not awkward, not even painful. just… real. a rare moment where everything between you hung fragile and honest in the air.
then, quietly, you said it.
“there’s no we in this, gojo.”
he blinked, slow and confused, as if the words didn’t quite make sense at first.
you swallowed hard. “nobody else expects to die like that. nobody else lives with that hanging over them. it’s just you who thinks that way.”
the words felt sharper than you meant them to be, but they were true — painfully, unmistakably true. you saw it hit him, saw the way his expression shifted, the way something behind his eyes dimmed. not because you hurt him, but because you’d exposed something he never let anyone say out loud.
because he realized, maybe for the first time:
he had been carrying that belief alone his whole life.
his fingers tightened weakly in the blanket again. his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “oh,” he whispered, almost to himself. “i guess… yeah. it’s just me.”
there was a tremor in his voice — not physical, not from the illness, but emotional. a quiet unraveling. his façade cracked in a way even death hadn’t managed yet.
“i always thought that was just… how it was,” he continued softly. “that people like me don’t get to grow old. that we’re… built to die dramatic. quickly. violently. i thought that was normal.”
you shook your head, moving a little closer, your hand slipping from his blindfold to his cheek, your thumb brushing the faintest trace of fever-heated skin.
“it’s not normal,” you said. “you were just alone in it. that’s all.”
his lips parted like he wanted to argue, or agree, or just breathe, but nothing came out. he looked up at you with this expression you’d never seen on him before — a raw, bewildered kind of vulnerability. like he didn’t know what to do with the truth now that it was sitting between you.
for a moment, he wasn’t the strongest. he wasn’t untouchable. he wasn’t a legend. he was just a man who’d been conditioned to believe his life only had one possible ending.
and it wasn’t this one.
you wanted to comfort him, to say something that would make this better, but you knew there were no words. instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his blindfold, just above his right eyebrow.
"can i...?" you began, not sure what you were asking.
he didn't pull away. "what?"
"can i see?" you whispered. "just for a moment. your eyes. i won't tell anyone, i promise."
he was quiet for so long you thought he might refuse. then, slowly, he reached up and untied the knot at the back of his head. the black fabric fell away, and you found yourself holding your breath.
the eyes that met yours were not what you'd expected. they were a startling shade of blue, so pale they seemed almost translucent, like chips of ice. but it was the pain in them that struck you most—a deep, raw anguish that seemed to emanate from his very soul. the pupils were dilated, and the whites were webbed with fine red lines, as if the blood vessels had been strained to their breaking point.
"they're beautiful," you breathed, the words escaping before you could stop them.
gojo managed a weak smile. "that's what everyone says. though i think they're less impressive right now. they look like someone took a screwdriver to them."
you reached out, your fingers hovering near his face, not quite touching. "does it hurt? the light?"
"everything hurts," he admitted. "but especially light. even the soft light in here... it feels like needles."
you nodded, understanding. "i'll draw the curtains."
as you moved to the window, you felt his eyes following you, watching your every movement. when you turned back, he was still watching you, his gaze intense and unnervingly perceptive even in pain.
"you know," he said, his voice low, "you're not like the others."
"you're making me sound like a pick-me," you snorted, returning to his side. "how so?"
"the other volunteers... they come in, they do their job, they leave. they don't notice things. they don't care." he paused, then added, "you notice. you care."
you didn't know what to say to that, so you simply sat down on the edge of his bed, close enough that your knees brushed his. "i care because you're... you're important, satoru. to a lot of people."
he was quiet for a long moment, then said, "including you?"
you met his gaze, not flinching from the intensity in his eyes. "yes. including me."
something shifted in the space between you then, a current of understanding passing between you that needed no words. you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly.
"thank you," he whispered.
"for what?"
"for seeing me. not just the satoru gojo everyone else sees. the real one."
you wanted to tell him that there was no other gojo to you, that this was the only one you've ever seen, the only one you've ever wanted to see, but the words caught in your throat. instead, you simply leaned closer, your forehead touching his.
the afternoon wore on in a blur of quiet conversation and shared silences. you read to him from one of the short stories, your voice soft and steady as he listened with his eyes closed. at one point, he reached out, his fingers finding yours and lacing through them, and you didn't pull away.
as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, gojo grew quiet, his breathing slowing. you thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he spoke.
"you know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "i used to think being strong meant never showing weakness. that if i was vulnerable, people would see me as less than." he paused, then added, "but being with you... it's different. it's okay to not be strong all the time."
you squeezed his hand gently. "no one is strong all the time. not even you."
he smiled, a real smile this time, that reached his eyes despite the pain. "maybe not. but it's nice to have someone who knows that."
as the nurses came to give him his evening medication, you stayed, watching as he accepted the small pills with a nod that was almost imperceptibly weary. when they left, he turned to you, his expression serious.
"you'll come back tomorrow, right?" he asked, the vulnerability in his voice making your chest ache.
"of course," you said, surprised by how much you meant it. "i'll be here."
"good," he said, reaching out to take your hand. "because i think... i think i'm starting to need you."
the words hung in the air between you, charged with a meaning that went far beyond the patient-volunteer relationship. you looked at him, really looked at him—at the pain in his eyes, the exhaustion in his posture, the way he clung to your hand like a lifeline—and knew with certainty that your life had changed irrevocably. you weren't just a volunteer anymore. maybe to him, you never were. you were someone who had seen beyond the mask to the man beneath, and in doing so, had found something neither of you expected.
as you left the hospital that evening, the city lights blurring past the window of the train, you found yourself thinking about him—about his laughter, his strength, the way he made the sterile hospital room feel like a place of warmth and connection. and beneath it all, this quiet unraveling.
you pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over the contact list. you wanted to call someone, to talk about what you were feeling, but there was no one who would understand. no one who could comprehend the complexity of what was happening between you and gojo—the attraction, the concern, the impossible circumstances that had brought you together.
instead, you typed a message to shoko, asking if you could stop by her office the next morning before your shift. you needed to know more, to understand what was coming, to prepare yourself for whatever happened next.
as the train pulled into your station, you closed your eyes, seeing gojo's face in your mind—his blindfold, his smile, the pain in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide. and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that whatever came next, you would face it with him. because for the first time in your life, you weren't just watching someone else's story unfold. you were becoming part of it.
—
the next afternoon, you arrived to find him in a state of disheveled agitation. his bed was unmade, his laptop was open on the nightstand, and he was pacing the length of the room, his fingers pressed against his temples and his feet shuffling against the floor."
"satoru?" you asked, concern immediately flaring. "what's wrong?"
he stopped pacing, turning to face you, his blindfold askew. "they want to put me in a fucking coma. an induced one," he said, his voice tight with anger. "shoko said it'll give me more time."
you approached him cautiously, as if he were a wild animal that might bolt at any moment. "and you don't want to?"
he laughed — or tried to — but it came out cracked, jagged, nothing like a real laugh. it was a sound pulled straight from panic, scraping the raw edges of his throat.
“want to?” he echoed, like the word itself was offensive. “of course not. why the hell would i want that?”
his voice kept getting thinner, shakier, like he was losing grip on it second by second. his hands twitched against the sheets, trembling too hard to hide now. he pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth like he was trying to steady his breathing, but it only made it worse.
“it’s a waste of time,” he spat, eyes flicking wildly like he was searching for something to anchor himself to. “you know it is. i’ve seen what it looks like.”
his chest hitched — a tiny, broken jerk — and something in him just… buckled.
“it’s not natural,” he whispered, voice cracking halfway through. “it’s— it’s not even living. it’s just waiting. waiting to die while your body does… whatever the fuck it does.” he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head like he could physically dislodge the images. “i’ve watched people go into comas. i know what they look like when they take the— when they pull the plug.”
his fingers curled tightly in the blanket, knuckles whitening even through the tremor.
“don’t ask me to do that,” he choked out. “please.”
you reached out instinctively, but he flinched — not from you, but from the terror clawing through him.
“i don’t want to be—” he swallowed hard, breath stuttering. “i don’t want to be a body lying there while everyone pretends i'm gonna make it. i don’t want to be trapped in my head. i could…” his voice warped, thin and breaking, “i could just— never wake up at all.”
his breath came too fast, too shallow. he pressed a shaky hand to his chest like he couldn’t get enough air.
“they’re trying to put me away,” he whispered. “shoko wants to shelve me. like i’m already gone.”
his eyes shot to yours, wide and shimmering, panic clawing behind them.
you reached out, your fingers brushing his arm. "but it might help. it might give you more time, as shoko said."
he shook off your touch, his jaw clenching. "time for what? to lie in a bed, to be a prisoner in my own body? i won't do it. i'm not throwing away any months i might have left by laying in the hospital bed like— like i'm already dead."
you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you knew was coming. "satoru, listen to me. this is not brave. it's not strong. it's not like you'll be in the coma forever. it's just... you're being stupid."
he recoiled as if you'd slapped him, his eyes widening in shock. "what did you say?"
you held your ground, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "you heard me. skipping treatment isn't going to make you stronger. it's just going to make things worse. it's going to make you weaker, and it's going to make me and other people upset. we only want what's best for you"
he stared at you for a long moment, then laughed, a bitter sound that grated against your nerves. "upset? you're upset? you're just my nurse— no, not even that. jesus christ, you're a fucking volunteer. you're not my keeper. you're not my mother. you don't get to tell me what to do."
the words stung, but you refused to back down. "i'm not trying to tell you what to do, gojo. i'm trying to help you. i'm trying to keep you here, with me, with all of us, for as long as possible. but if you're just going to throw that away... if you're just going to give up— then— then i don't know what to say to you!"
he turned away from you, his shoulders tense. "you don't need to say anything. i know what i'm fucking doing. i know what's best for me."
you took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "fine. if that's how you feel. but i can't... i can't watch you do this to yourself. i can't watch you throw your life away."
he was silent for a long moment, then said, his voice cold, "then don't watch. no one's asking you to."
that one hurt in a way nothing else had — not the distance, not the slow dying, not the fear. this felt like betrayal. like he’d taken every soft thing you’d given him and lobbed it back at your chest.
your laugh came out sharp and humorless before you could stop it. “yeah? no one’s asking me?” you said, stepping closer so he had to hear you. “that’s funny, because just a few hours ago you were talking about how you didn’t want to be alone. about how much you needed me here.”
his shoulders tensed even harder, but he still wouldn’t face you.
“but sure,” you went on, voice low, trembling with hurt and anger. “let’s pretend that didn’t happen. let’s pretend you’re not terrified and lashing out because it’s easier than admitting you don’t want to die without someone in the room.” you swallowed hard. “you want me here more than you’ll ever say, but your head’s shoved so far into your own ass you can’t even admit that.”
he flinched. actually flinched.
you stepped back, your hands shaking. “but if you wanna play it like that… fine. i won’t.”
you heard the breath he sucked in — sharp, panicked — but he didn’t turn around. didn’t call after you. didn’t take the words back.
he just sat there, shoulders trembling, as you walked away for the first time.
you made your way to shoko's office, pushing open the door without knocking. she looked up from her desk, surprise flashing across her face.
she said your name, standing. "what's wrong?"
you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "satoru. he's... he's deciding on skipping treatment. he won't listen to reason. he won't listen to me."
shuko sighed, rubbing her temples. "i was afraid of this. his pride... it's going to be his downfall."
"he says i'm just his nurse," you said, your voice breaking slightly. "he says i don't have the right to tell him what to do."
shuko was quiet for a moment, then said, "you're too attached to him. it's clouding your judgment. you need to distance yourself. for your own sake, and for his."
the words felt like a slap in the face, and you found yourself recoiling. "what do you mean? i'm just trying to help him."
"exactly," shoko said, her voice gentle but firm. "you're trying too hard. you're letting your emotions get in the way. you need to step back, let the doctors handle this."
you shook your head, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "no! i can't do that. i won't do that. i won't just stand by and watch him— watch him... fade away!"
shoko’s expression softened, but there was something tired in it too — something that told you she’d already had this conversation in her own head a hundred times. something that told you you weren’t the first person breaking over him.
“you think you’re the only one scared?” she said quietly. “you think you’re the only one who hates this? i’ve known him since we were kids. i’ve stitched him back together more times than i can count. i’ve watched him walk into hell with that stupid grin like he’s invincible.” she let out a hollow laugh. “this isn’t easy for me either.”
her voice wasn’t sharp — it was worse. it was honest.
you swallowed, but the knot in your throat wouldn’t budge. “then why are you acting like i should just… step aside?”
“because i know how he is,” she murmured. “he won’t stop. he won’t rest. he won’t admit he’s scared until he’s already drowning. that’s how he’s always been.” she paused, something wounded flickering across her face. “and every time he does it, someone else gets dragged down with him. usually me. now it’s you.”
that stung — not because she meant to hurt you, but because she was right. painfully right.
you shook your head. “i don’t care if it hurts. i don’t care if he doesn’t want help. he needs someone. he needs… someone who refuses to quit on him.”
“and you think i don’t?” she whispered.
the quiet in her voice punched straight through your chest. shoko wasn’t accusing you — she was grieving with you. the difference made it worse.
you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, frustrated. “you’re telling me to let him go because you’re used to this. because you’ve been watching him self-destruct forever.”
“i’m telling you to be careful,” she corrected softly. “he’s proud. he’s stubborn. he doesn’t know how to let himself be taken care of — not by me, not by you, not by anyone.” her shoulders sagged, and for a second she looked as tired as he did. “if you push too hard, he’ll shove you away. not because he wants to — because it’s all he’s ever known.”
you hated that. you hated how true it was.
“and when he does shove you away,” shoko added, glancing at you with something like sympathy, “you’re the one who’s going to bleed for it. not him.”
your voice cracked. “so what? i should just sit here and do nothing?”
“no,” she said, shaking her head. “you stay. you care. you love him in whatever way he’ll let you. but don’t make yourself believe you can stop him from being who he is.” she hesitated, then admitted, “if i couldn’t do it after all these years… you won’t either.”
that was the part that finally shattered something in you.
because she wasn’t pushing you away from him — she was warning you from experience. from heartbreak. from loving someone who never let himself be saved.
and for a moment, standing there in the dim hospital hallway, you realized it wasn’t just your heart on the line.
he’d been breaking hers for years too.
you left her office without another word, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a whirlwind of anger, fear, and confusion. you knew she was right, knew that you were too invested, too emotionally entangled, but you couldn't just walk away. not now. not when he needed you most.
—
you spent the rest of the day avoiding gojo's room, instead throwing yourself into your other duties with a fervor that bordered on manic. you cleaned patient rooms, restocked supply closets, even helped with laundry, all the while trying to push thoughts of gojo from your mind. but no matter how busy you kept yourself, his words echoed in your mind, a bitter litany of rejection and anger.
you didn’t go back the next day.
or the day after that.
the silence stretched into a week — a cold, echoing gap that felt way too big, way too sharp, like someone had carved out a piece of you and left the wound open to the air. at first you told yourself you were still mad. that you needed space. that he deserved to sit with the consequences of pushing you away.
but that wasn’t the truth. not even close.
the truth was uglier: every time you even thought about going back, something twisted in your gut, a nauseating mix of fear and shame that made your lungs feel too tight. because yeah, he’d snapped at you. yeah, he’d been cruel. but it wasn’t his fault. not really. his brain was failing him. his control was slipping. and you’d walked out anyway — furious, hurt, convinced for one stupid moment that your pride mattered in the face of what he was going through.
shoko's words echoed in your mind: you're too attached. but detachment felt like a betrayal of a different kind. on the eighth day, the gnawing worry won out. it wasn't about forgiveness or pride anymore; it was a simple, biological need to know if he was still breathing.
you didn't bring flowers. instead, you stopped at a small, expensive bakery near the hospital and bought two slices of matcha cheesecake—his favorite, something he'd mentioned offhandedly months ago when complaining about hospital food. the box felt flimsy in your hands, a pathetic peace offering for a war you weren't sure you wanted to end.
the walk to room 307 felt longer than ever. the familiar scent of antiseptic and despair seemed sharper, more accusatory. you paused outside his door, your heart hammering against your ribs. no sound came from within. taking a deep, shaky breath, you pushed the door open.
the room was dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. gojo was sitting up in bed, but he wasn't wearing his blindfold. he was staring blankly at the wall opposite him, his profile illuminated by the sliver of light escaping the drapes. and he was crying.
silent, steady tears tracked down his cheeks, glistening in the low light. his shoulders were slumped, his hands limp on the blanket. he didn't seem to notice you, lost in some private agony. the sight stole the breath from your lungs. you’d seen him in pain, frustrated, angry.
you’d never seen him weep.
for a long moment, you just stood there, frozen, the cake box dangling from your fingers. was it the physical torment? the relentless, grinding decay of his own mind? or was it the wreckage of your argument, the bridge you’d both burned with such furious precision?
a floorboard creaked under your weight. his head snapped toward the door, his startlingly blue eyes—now clouded with pain and red-rimmed from crying—widening in shock. he swiped hastily at his cheeks with the back of a trembling hand, a gesture so vulnerable it made your chest ache.
"you're here," he breathed, his voice raw and thick.
"i brought cake," you said lamely, holding up the box as if it explained your presence after a week of radio silence.
he stared at you, then at the box, then back at you. a fresh wave of tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back fiercely. "you came back."
"i..." you swallowed, stepping fully into the room and closing the door softly behind you. "i was worried."
a bitter, choked sound escaped him, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "yeah. me too." he looked away, his jaw working. "about a lot of things."
you set the cake box on the nightstand and pulled your chair closer to the bed, but didn't sit. the distance between you felt vast, charged with everything left unsaid. "satoru..."
"i'm sorry." the words rushed out of him, quiet but fervent. "what i said— calling you just a murse... it was a lie. the biggest lie i've ever told, and i've told some whoppers." he finally met your gaze, his eyes pleading. "you're not. you haven't been for a long time. i was just— i am— so scared. and i took it out on you! pushing you away, as stupid as that was, it was-" he pauses, gesturing helplessly to himself, "it was easier than letting you see me like...this. but it didn't work. nothing's easier. it's all just— everything's worse without you here."
the confession, so stark and honest, dismantled the last of your defenses. the anger bled away, leaving only a profound, aching sorrow. you sank into the chair. "i'm sorry too," you whispered. "for storming out. for calling you stupid. i didn't mean it. not really. i was just... so afraid for you."
he nodded, a tear escaping to trace the path of its predecessor. "i know. i am stupid. just not in the way you think." he was quiet for a moment, his breathing shallow. "the headaches... they're constant now. a white-hot pressure behind my eyes that never fully goes away. my hands..." he held them up; the fine tremor was now a persistent, noticeable shake. "i dropped a glass of water this morning. couldn't pick up the pieces. shoko had to do it." the humiliation in his voice was a tangible thing. "i can barely feed myself without spilling everything. i tried to wash my hair in the sink yesterday and almost passed out from the pain of leaning over."
his gaze dropped to his lap, his shoulders curling inward. "i feel so... weak. useless. i don't know how to— i don't know how to be who i've become."
without thinking, you reached out and covered his trembling hand with yours. he turned his palm up, his fingers lacing through yours with a desperate strength. then, slowly, as if the movement cost him immense effort, he leaned sideways, letting his forehead rest against your thigh. the contact was electric, a surrender so complete it stole your breath. you could feel the heat of his skin through your jeans, the slight dampness of his tears.
you let your free hand come up, hovering for a second before you gently carded your fingers through his hair. it was, as you'd noticed from the doorway, lank and slightly greasy at the roots. the strongest sorcerer in the world, brought low by something as mundane as being unable to wash his own hair.
"let me help," you said softly, the words leaving your lips before you could reconsider their intimacy.
he stiffened for a fraction of a second, then exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that seemed to deflate him further. "you don't have to."
"i want to."
he was silent for so long you thought he'd refused. then, a barely perceptible nod against your leg. "...okay."
you helped him shuffle to the edge of the bed, his movements slow and uncoordinated, leaning heavily on you. you guided him to the recliner chair by the window, draping a towel over his shoulders. you filled a basin with warm water from the bathroom sink, adding a few drops of the lavender-scented shampoo you'd brought for him weeks ago, hoping the scent might soothe his headaches.
kneeling beside the chair, you gently tilted his head back. he kept his eyes closed, his long white lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. his breathing was shallow, hitched.
"tell me if it hurts," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
he gave another small nod.
you began, pouring the warm water slowly over his hair, using a cup to wet it thoroughly. he flinched at the first touch, a sharp intake of breath, but then relaxed marginally as the warmth seeped in. you worked the shampoo into a lather, your fingers massaging his scalp with careful, deliberate circles. the intimacy of the act was overwhelming—the smell of lavender and clean sweat, the softness of his hair against your skin, the absolute trust in his stillness.
as you worked, you felt it—the subtle tremors running through his skull, the tension in the muscles of his neck and shoulders that no amount of gentle massage could ease. you rinsed, the water turning slightly cloudy, and repeated with conditioner. through it all, he didn't speak. but you heard it—the soft, hitching sniffles he tried to suppress, the occasional shuddering breath that betrayed the emotion he was fighting to contain.
it wasn't just the pain. you knew that now. it was the humiliation. the loss of control. the terrifying vulnerability of being cared for in such a fundamental way. for satoru gojo, who had defined himself by his effortless, boundless strength, this was a deeper agony than any curse could inflict.
after the final rinse, you wrapped his hair in a fresh, soft towel. you didn't move away. you stayed kneeling there, your hands resting on the towel atop his head. he finally opened his eyes, looking down at you. they were clearer now, but swimming with a pain that had nothing to do with his six eyes.
"thank you," he whispered, his voice cracking on the second syllable.
you just shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your own throat. you reached up and carefully dabbed at a stray tear track on his cheek with the corner of the towel. he caught your wrist, not to stop you, but to hold it there, his thumb stroking over your pulse point.
"i don't deserve you," he said, the words raw.
"that's not your decision to make," you replied, your own voice thick.
you helped him back to bed, his body heavy and pliant with exhaustion. you fetched a comb and carefully worked through the tangles in his damp hair until it fell in its usual soft, chaotic waves. he watched you the entire time, his gaze a physical weight.
when you were done, you finally opened the cake box. you fed him small bites, your fingers steadying his trembling ones around the fork. he ate silently, his eyes never leaving your face.
you felt the room shrink around the two of you — the quiet hum of the machines, the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the faint sweetness of the cake mixing with the sharp, sterile air. he lay there against the pillows, chest rising in shallow, tired breaths, hair falling into his eyes. he looked younger like this, stripped of all the bravado he carried like armor.
his voice broke the silence, barely more than a whisper.
“can i kiss you?”
you froze. you shouldn’t have — you knew better, you really did — but something in the way he asked it just… gutted you. it wasn’t flirty or smug or teasing. it was a confession. a plea. like he was afraid he wouldn’t get another chance.
“satoru…” you breathed, not even sure what you meant to follow it with.
he swallowed, throat bobbing. “i just—” his fingers flexed weakly on the blanket. “i don’t want to go without knowing what your lips feel like. please?”
you hesitated, the weight of every reason to say no crashing into you all at once — boundaries, professionalism, the messy tangle of grief already forming in your chest. but he looked at you with so much naked vulnerability that it felt like refusal might shatter him outright.
“okay,” you whispered finally. “okay. come here.”
you shifted closer, leaning in slowly, gently, giving him every chance to pull back. but he shook his head with a faint, breathless laugh.
“no. let me,” he murmured, determination flickering through the exhaustion. “i want to kiss you.”
he pushed himself up with trembling arms, gritting his teeth as the effort drained what little strength he had left. you reached out instinctively, steadying him at his waist.
“hey— take it easy—”
but he only shook his head again, stubborn even now. “please,” he said, and that single word undid you completely.
so you let him.
he brought one hand up to your cheek — slow, shaky, but purposeful — his thumb brushing just under your eye like he was memorizing you by touch alone. his palm was warm, but you could feel the tremor running through it. he leaned in until his forehead touched yours, breath coming uneven and fragile.
“you’re… so beautiful,” he whispered, the words ghosting across your lips.
then, with every ounce of strength he still had, he kissed you.
it wasn’t desperate in the way you expected. there was no rush, no heat, just an aching tenderness that made your heart lurch. his lips were soft, careful, reverent. like he was afraid you might disappear if he pressed too hard. his hand cupped your face fully now, shaking just slightly as his fingers threaded into your hair. you felt him pour something into the kiss — something quiet and honest and devastatingly gentle.
you kissed him back just as softly, one hand gripping the front of his hospital gown because he was swaying, and the other bracing against the mattress. the whole world narrowed to the faint mint on his breath, the warmth of his mouth, the way he exhaled shakily against your lips like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
after a long moment, he pulled back, chest heaving with the effort. his eyes fluttered open — tired, bright, impossibly full.
“worth it,” he whispered with the ghost of a smile.
“you’re ridiculous,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone, but your voice shook.
he sank back into the pillows, breath shuddering as though even that tiny moment had wrung him dry. you helped guide him down gently, adjusting the blankets around him.
when his breathing steadied, you reached for the cake box. the spell didn’t break — it softened.
you cut a small piece, placing it on the plastic tray, and held the fork out to him. his fingers trembled too much to grip it properly, so you wrapped your hand around his, steadying him as he lifted it to his mouth.
he ate each bite slowly, almost reverently. crumbs clung to the corner of his lips, and you reached out to wipe them away with your thumb. he leaned into the touch like it was instinct, eyes half-lidded.
“good?” you asked softly.
he nodded, chewing, then swallowed with effort. “only ’cause you’re feeding me,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours again — heavy, unguarded, almost glowing with something you weren’t sure you were ready to name.
you fed him another small bite. his fingers trembled again, and you steadied them without a word. he didn’t look away from you once, not even for a heartbeat. it felt like he was memorizing you — the shape of your face, the sound of your breathing, the warmth you never realized you were offering.
like he wanted to save all of it, store it somewhere inside him before anything could fade.
before he could fade.
—
the next morning hit you like a cold hand around your spine.
you walked into his room expecting him to at least be awake — maybe exhausted, maybe dim around the edges, but awake. instead you found him half-curled on his side, blindfold askew, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. the sheets were twisted around his legs like he’d been fighting the pain even in his sleep.
“'toru?” you whispered.
his eyelids twitched. he didn’t open them.
you stepped closer, trying to breathe normally despite the sudden spike of dread clawing through your chest. his skin looked paler than yesterday — not the soft, porcelain sort of pale he always joked about, but a washed-out, empty kind. his breathing was uneven, each inhale catching like something inside him snagged on the way in.
you touched his shoulder gently. “hey. can you hear me?”
he flinched. actually flinched. like your touch burned.
“sorry— sorry, i’m so sorry,” you blurted, but he grabbed your wrist weakly, fingers barely curling around it.
“’s not you,” he breathed, voice shredded. “just— hurts.”
the two words lodged in your throat like shards of glass.
you eased down onto the bed beside him, lifting the edge of the blindfold. his eyes were squeezed shut, lashes damp. there was a faint line of dried blood under his nose — he must’ve wiped it away in the night, too groggy to get help. you grabbed tissues and dabbed at the dried streaks, careful not to make it worse.
his jaw trembled.
“bad morning?” you asked softly, because saying anything heavier might break both of you.
he let out a small, humorless laugh, more air than sound. “y-you could say that.” his voice cracked. “feels like my brain’s… eating itself.”
your chest tightened painfully. “shoko’s coming in soon. i’ll get her—”
his hand shot out, clutching your sleeve with surprising desperation. “no. stay a sec.” he swallowed hard, throat clicking. “just… stay with me.”
you sank back into the chair, staying close enough that your knee brushed the edge of his hip.
“what can i do?”
he hesitated, like he hated the answer. “water,” he whispered finally.
you helped him sit up — or tried to. the second your arm slipped behind his back, he let out a strangled sound, half-gasp, half-whimper, immediately hiding his face in the crook of your shoulder as if that would muffle it. you froze, heart breaking cleanly in two.
he’d been in pain before — migraines, disorientation, the occasional wave of dizziness — but never like this. never so raw that he couldn’t pretend.
“hey, hey— it’s okay,” you murmured, supporting his weight. “i’ve got you.”
“shouldn’t…” he breathed shakily. “shouldn’t hurt like this.”
you bit the inside of your cheek. he’d always been the strongest person in any room — physically, spiritually, catastrophically — and watching him fold into himself like this felt wrong on some cosmic level.
you got him upright against the pillows, even though it left him trembling, teeth clenched. you offered the cup of water, but his hands shook too hard to hold it. so you brought it to his lips yourself, angling it slowly so he didn’t choke.
he drank a few sips, then leaned his head back, exhausted from just that.
“thank you,” he whispered, breath catching halfway through the words.
“you don’t have to thank me for helping you.”
“i do,” he murmured, eyes opening just a sliver — bloodshot, unfocused. “you… you shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
“stop.” your voice broke on it. “don’t say that.”
his lips twitched in something that wanted to be a smile but died halfway. “i was more fun yesterday, huh?”
you set the cup down a little too hard. “shut up,” you whispered, suddenly angry in that helpless, scared way grief feels before it has a place to go. “you don’t have to be 'fun'. you don’t have to joke.”
his breathing hitched — not quite a sob, but close. “if i don’t joke,” he whispered, “i’m gonna fall apart.”
you reached for his hand.
he didn’t squeeze back.
not because he didn’t want to — because he couldn’t.
his fingers lay limp in your grasp, trembling faintly, warmth fading from them as if even holding your hand cost too much.
his eyes were half-open now, staring past you at something you couldn’t see, pupils unfocused like his energy was slipping away faster than he could pull it together.
“satoru,” you whispered urgently, brushing his hair from his damp forehead, “hey, look at me— stay with me, okay?”
he blinked slowly, clumsily, like it took effort.
“i’m here,” he murmured. “just… tired.”
tired. not the normal kind. not the stayed-up-too-late kind.
the kind that sounded final.
you cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the fever-warm skin. “i’m calling shoko.”
he shook his head — a tiny motion, barely there. “no— five minutes. please. just… not yet.”
tears pricked your eyes, hot and unwanted. “you’re in so much pain.”
“yeah, i am” he said softly, a broken little sigh. “but it's better with you here.”
you felt something inside you crack open.
he leaned into your touch again, weakly, like he barely had the strength to move but still sought your warmth. his breaths were uneven, shallow, every exhale shaking.
you could feel the tremor in his ribs each time he inhaled, like even breathing was something his body was starting to argue with.
you swallowed hard. “did you take your morphine this morning?”
he didn’t answer right away. his jaw twitched, the faintest shift. his eyelids fluttered, then lowered again like he didn’t even have the energy to lie properly.
“gojo,” you said softly, “did you take it?”
a beat.
then a tiny shake of his head.
your stomach dropped. “why not?”
that got a reaction — not a verbal one, but he stiffened just a little, shoulders tightening like a flinch. he looked away, face turning toward the wall as if he could hide inside the shadows it cast.
“i… couldn’t,” he murmured finally.
“what do you mean you couldn’t?” you pressed, keeping your voice gentle even though panic was starting to climb up your throat. “the cup was right there.”
he swallowed, throat bobbing painfully. “i couldn’t sit up.”
the words landed like a punch.
you stared at him, your hand still cupping his cheek, thumb stroking along his skin like you were afraid he’d fade if you stopped.
“why didn’t you call me?” you whispered.
nothing.
you leaned closer, trying to catch his gaze. “hey. why didn’t you call me?”
his lips parted, trembled, then pressed together again like he was trying to hold the words in. his fingers curled weakly in the blankets, fighting some invisible battle with himself.
finally, barely audible:
“i didn’t… wanna bother you.”
you blinked, staring at him because the sentence didn’t make sense. not here, not now, not after everything.
“bother me?” you echoed. “gojo— what are you talking about?”
he let out a shaky laugh, the kind that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “i was… i was embarrassed.”
you felt your heart break — loudly, violently — right behind your ribs.
“embarrassed?” your voice cracked. “you think i'd feel burdened by you? because you needed help?”
he winced, not from pain — though there was plenty of that — but from hearing it out loud.
“i just…” he breathed, staring at the ceiling because he couldn’t look at you. “i used to be able to do everything. anything. sitting up wasn’t supposed to be—” his voice wavered, broke, “—something i need help with.”
you slid your hand down from his cheek to his shoulder, grounding him, grounding yourself. “you’re sick,” you said softly. “you’re allowed to need help.”
he shook his head again, smaller than before. “not from you.”
“why not?”
his breath hitched, and for a moment you thought he might cry — not loudly, not noticeably, but in that quiet way where someone’s entire face softens and collapses under the weight of the truth.
“because i don’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered.
you leaned closer, voice breaking right along with him. “i've already seen you like this. and i’m still here, aren't i?”
his chin trembled. he didn’t answer.
you brushed the damp hair from his forehead, fingers gentle. “you should’ve called me.”
he whispered, “i know.”
“i would’ve come right away.”
a beat. his voice came out thin, almost childlike. “i was scared you wouldn’t.”
your breath caught.
that was the first time he said something like that — the first crack in the armor that wasn’t pain, wasn’t exhaustion, but fear. real, human fear.
you slid onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him.
“i’m here,” you murmured. “i’m right here. you’re not doing any of this alone.”
his eyes finally met yours — glazed, exhausted, rimmed red — but there was something else there too. relief. shame. fragility.
“can… can you help me sit up now?” he asked, voice small.
“yeah,” you said, brushing your thumb across his cheek again. “of course i can.”
you shifted closer, slipping an arm behind his back. even that small movement made him tense, breath catching like a whimper he refused to let out. slowly, carefully, you lifted him, guiding his body upright a few inches at a time. every muscle in him shook.
“you’re okay,” you murmured. “i’ve got you.”
his fingers clutched weakly at your sleeve, more for grounding than support. you could feel how badly he was shaking — not from fear, not exactly, but from sheer exhaustion, pain threading through every nerve.
when you finally propped him against the pillows, he let out a shuddering sigh, sweat dampening his temples. you reached back to adjust them, making sure he wasn’t leaning at an angle that would strain him more.
but then he did something you weren’t expecting.
he scooted over.
slowly, inch by inch, like each movement took a whole breath to complete. he shifted closer until his shoulder brushed yours, then leaned into your side, curling into you like someone exhausted down to the soul.
you froze for a heartbeat — not because you didn’t want it, but because the gesture was so vulnerable, so unlike the gojo you used to know. the one who joked, bragged, teased—he wasn’t here. this was someone softer. smaller. hurting. trusting you anyway.
hesitating only for a moment, you lifted your hand and slid your fingers through his hair.
he exhaled — a tiny sound, almost a sigh, almost relief — and relaxed just a little against you. his head rested against your shoulder, the weight of it so light it scared you.
you kept running your hand gently through his hair, stroking the damp strands back, untangling a few knots with your fingertips. each time your nails grazed his scalp, his breathing steadied, just a bit.
he curled his legs up slightly, like folding in on himself made him hurt less, one hand clutching at the fabric of your shirt weakly. he was warm against you, but too warm — feverish.
after a long moment of silence, he spoke.
“can i… ask you something?” his voice was rough, barely above a whisper.
“of course.”
he hesitated. you felt his fingers tighten faintly, like he was bracing himself.
“do you…” he swallowed hard, breath trembling, “do you see me as… less of a man? like this?”
the question hit you straight in the heart.
you turned your head slightly, brushing your cheek against his hair as you kept stroking through the soft, messy strands.
“no,” you whispered immediately. “not even a little.”
he inhaled shakily — not quite relief, not quite disbelief, something tangled between the two.
“i feel like i should be stronger,” he murmured, his voice cracking on the last word. “i used to be… everything. untouchable. unbeatable. i don’t… i don’t know what i am now.”
you curled your arm around him more firmly, holding him so he wouldn’t have to hold himself upright.
“you’re still satoru,” you said softly. “you’re still strong. needing help doesn’t change that.”
he let out a broken breath, leaning more heavily into your side like your words had taken something unbearably heavy off his chest.
“i don’t want you to think i’m weak,” he whispered. “or pathetic.”
“i don’t,” you said, threading your fingers through his hair again. “i never will.”
your hand slipped down to cup the back of his neck, thumb brushing soothing circles. he shivered — not from pain this time, but from the softness of it. like he wasn’t used to being touched gently. like he didn’t know how to accept it without falling apart.
his voice came again, even quieter, barely there:
“thank you— thank you for not looking away.”
you turned your head, resting your cheek lightly against the top of his hair.
“nothing else is worth looking at,” you murmured.
and he curled into you just a little tighter, like he needed those words as much as the air he was struggling to breathe.
—
you didn’t sleep that night. you sat slumped in the stiff hospital chair with your head tipped back against the wall, staring at the pattern of tiny cracks in the ceiling tiles. the room smelled faintly of antiseptic and fading lavender — the little diffuser you’d snuck in weeks ago because he said it reminded him of “a nice hotel, not a deathbed.”
every so often his breathing hitched in his sleep, these tiny, stuttering noises that were almost whimpers. they slipped out before he could swallow them down, before he could turn them into a joke or a smug comment about how dramatic he was. each one struck you like a pin in the ribs.
by morning, your eyes burned, your back ached, and the gray dawn light through the blinds made everything look washed-out. but none of that mattered.
because the strongest looked worse.
so much worse.
his skin had gone a pale, waxy shade, like the color was draining out of him from the inside. the hollows beneath his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen, bruised and sunken. sweat dampened the white hair at his temples, plastering a few strands to his forehead. his chest rose and fell in uneven jerks, each inhale a struggle, each exhale shaky enough to make your own breath catch.
you could tell right away — before you even touched him — that something had shifted overnight. something irreversible.
“satoru?” you whispered, barely breathing the name.
at first he didn’t respond. his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, unfocused, like he wasn’t sure whether he was awake or dreaming. you reached out slowly, your fingertips brushing the back of his hand.
he flinched.
so faintly you almost missed it, but it was there — a startled, fragile twitch, like your touch was too much sensation for a body too close to shutting down.
“hey,” you murmured, scooting closer. “what’s wrong?”
he blinked. once. twice. each one slow, delayed, like his brain had to send the command twice.
when he finally turned his head toward you, it was sluggish, as if gravity itself had grown heavier.
his mouth opened a little. no words came out. he swallowed and tried again.
“i was gonna tell you something important,” he said, a weak, confused sound. “i— i forgot.”
it froze you.
it froze everything.
because even exhausted, even when his pain split his skull open, he never lost words. he lived in words — cocky quips, teasing insults, dramatic declarations. his mouth ran even when his body failed.
but now, lying there lost and blinking slowly at you, he wasn’t gojo satoru — strongest sorcerer in the world, living embodiment of arrogance and charm.
he was a scared young man who couldn’t remember what he was trying to say.
“okay,” you whispered. “it’s okay. just breathe for me.”
he tried. god, he tried. his chest rose but trembled, like the simple act of pulling in air was something he had to fight for. you shifted closer, adjusting the pillows behind him to lift him a little. his body moved like a ragdoll — light, limp, frighteningly easy to guide.
when his eyes finally met yours again, they were glassy. too bright. too wet.
“hey,” he mumbled. “is it time?”
everything dropped out under you.
the air. the room. your heartbeat.
it all fell silent for one excruciating second.
he’d never asked that. not once. he’d joked about it, teased you about worrying too much, shrugged off shoko’s stern lectures. but now he asked it with this raw fear, this quiet, helpless confusion that made your stomach twist.
you opened your mouth, desperate to say no, to soothe him—
but no sound came out.
and he saw that.
his expression shattered slowly, piece by piece, like glass cracking under pressure.
“it is, isn't it?” he whispered.
your throat closed so tight you couldn’t breathe. you shook your head too fast, too hard, your tears spilling immediately, hot and stinging. your vision blurred, but you kept looking at him because he needed you to.
“no— satoru, just— just wait, okay? don’t— don’t jump to conclusions—”
“hey,” he breathed, voice trembling with fatigue. “don’t lie. i can… i can feel it.”
he tried to lift his hand toward you. it barely moved more than an inch before dropping again. you grabbed it instantly, wrapping both hands around his, trying to infuse warmth into fingers that were frighteningly cold.
you wanted to be strong. to be calm.
but the panic surged too fast, too violently, clawing up your chest.
his breathing grew erratic, shallow. his gaze kept drifting to the side, losing focus. every few seconds he tried to form a word and failed — the syllables falling apart halfway, dissolving on his tongue.
“satoru,” you whispered, voice cracking. “stay with me. hey— stop! look at me. please.”
but he couldn’t.
his head rolled slightly, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth slack with confusion. you squeezed his hand harder, your tears dripping onto his sheets. each second felt like it was slipping through your fingers.
“please!” you cried, the word barely a sound. “don’t go yet.”
he blinked, slow and delayed.
then he tried to smile.
it was faint. broken. but it was him. still him.
you turned away.
“hey,” he murmured. “don’t… look away from me. please. i wanna… wanna see your pretty face.”
that shattered you.
your breath stuttered violently. you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing the cold skin just beneath his eye. he leaned into it — weakly, barely perceptible, but he did.
“good,” he sighed, his voice a thin thread. “there you are.”
he was slipping.
you felt it in the way his chest rose slower, in the way his fingers twitched but couldn’t close around yours anymore. every time you blinked, he looked softer, more unfocused.
“i… i was saying something, right?” he murmured, the fog swallowing half the words.
your heart pounded so loudly it hurt.
“okay,” you whispered. “try. i’m right here.”
he swallowed with difficulty.
“i was saying… that…”
his gaze drifted. his face slackened.
he blinked, looking at nothing.
you watched his mind lose the thread.
“i can't,” he whispered, ashamed.
you covered your mouth with one hand, trying not to break completely.
“it’s okay,” you sobbed softly. “it’s okay, satoru.”
his breath hitched.
and then — just for one heartbeat — his eyes cleared.
"i need to tell you this before i forget how to say it"
crystal blue. sharp. bright. unmistakably him.
and he said it:
“i love you.”
you collapsed forward, the sound you made nothing short of broken. he smiled, tiny and soft, like the confession relieved him of a weight he’d been carrying for too long.
you touched your forehead to his, your tears sliding onto his cheek. his breathing was collapsing inward now, weak and uneven, every inhale thinner than the last.
“i love you,” you whispered back, desperate. “i love you so much, please— p-please stay, please don’t—”
but he was already fading.
his eyes drifted. his hand slipped from yours, fingers falling limp. his breathing slowed to something fragile and irregular, like a candle flickering in its last seconds.
“satoru?” you whispered, voice shaking. “hey. hey— look at me—”
he looked one last time.
one slow blink.
one small, peaceful smile.
his chest lifted. once, twice, then it fell.
and it didn't rise again.
the silence that followed was unbearable.
your brain couldn’t wrap around it. it sat there in the space between you like something obscene, something unholy. your hand was still cradling his cheek. his forehead was still touching yours. your tears were still sliding down onto his skin.
but he wasn’t breathing.
your body knew it before your mind did. something primal inside you recoiled, screamed, twisted — but everything in your head went eerily, horribly blank.
you didn’t move.
you didn’t breathe.
you just stared at him.
at his half-closed eyes, still aimed in your direction but empty now. at the faint hint of a smile still on his lips, as if he’d slipped away mid-sigh. at the way his chest stayed still, stubbornly still, despite every instinct telling you it had to rise again.
it didn’t.
you didn’t know how long you stayed like that — seconds, minutes, a lifetime — before the door burst open.
“we got an alarm spike—!”
shoko’s voice hit you like it was underwater, muffled and distant. then more footsteps, louder, clattering equipment, the curtain being yanked aside, voices overlapping:
“get oxygen—”
“he’s unresponsive—”
“pulse?”
“nothing—”
“start compressions—”
“move the volunteer out of the— wait—”
someone touched your shoulder.
you didn’t feel it.
your mind was trapped in this strange slow-motion loop, reliving the last second of his life over and over again — the way his eyes softened, the way his smile sagged, the way his chest fell and never rose again. time didn’t feel real. your body didn’t feel real.
a pair of hands grabbed your arms, trying to pull you back.
you didn’t resist. you didn’t help either. you were a statue they had to drag away, your limbs stiff, your gaze glued to the bed.
they moved you aside, but your eyes never left him. not even when someone stepped in front of you — you just shifted enough to keep him in view.
they laid him flat on the bed. his head lolled a little with the movement, and that — that tiny motion — made something inside you wrench violently. you wanted to scream at them to be gentle, he was fragile, he was hurting, he—
but your throat didn’t work.
you watched shoko climb onto the stool beside him, her face set, her eyes sharp, her hands steady.
you watched her lace her fingers together and place them over his sternum.
and then she started cpr.
hard. forceful. the sound of her compressions was awful — this sickening rhythmic thump of bone and muscle and skin being pushed down, over and over. his body jerked with every push, arms shifting, hair bouncing.
you felt nauseous.
the room swarmed with motion — machines beeping, nurses shouting vitals, someone tearing open an iv packet, another preparing a defib pad — but it all blurred together into meaningless color and noise. none of it touched you.
you just kept staring.
you couldn’t recognize him now — not the way he moved under their hands. he looked like a body. like something separate from the warmth you’d held only minutes ago.
your vision tunneled. all the edges of the world faded out.
someone knelt in front of you, saying your name with urgency, trying to get you to respond. but they sounded far away, like they were shouting to you from across a canyon.
you blinked once. slowly.
your eyes burned. your chest felt tight, too tight. your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs, a frantic drum that didn’t match the lifeless stillness you were seeing.
and still — you didn’t move.
you just watched.
watched shoko push and push and push, her jaw clenched, sweat forming at her brow. watched the nurses switch out, taking turns, their movements frantic.
watched the defibrillator paddles press against his chest, jolting his whole body off the mattress in a violent, horrifying jerk.
you didn’t flinch. not did you blink.
you just watched.
time lost all shape. your ears rang. the air felt thick like syrup. your hands tingled uselessly in your lap.
then — suddenly — everything stopped.
the movements. the shouting. even the rhythmic thump of compressions.
shoko slowed, her arms trembling slightly, then pulled back. she stared down at the body beneath her hands. her shoulders rose and fell with one long exhale.
“time of death…” she whispered, voice cracking at the edges as she spoke the words you weren’t supposed to hear.
your stomach dropped. not sharply — more like you were freefalling in slow motion, the ground disappearing beneath you without warning.
a nurse hesitated, glancing at you.
shoko didn’t look up. her voice was barely audible as she repeated it.
someone in the room sighed. someone else quietly stepped back. the beeping machines were turned off one by one until only the harsh fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
you stayed frozen in time.
your mind was empty and full at the same time — blank, but screaming somewhere distant, like the part of you that felt anything had been shoved behind thick glass.
his body lay still on the bed, his hair mussed, the sheets wrinkled beneath him, his skin already losing heat.
you watched the last spark of your world extinguish in real time.
and you didn’t move.
—
you’d been dodging room 307 like it was cursed.
for three whole weeks, you took the long way around the ward, pretended you suddenly cared about taking the stairs, ducked into supply closets just to avoid walking past that door. even shoko noticed — she cornered you one morning, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and told you therapy wasn’t optional anymore. you didn’t argue. you didn’t have it in you.
slowly — painfully slowly — you’d started to feel like a person again. you were sleeping a little more, eating a little more, breathing without it hurting so sharply in your chest. but room 307 was still a black hole you orbited in wide, terrified circles. you couldn’t look at it without feeling your heartbeat stutter, couldn’t imagine stepping inside without your stomach twisting.
you eventually went back because shoko said you had to — because two weeks of sitting in a chair and answering questions about crying in public had to mean something — but also because the avoidance was getting loud in your bones. therapy helped in small, practical ways — grounding exercises, naming things in the room until the room was just furniture again — but grief kept its own stubborn hours.
the hallway to room 307 smelled like bleach and nothing else. when you pushed the door open you expected it to be an obliterating museum of him — his mug, his blanket, a thousand little objects clinging to presence — but instead it was skeletal. the bed was made with hospital efficiency, a pillow plumped like someone had tried to fold air into a shape. the tv was off. the magazine rack sat empty. his blindfold was gone, his chair tucked under the tray table like it hadn’t been sat in for years. the diffuser you’d hidden? not there. even the sticky ring where the cake box had sat was gone; someone had cleaned it like you’d never been there at all.
it felt like the room had held its breath and then exhaled without you.
you walked the perimeter slowly because you were afraid to break anything — not furniture, not a glass, but the illusion that something of him might still be anchored here. the tile floor was cool under your shoes; the fluorescent light hummed a thin, insulting hum. you ran your fingertips along the bedside rail out of habit and found nothing but metal.
then your foot hit an edge. a tile — one of the square floor tiles near the bed — was slightly uneven, a hairline difference that made you stop. you crouched, knees protesting, and pressed at it. it gave with a small, private click, sliding up like it had been waiting for you to notice.
underneath, folded into the dark of the cavity, was an envelope. plain manila. your name written across it in a hand that made your throat seize before you could decide if it was cruel or merciful.
you sat back on your heels and stared at it for a ridiculous amount of time. your fingers trembled when you reached for it, because anything you touched that had his handwriting felt like stealing. you turned it over, checked for a stamp or a date — nothing. the flap was tucked in like someone had been careful to keep a secret clean.
you slid a fingernail under the flap and opened it.
the blindfold hit you first.
soft, worn, familiar — the fabric he always joked about (“my designer eyewear”) now folded neatly beneath the tile with the paper tucked inside it. your breath caught as you lifted it, fingers curling into the cloth. it still smelled faintly like him, that warm, subtle scent you’d pressed your face into more times than you could count.
the letter inside was creased, edges bent, the handwriting… oh god. it was bad. jagged. uneven. letters tipped sideways like they were trying to lie down and rest too.
he’d tried so hard to write this.
the paper smelled faintly of his shampoo — the scent of mint and something you could have sworn had been there since that first ridiculous night with the cake. his writing spilled across the page, messy in that same confident scrawl he used when he was being performative, the loop on his g’s insistently extravagant. you read and then read again, because your brain kept refusing to accept the pile of words in front of you.
"if you’re reading this… it means i’m gone. i’ve gone back and forth on whether leaving a letter would make things better or worse for you, but in the end… i couldn’t leave without saying what i never had the strength to say out loud. i’m sorry. for all of it. for leaving you with this weight. for making you open a goodbye instead of hearing one.
my handwriting is awful — that’s the one joke i get — but i needed to write this even if every line shakes and smudges. i wanted something of me to stay behind, something you could hold without it hurting the way my body did.
i keep trying to figure out where to begin. maybe with thank you. you don’t know how much you gave me, just by sitting beside me, just by talking to me like i wasn’t dying. you made the hours feel less sharp. you held me like i still had a future, even when we both knew i didn’t. you were gentle with me when i’d forgotten what gentleness even felt like.
i know it wasn’t easy. watching me fall apart piece by piece… i saw it in your eyes, even when you tried to hide it. i saw the fear. the grief. the anger at how unfair everything was. i’m sorry you had to see me like that. i’m sorry you had to carry the version of me that was more pain than person.
but you stayed. even when i told you not to. even when i tried to joke my way out of scaring you. you stayed. that… meant more than i ever said. more than i ever could say while i was still here.
there’s something i never told you, and i hate that i’m telling you now, like this. i wish we’d met sooner. before all the breaking. before the countdown. before every moment between us became something we had to savor because we didn’t know how many were left. i wish we’d had time. real time. the kind where we could’ve been in love without the terror of losing it before it even had a chance.
i think about it a lot — what we could’ve been if i had more months, more years, more anything. maybe we would’ve lived somewhere quiet. maybe i would’ve learned to cook something that didn’t burn. maybe i would’ve woken up beside you instead of in a hospital bed. maybe i wouldn’t have been so afraid to want those things if i wasn’t already dying.
you made me imagine a future i had no right wanting. and even if that hurts now, even if that tears you apart, i’m grateful you existed long enough in my life to make me dream of it.
i’m sorry the end was messy. i’m sorry i scared you. i’m sorry you had to see me go. i didn’t want that for you. i hope someday the memory softens, even a little. i hope you remember me before the shaking, before the forgetting, before the pain made me someone smaller than who i really was.
remember the way i looked at you — that was real. even when everything else was slipping away, that was real.
i love you. i need you to know that. i need you to never doubt it, even on the days when remembering hurts too much to breathe. i love you in ways i didn’t understand until the end. i love you in ways i didn’t get enough time to show you. if i had been granted more time, every second would’ve been yours.
please take care of yourself. please don’t carry me like a wound forever. you deserve mornings that don’t ache. you deserve nights that don’t hollow you out. you deserve a life that keeps going, not one that stops because mine did.
if you ever think of me, i hope it’s in a way that doesn’t hurt. i hope it’s in a way that warms you instead of breaking you. i hope you remember that even at my weakest, even as everything inside me was failing — i was never alone because you were there.
i’m glad it was you. right until the very end, it was you."
your hands trembled so hard the paper blurred. his voice — the cadence of his line breaks, the way he undercut a heart with a joke — was exactly him. absurdity wrapped around confession. he’d left you a map that was both practical and mischievous, like him trying to keep caring for you even when he couldn’t bend the world to his will.
you read it again because the sentence about the sunrise made your chest split in a new way every time. the instruction to keep the cake container felt like permission to hoard something silly and alive against the sterile civilization of the hospital. the “don’t be perfect” line hit with the force of a command you didn’t know you needed.
you curled the letter to your chest until it wrinkled. your body finally broke when the first full-bodied sob hit — a real, wet thing that left you shaking and empty. you didn’t notice when the nurse knocked and stepped in, a soft, awkward pause at the door, because your whole world had narrowed to that single sheet of paper and the taste of mint that clung to it.
someone offered you a box of tissues and you took it without looking up. shoko arrived a second later, quiet, her arms folded like she was bracing for impact. she crouched beside you, wordless, and for once there were no medical terms, no protocols — just the two of you and the letter you’d uncovered under a tile.
you unfolded it again, reading aloud because your voice needed to fill the room with him. and each line was both a wound and a salve: a joke to make you breathe, a command to keep living, a confession you hadn’t been given in time.
when you read the last line, you pressed the paper to your lips and made a promise into the mess of sniffles and whispered words.
outside, the hospital lights hummed the same indifferent tune. under the tile, a piece of him had waited to be found. you tucked the letter into your jacket, close to your heart, because a thing written by his hand felt like a small, stubborn anchor. you stood up slowly, fingers white against the paper, and for the first time since the day he died, you felt like you could walk out of room 307 without tripping over silence.
you left the tile slightly askew. some things, you realized, were better with a little gap — a place to slide memories into when the world felt too whole without him.
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Synopsis: you have a fucked up co-dependent relationship with Gojo Satoru. A way to deal with your issues. However what happens if your former friend Geto Suguru comes back four years after he left to ask a question.
content warnings: Explicit sexual content, unestablished relationship, oral(fem.receiving), masterbaiting, spiting(like a lot), missionary, bedroom sex, choking, doggy position, orgasm denial, orgasm control, praise kink, rough sex
word count: 4.3k
A/n; first time writing fanfics after 4 years I’m literally off my meds!! Also this is my first time writing smut so please be kind.
Gojo Satoru was an annoying piece of shit.
You received a text from him in the middle of the night after you finished with work. You were in line at the supermarket, picking up last minute goods before the week started and Gojo let you know he won’t be at your apartment because his mission was going to need an extra day to be completed. Something about a pesky grade one spirit causing trouble at a rural hot spring in Yamagata.
The problem, however, wasn’t the fact he wasn’t coming to you. The fucking problem was his attitude. He had no shame at all.
Loser: Can’t fuck you tonight, Sowwy :(
Loser: Can’t find this damn curse. I think it’s playing games with me. Hope you don’t miss me too much haha. Send me a voicemail of you moaning so I can play it for the curse, you can be useful for a mission for once.
Loser: If it makes you feel better I can send you a dick pic (^ o ^)
“Fucking asshole,” you muttered to yourself. You shouldn’t be upset because the two of you aren’t even dating. Just some fucked-up co-dependent relationship with each other to ignore your trauma and issues. It started not even a year after your former friend Suguru defected. It broke you when you found out what he did to his parents and villagers, and it took three days for you to get out of your room and eat something.
Not even a month after, you dropped out of Jujutsu Tech. You couldn’t do it anymore. The missions, Haibara, the bodies you had to encounter. Not to mention the lack of agency you had. Suguru wasn’t wrong about Jujustu tech. To be stuck where your personal volition was repressed was degrading, and it's all for those who are weak. But to kill all non-sorcerers was where you disagreed.
Nethertheless, you were glad you left. You had enough money to move out of Tokyo and settle in Kamakura, a small coastal city. It was quieter than Tokyo and you had freedom. You took a job at a local preschool, the pay was decent but you enjoyed it.
Gojo often stoppped by the place where you lived from time to time and puts your fucked up emotions through the mattress. You knew it wasn’t healthy and felt guilty using him, but it brought you relief.
When you arrived at your apartment, you quickly placed your groceries in your fridge and got ready to take a shower. A nice hot one was what you needed. Before you did, you sent a quick text to Satoru letting him know you received his message.
Me: It’s fine. I don’t care
Me: Also please don’t. I don’t want your dick polluting my phone.
After the nice bath, you finished cleaning yourself and pulled on your pajamas. You opened the bathroom door to let the cloud of steam into your apartment. But as you took a couple steps into your living room, paranoia burned into your skin. The pit of your stomach churned because there was someone in your home. It was definitely something whose grade was at least a one or above.
“Satoru?” You called out. He was probably playing some sick game with you. “You little shit, this isn’t funny, you know how much I hate surprises.” You don’t mind living alone, but sometimes the thought of situations like this terrified you. It’s pretty ironic because you were previously a semi grade one sorcerer before you left and could exorcize a curse on your own. However it has been four years since you left and you were not going to find out if you can still put up a fight.
You walked around the room hoping to find whoever was messing with you so you can decide to leave or not.
And you did.
Because fucking Suguru Geto was laying on your coach, with his shoes on. With your phone.
“H-How did you get in?” Your head was pounding and your chest felt like it was going to explode.
“Through the window.” He can’t be serious. You despised how nonchalant he was. And he wasn’t even looking at you, only at the small device in his hand. “Your survival instincts are as horrible as I remembered.” He looked up and gave you a cruel nihilistic smile that made you sick. Suguru looked older, his hair was down and his face more defined since you last saw him. “Clearly your priorities are messed up.” He waved your phone at you. Although from where you stood the screen was blurry you can clearly tell he was looking through the text messages between you and Satoru.
Heat crept up and quickly spread to your cheeks. How dare he? He had no right to comment on your life. “Clearly you have no business here. Get the fuck out.”
“Mmm, no.” That fake sweetness laced in his voice infuriated you. “Say please.” You glared at him. Every fiber bone in your body is screaming at you to kill him. He left you. Broke your heart and ruined you. Kill him. But that desire doesn’t come. You bit into your lip hard and took a shaky deep breath.
“Suguru.”
”(y/n)” He cocked his head to the side. You remembered how often he did that when something was bothering you. This time he did it to mock you. “I can’t see my favorite girl? I missed you.”
“Oh please,” you laughed. “ You left. So quit the fake sentiment.” You brought your hand up to your face and rubbed it down your mouth. He was playing with you and you want no part in it. Before you opened your mouth to ask him to get out again, the phone that was still in Suguru’s hand pinged. It was from Satoru.
Before you had a chance to see the message he sent, Suguru turned the phone to himself and looked. His face then quickly distorted into disgust. “I can see he is still as shameless as ever.”
To your horror, you immediately knew what he meant. You grew increasingly hot and embarrassed. “I asked him not to. We aren’t anything to each other.” You bit your tongue. But Suguru can see through your lie. He tossed your phone to the other side of the couch and stood up. You noticed he was taller now. The dark sweater he wore showed the outline of his body. More muscles, larger and more handsome.
“Really?” He said as he slowly walked towards you and simultaneously you stepped back. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t know?” As your back connected to the wall, Suguru still came towards you until he was a couple inches away. It was close enough where his intoxicated scent made you go haywire. He smelled of sandalwood and peppermint, and strangely disinfectant spray.
You concentrated on him. You were breathing erratically and him being so close, wasn’t helping. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Your gaze hit the floor and Suguru grabbed your chin and gently lifted it so your eyes could meet.
“So he doesn’t know about us before I left?” He then dropped his hand from your chin and replace it by having it against the wall. He leaned down, to whisper in your ear. “How we fucked,” he lips were so close, the heat that was already present in your cheeks, extended inbetween your legs. “How we touched each other,” his free hand touched your face. You closed your eyes, you cursed how your body enjoyed this “How we tasted each other,” he purred. “Should I text him to ask?” You opened your eyes, “I’m so fucking disappointed in you. Do you really have to be this pathetic?”
This snapped the spell he placed you in. Guilt was eating you alive and it scared you. So you slapped him across the face. “Fuck you.” Next, you shoved him away. “You left me! And I cried for you.” Tears began to flood down your face, “Do you know why I’m fucking Satoru?” You shoved him harder this time, and the back of his knees collided with the coach and he fell back. You towered over him and placed both hands besides his head on the cushion. “Because of you! You, Suguru, stain my memories. You haunt my dreams and nightmares. I’m so fucking pathetic because of you. I use him so I can get rid of you.”
The tears now dripped down to his face. “I blamed myself because I had no idea what you were going through.” Your mouth turned dry and your throat itchy. “S-So please don’t judge me ok. I already know what I’m doing is bad but I don’t want to hear it from you. Please leave.” You prayed he listened and leaves but instead he brought both of his hands to your face and wiped your tears away.
“My beautiful, beautiful girl.” His voice was gentle, contrasted to his tone from before. “Don’t cry for me.” Your face melted against his hand, “only monkeys cry.”
You cringed. How can he be so gentle yet so full of hate? What was his problem? You hated that word—monkeys—because of your past and the memories it dragged up. “Don’t,” you stepped back from the warmth his hands provided and frowned. “I hate that word.”
“Why? That is what they are?”
“Suguru.” You sighed, his new purpose confused you. His distorted ideology of eradicating all non-sorcerers was scary and you really aren’t in favor of him explaining it to you. “I really don’t want to debate you on this. You are being childish.” Geto lifted his eyebrows, as if he had been insulted.
“You call justice childish?” He shifted his body on the couch to get comfortable. He was back in the position when you first encountered him in your apartment. “I’m being righteous. Imagine a world where we don’t have to die for those monkeys. Where we don’t lose faith in ourselves. And don’t give me that look (y/n) because you are smart enough to understand me.” He scoffed and he leaned his body forward to remove his shoes from your couch. “This is the easy way out. It’s the only way forward and to change things in this world.” There was a beat of silence as the both of you stared at each other. It was awful to see how he turned out. The kind charming boy who teased and loved you wasn’t there anymore. “Anyways,” he stretched and as his sweater pulled up, you saw a glimpse of his abs. “I’m not here to preach.”
“Then why are you here?” He smiled.
Like genuinely smiling, the same one from high school that warmed your heart.
“You are going to hit me.”
“What?”
“If I said I want us to have sex right here right now what would you do?” Your eyes narrowed and became slanted. As you raise your hand to hit him in the face, he caught your hand before it contacted his skin. He stood up, his frame towered over you. “I’m being serious.” He lets go and sat back down. With the space next to him, he patted down, signaling for you to sit next to him. You don’t know why your body listened, but you did. “If I told you, my dreams and nightmares are haunted by you, what would you say?”
“I say you are full of shit.” He frowned but he opened his mouth to continue.
“To be honest. I only regret ever leaving you. I knew at the time you would never agree with me because you are so good. That’s why I like you so much but it also annoys me.” His body turned to you. “I know it's stupid and it's not going to change anything but I want us to be us for the night. Forget that I was ever depressed. Forget I ever left you. Forget you ever cried for me.” He cautiously cupped your cheek with one hand. His thumb softly brushed up and down against your skin. “You can say no and I will leave. You can forget I ever came here.” He gave you a few seconds to answer and when you didn’t he prepared himself to leave. However as he rose to feet, you grabbed his hand and forced him to sit back down.
“Just for tonight?” You whispered. You leaned toward him and noticed his pupils dilated. He copied your movements and stopped himself as his lips were mere inches apart from yours. Maybe you wanted a temporary solution to all the fuck-up problems in your life. Maybe you just wanted tonight to be a fairytale.
“Just for tonight.” The next thing you knew his lips were on yours, and you devoured him. “Fuck,” He breathed out. “Lay back down,” and you did. Your mouths were producing the most disgusting sounds. He pulled away only to press heated kisses along your neck. He began to suck, making sure to leave marks. His hands were everywhere, and so were yours. One of his hands slipped into your hair while the other brushed beneath your shirt, groping your breast. “No bra?” He mumbled against the crook of your neck. His hips shifted closer and instinctively, you arched toward him.
“Are you happy about that?” You moaned. “I was preparing to go to sleep until you broke into my apartment.” He chuckled, the vibrations echoed through your body. The heat in your gut began to pool and you felt your panties growing wet. “More,” you begged.
“Yea?” He pulled your top off and you became half naked. The cold air hit your nipples. “Say it again,” he lifted his knee and nudged it in between your legs. Then both hands gripped on each side of your hips and lifted you slightly to allow yourself to grind against his thigh. When you didn’t answer, he nudged upward again making you cry out. “Do it,” his voice low and commanding.
”More,” your hands flew to his shoulders and nails dug into them, hard. You wanted to leave a scar. You wanted him to look at them after this night and not regret it.
He hummed as his lips were back on yours. His tongue licked your lips like a madman. Spit was on your cheeks and on your chin. You felt him begin to lower himself as his mouth traveled down your body. He sucked on your nipples, softly biting each side before licking his way down, only stopping when he reached the waistband of your panty.
“Suguru?” You muttered and his eyes peered up at you. He looked beautiful like this. Your hands reached his precious dark locks and gripped them, preparing yourself for when he tastes you.
“Hmm?” he grinned. His hands reached the outline of your waistband. Pulling it out softly and releasing it back like a rubberband. You were desperate and horny, your hips rolled against him in hopes he will deliver the pleasure you desire.
But no. He laughed at your pathetic attempt, deeming it amusing. He cooed and with the strength he had, he pulled your underwear forward so the fabric would be tightly inside you.
“Oh my god,” you moaned. Suguru chuckled. He held eye contact with you as he let his spit drip out from his mouth and into your cunt. You rolled your hips again, but he stopped them from moving. His hands were back on each side of your hips, bruising you hard enough to eventually leave a mark.
“Wanna take this to your bed?” As frustrated as you were, you didn’t want to have sex with him on the couch. You nodded and he got off of you, and stood to his feet. You led him to your room but didn’t have the chance to gather your thoughts because as soon as you stepped inside the doorway he pounced on you. The door shuts behind you and you pushed Suguru against the door then removed his sweater.
Your mouths crashed against each other. His tongue glided over yours and you felt his boner hitting you. “I missed you.” You pushed his sweats down to his ankles and he kicked them to the other side of the room. Now left with only his boxers, your hands slipped inside his briefs and grabbed his cock. He groaned in your mouth as you started to stroke him.
“Fuck,” he moaned. His head hit the doorframe and closed his eyes. You knew he was close as his hips started to thrust against your hand, and his face distorted into many expressions of pleasure. But you didn’t give him the release he wanted as you removed your hand and replaced them with his mouth. He was too caught up in the sight of your fingers, his lips closing around them as he slowly drew them clean. Then he caught your hand in his, opened his eyes, and murmured against your fingertips, “Get on the bed,” before letting you go.
You smiled, slipping your fingers from his mouth. Still holding his gaze, you stepped back toward the bed and raised your index and middle fingers to your own lips.
“Fucking dirty,” he laughed, following you.
You crawled onto the end of the bed, facing him. Suguru reached you and leaned in, his body warm against yours. He kissed you gently this time, as if you were fragile.
He then removed his mouth from yours and lowered himself in between your thighs. He removed your panties, discarded them on the floor and finally tasting you. His lips devoured you like it was his last meal. Your hands flung to his hair, pulling him closer to your pussy. “Suguru,” you moaned and his tongue lodged in your wet hole, probing it. Your hips tried to match his mouth, but he was going too fast. He moaned, the vibrations almost made the coil in your stomach snap. “Suguru,” you begged. Tears were already forming as he started to suck on your clit.
However as soon as you felt you were about to cum, he removed his mouth from you. Whining in the loss of your orgasm, tears streamed down your face. You noticed his lips and chin covered in your juices.
“Where are your manners?” He grabbed the back of your thighs and manhandled you to your stomach. He leaned down, trailing his tongue along your spine until he reached the back of your neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, and you instinctively leaned into him. His warmth against you made your thoughts spin. You reached behind you, grabbed his face, and pulled him into a kiss. Your fingers slipped into his hair to drag him closer, but suddenly he stopped. When you turned toward him, you immediately noticed a shift in his expression.
“What is it?” You saw his brows were frowned and he was chewing the inside of his cheek.
“The bed smells like him.” Oh. You forgot how much Gojo meant to him. Their one and only type bullshit. It made you jealous when you were younger because you wanted Suguru all to yourself. It infuriated you now that he still can’t seem to take his mind off of him.
“Oh my god. Can we not do this here? You came here to fuck me, not give a fucking pity party about Satoru.” You snapped. He scoffed as he pulled his boxers off to reveal his massive dick. Your mouth watered, relishing in the fact he was going to be inside you.
“Oh please, you have a fucking pity party about me almost every night.” He then grabbed the back of your neck and forced your face down onto the pillow. “You practically have to use Satoru and pretend it's me.” His tip teased your hole and you started to whimper. “I heard you accidentally moaned out my name the other night.”
You instantly froze. How the fuck he found out about that? “W-What?” Was he spying on you this whole time? Now did he mention it, you never asked how he knew where you lived? You attempted to lift your face and turn around but Suguru’s grip on your neck forced you down again, harder this time.
“How do you think I got your location?” He spat. “I practically had to beg fucking Satoru for a week. It made me angry because all I needed to do was suck him off. He cried like a baby though.” That little monster. So he planned all of this. “You should thank him, cause he is really getting sick and tired of your shit.” He then entered inside of you and you cried out his name. Hands gripping the sheets, the pillow, anything as tears started pouring in. He hadn’t had sex with you in four years and your body forgotten how big he was.
“So what was the point in messing with me earlier?” You struggled to adjust yourself as he started to pound into you.
“I kinda like seeing you cry and having to comfort you. It brings me nostalgia.” He gripped your hair back and leaned down to lick your dry tears. “You forgive me, right?” He rolled his hips against you, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach start to form. You were close.
”Y-yes! Su,” he moaned from the old nickname you used to call him. “Baby, please make me cum!”
“Yea? You want to come?” He picked up the pace and moved his tongue to lick your ear. You prayed your neighbors were out of town because the noises that were coming out of you were obscene. “That’s too bad.” He stopped his movements and the heat in your stomach started to disappear. You desperately tried to move your hips, do anything to relieve yourself but Suguru slapped your ass and removed himself from you.
“Asshole.” You said and you turned around to lay on your back. He gave you a puppy face and leaned down to kiss you. “I want to come,” you demanded against his mouth. Your right hand traveled inbetween your molded bodies and stopped at the apex of your thigh. “If you don’t, I’ll have to tie you up and wait for Satoru to come here so you can watch me suck him better than you.” You slid two fingers inside and arched up. Moaning in his mouth, you quickened the pace as you let Suguru watch yourself get lost.
“I dare you,” he instantly wrapped his hand around your throat, and pressed down. But loose enough so you could breathe. You laughed as your thumb brushed against your clit. You were starting to wet the sheets as you felt yourself getting close.
However, yet again, Suguru liked to watch you suffer because he squeezed your neck and commanded, in a scary tone, to stop. “Be a good girl for me.” You cursed at yourself for how well you listened and your fingers removed themselves from inside your cunt. He removed his hand from your neck and quickly laced his fingers with yours. “I’m going to fuck you for real this, ok?” With his other hand he pumped his cock and slid inside you.
You gasped at his length as he rocked against you. His face hid in the crook of your neck and started to moan. “Oh my god,” he called out your name and praised how patient you were for him. How good you felt. He licked your cheek, then moved his mouth to your lips. “You are my good girl, yea? You deserve this.” He sped up, the bed creaking back and forth and the sounds of yours skins slapping echoed across the bedroom.
You couldn’t speak. The pleasure was too much and your pussy was begging to cum. Your eyes were closed and your mouth opened. You needed to it, you don’t know how many times you would take him denying you.
“I’m soo close, baby.” He said as he kissed you. “Come with me.” And you sobbed, unclasped your fingers with him to wrap your arms around his back. Your nails digging half-moon shaped scars that he would gladly honor. His body began to crumble as he delivered his final thrust that caused you to snap and finally cum. He groaned as he bit into the flesh of your shoulder, and you felt the thick ropes of his come painting your cunt.
“Oh, Suguru!” You cried. Your legs shook and your body arched up. He grunted in response as you went to heaven and back.
When your orgasm began to pass, Suguru pulled out and collapsed next to you.
There was a brief moment where both your breaths filled the room. Then a few seconds later he turned his body to you.
He purred against your ear, praising how good you were. How much he missed you. You knew he was going to leave in the morning, knew this moment would not going to last forever, but you didn’t care. He was next to you, taking care of you and that’s all you needed. Suguru pulled you close, his arm wrapping around you. He was spooning you, and held you against his chest. His fingers drew lazy shapes against your skin, and a small smile tugged at your lips.
He pressed gentle kisses to your cheek and collarbone, touching you as if you were made of glass—like you were his. His hands moved with the same admiration he’d shown you back in high school, reminding you of how completely he used to worship your body.
Your eyes grew heavy, and slowly, you drifted into sleep.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You worked up next to an empty bed, in the morning just as you expected.
“Fuck,” you sighed. Lifting the sheets, you looked down at yourself. Your skin was covered in the marks he’d left behind. You breathed in the faint trace of his scent still clinging to you and let out a small, disbelieving laugh.
Your phone pinged on the nightstand. Suguru must’ve placed it there before he left. As you reached forward and grabbed it. You unlocked the screen, and saw a message from Satoru.
𝜗𝜚 it’s not your fault your plug gives better head than your man . . .
( mdni. cw: plug!choso x cheerleader!reader, oral (f. rec), semi-public sex, cheating, degradation/praise, spit kink, overstim )
you’re gonna be late.
but it’s not like choso gives a fuck.
“aw, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” he drawls, voice low and lazy as his thumbs dig into your trembling thighs, spreading them wider. “cat got your tongue? or is it just me?”
your breath stutters. you’re already panting, blinking up at the rusting metal slats above you, the chill of the concrete seeping into your back. he’s got you laid out flat on your cheer skirt, one leg over his shoulder, the other spread wide on the gritty ground. and you’re soaking through your panties. again.
“you’re such a fuckin’ mess,” choso murmurs, dragging his tongue slow and heavy through your slit, the glint of metal catching on your clit just right. you jolt, a soft squeal breaking from your throat.
he snickers against you. “and you’ve got practice in fifteen, don’t you?” another lick. another breathless moan. “gonna go kiss your sweet little boyfriend with this pussy still throbbing, huh?”
you hate how hot that makes you.
“sh-shut up—” you gasp, reaching down to grab at his messy hair, tugging. it just makes him groan louder, suck harder. his tongue presses flat over your clit, pierced tip flicking back and forth until your back arches off the concrete.
“ms. perfect,” he sneers, hot breath ghosting over your swollen cunt. “school sweetheart. fucking team captain.” he shakes his head, fingers digging into your ass to keep you still. “but you’re out here getting your pussy eaten by your drug dealer.”
“nghh, choso,” you whine, thighs trembling. he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even slow down.
“say it again.”
you don’t.
so he spits on your cunt. smooth and slick and absolutely filthy, just to rub it in with his tongue. groaning while he does it. he fucks into you with the metal stud like he’s got all the time in the world, slow, deliberate, making you twitch with every flick. making you work for it.
“you know, if you begged, i might let you cum,” he mumbles, teasing your entrance with his thumb now, tongue still lapping at your clit, relentless. “but you don’t wanna do that, huh? too proud. still trying to pretend you’re not fucking addicted to this.”
“i’m not,” you breathe, voice barely holding steady. “i’m not—”
“then why are you dripping all over my face, pretty girl?” he mocks, lips curling against your skin. “why’d you come beggin’ for a quickie under the bleachers? why’re you squeezing your thighs around my head like you want me to suffocate?”
he shoves his tongue deeper and you choke on your moan.
you try to hold it back, you really do. but he’s too good. he knows your body too well. he knows exactly how to make you unravel.
he flicks the stud in tight circles until you sob, hips jerking, toes curling in your little sneakers.
“ch-cho, fuck, i’m—”
“yeah?” he hums, not letting up for even a second. “that close already?”
he drags it out. doesn’t let you cum. not yet.
he pulls back just when your stomach starts to coil. lips wet, mouth gleaming, chin slick.
“look at you,” he grins, tilting his head like he’s amused. “‘bout to lose your shit over a tongue piercing.”
you glare at him, flushed and furious. but mostly desperate.
he spits again. then goes right back in.
you don’t stand a chance.
you cum with your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your back arching off the ground, your legs shaking so bad he has to physically hold them down. and he doesn’t stop— keeps licking, keeps sucking, mouthing at your clit until you’re gasping, twitching, thighs fluttering from the overstimulation.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, almost sweet. “good fuckin’ girl.”
when you finally come down, he kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and smug, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“now go kiss your little boyfriend,” he says, giving your pussy one last slap. “make sure you tell him i said hi.”
𝜗ৎ cw: rough sex, light manhandling, mating press, general NSFW content. MDNI. i think i might've gone a little wild this time. but there's also cute bonding time w/ yuji and choso
☆ sometimes, you think CHOSO doesn't realize how strong he is.
you like to believe he's being held back by his love for his family, his gruff but soft-spoken demeanor, and how easy it is for him to be overcome with emotions. that's the thing about him you're most in love with.
he does everything with gentleness until he doesn't.
the sliding door he usually closes with the utmost care? slam! even a little flick of his hand as he pries them open is enough to send a light gust of wind in anyone's direction.
when he hugs you, it feels more like a rib-crusher rather than a cozy embrace from someone who seems so smitten. but you don't complain, because it has its own unique, snug charm.
when he pats yuji (or anyone, for that matter) on the back, it feels like being sent five or so inches forward. and the slap of his palm against is heavy, compact, like it's meant to sting a little.
even the little things like catching a mosquito sounds like he's activating piercing blood, the air around the room crackling a little at the impact of choso's hands clapping together. every time you hear it, you feel the burning in your own palms at the impact.
you fondly remember the rare occasion when you, yuji, and choso had gone out to the park, with the boys playing a more hazardous game of catch while you sat pretty by the picnic blanket. and while you're in the middle of snooping for a snack, you just hear yuji yelp as the ball choso had sent hurtling the younger boy's way had landed square on his chest and actually sent him flying.
sprawling on the grass. knocked out like a ragdoll.
it surprises you. it surprises choso. it surprises anyone who isn't blind.
yup, anything that choso thinks is a light touch but isn't actually, he's following it up with a profuse apology and a few tears from his pathetically brown eyes.
you're not even a casualty, but when he looks at you from his place in the grass, rubbing yuji's front while the younger boy casually laughs it off because of course he can manage force like that, you know he's about to apologize to you as well.
"'msorrymsorrymsorrymsorry—" choso whimpers against your ear, his flushes cheek grazing your calf where he has your legs folded up against your chest in a mean mating press.
he's using his body weight to keep you pressed down onto the mattress, his sweat mixing with yours while his hands, large and veiny, grips at the plush of your ass, very certain to leave marks.
and you can't do anything but take it, babbling in an unrestrained chain as choso's cock, as intimidating as the rest of his body, bullies its way into your already gushing cunt, repeatedly bashin' 'n bashin' against your g-spot like he's trying to prove himself.
"choooo, oh my—hic—can't—ngguhh—don' say sorry to me—ahaaaa—baby—fuck! mnghhh—" choso had half a mind to laugh fondly at the way you're trying to form a coherent sentence amidst his relentless pounding, if he wasn't already so lost himself.
his cock feels so raw, squelching in 'n out against your pussy lips. like every time he even dares to pull out, he just buries himself deeper into you just to hear your screams and whines grow higher & louder.
"cho—oh! baby—hic—y'already said—ahhah!—sorry to y-yuj—AAAH—!"
but choso shakes his head, the now unkempt and (undeniably) adorably messy fall of his hair grazing your damp cheeks. if it we're possible, his grip on your ass tightens even further, blunt nails digging into the flesh.
this time, he really can't help it. at that sudden raise of your voice, choso just falls, groaning loudly and laying on top of you, his hips bouncing against yours like drums, increasing in speed, increasing in intensity.
all his weight, on you. he pries your legs ooopen obscenely, shuddering when his and your nipples rub against each other. your nails feel so delectable against his sturdy back.
"don' talk abou' my baby brother when—hic—you've got my cock bullyin' you, hun—ggghhh—"
at this point, no one would be able to tell where he ends and you begin. your sweat and tears of heightened arousal and overstimulation mix against each other, your moans just blendin' into each other's mouth.
the constant rub of his pubic hair against your poor clit has you screaming, arching up up against choso. all the while, he keeps babbling against your ears, almost inaudible amidst your mewls and his own pathetic whines.
"you wouldn't let—-nghhhh—me treat you like tha', baby, would'ya? nonono, honey, it won't ever happen—-ghhh-hic—nghhh—can't bring m'self to be s'rough on'ya even if i tried—but look a' me right now, baby…oooohhhh, if m'strength t'—t'much f'r you baby, promise y' get to milk me dry."
you're nodding mindlessly, grip clumsily adjusting as choso speeeeeds up, the fastest he can go as he feels you clamp down on him like you don't want to let go. like you're making good on his promise to milk him dry. until he's shooting blanks. until he can't think and he can actually force himself to be gentle.
"i like y'like this, choso…i—i—hng—i like that y'r strong—like it whe-y-you-you prove it 'cus w'both keep-keep-keep!—" you feel yourself reaching your limit, the coil in your stomach about to break as you let out one last unabashed scream against choso's hairline.
"cummingcumming—-" your voices mix together in a symphony as splurts of white n' clear spill against your joined bodies n' the poor sheets below you. normally, choso would've ended there, revert to the gentleness and nurturing nature he naturally slots into.
but—no. he doesn't stop. "mm…c'mere, baby, 'm not done w'you yet!—"
his hands are practically glued to you as he manhandles you onto your stomach, taking practically a millisecond to revel in the cum flowing out from your cunt before he bullies himself back in, groanin' when he sees the fat of your ass ripple.
"w're not stoppin' until i prove it…might get you knocked up, hun. our—hic—baby might get my strength too—now…" his hands now bury into your scalp, ruttin' into you like it's his sole purpose.
the impact from your first round has left your bed frame creaking for mercy, headboard pounding against the wall. your drool coats the pillow below you, round after round, your body bein' handled higher and higher until your ass is up in the sky.
choso's embrace don't lose purchase of your body, hugging you close as he mindlessly lets his balls slap against your clit, rough fingers toying with your bouncing tits. his thighs and the back o' his knees are the only things keepin' you spread open.
and you take it. dumbified and a little more in love with him by the moment.
no, actually. choso definitely knows how strong he is. only times like these.
before you know it, you're spent 'n boneless, and choso…looks after you like he didn't bully your cunt into oblivion, like your stomach doesn't feel slightly bigger after how many rounds.
"sweet love…giggling to yourself?" he manages to rasp out fondly when he caresses your cheeks, dabbing your hairline with a cool, damp towel. you're still somewhere beyond cloud nine, nuzzling mindlessly and a lazy grin on your swollen lips where he kisses you until you pass out.
and even then, he continues. because what more can he reward his love with?
he may not realize it sometimes, but he sure as hell likes to make sure it hits just the same.
satoru’s got you face-down on the mattress before you can even catch your breath.
one arm snakes around your throat from behind—not choking, just firm enough that every swallow presses your adam’s apple against the crook of his elbow. his bicep flexes under your chin, solid and warm, trapping you in the perfect headlock while his chest molds to your back. you feel every ridge of muscle, the steady thud of his heart against your spine.
“stay still,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. voice low, lazy, like he’s commenting on the weather instead of pinning you helpless.
his free hand grips your hip, yanks you back until your ass is flush against him. cock already hard, thick, sliding between your cheeks once, twice, smearing precum before he notches at your entrance. no warning. he pushes in slow—agonizingly slow—so you feel the stretch burn through every inch. your walls flutter around him, trying to adjust, but he doesn’t give you time. hips snap forward and he bottoms out in one smooth thrust.
you gasp. the sound gets caught in his arm, muffled against the inside of your elbow. he tightens just a fraction—enough to make your head swim pleasantly, blood rushing in your ears.
“there you go,” he breathes. “just like that.”
then he starts fucking you.
long, deep strokes that make the headboard knock against the wall. every time he pulls back his arm flexes, keeping your neck arched, throat exposed. you can’t hide the little whimpers that spill out—raw, needy. he drinks them in, lips pressed to your shoulder, teeth grazing skin.
his cock drags against that spot inside you on every thrust, relentless. the angle’s brutal with how he’s got you folded—ass up, chest down, head locked in place. you feel so full it aches in the best way, pressure building low in your belly until your thighs shake.
he shifts his grip. forearm slides higher, pressing under your jaw so your head tips back further. now he can see your face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy. he groans at the sight, hips stuttering once before picking up speed.
“look at you,” he rasps. “taking it so well. my pretty little thing.”
the praise hits harder than the thrusts. your cunt clenches hard around him and he curses under his breath, burying his face in your neck. teeth sink into the soft skin there—not breaking, just marking—as he grinds deep, circling his hips so the base of his cock grinds against your clit.
you’re close. so close the edges of your vision blur. every breath is shallow, controlled by the flex of his arm. the headlock keeps you right there—dangling on the edge, unable to pull away, unable to do anything but take it.
“come on,” he coaxes, voice wrecked. “let me feel it. squeeze around me like you mean it.”
one more deep thrust, grinding right against that spot, and you shatter.
your whole body locks up—walls clamping down so hard he hisses through his teeth. orgasm rolls through you in heavy waves, thighs trembling, toes curling, muffled cries vibrating against his forearm. he doesn’t stop. keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out until you’re oversensitive and whining.
he follows right after. hips slamming once, twice—then he’s spilling inside you, hot and thick, cock pulsing with every spurt. his arm tightens for a second—reflex—cutting your air just enough to make stars burst behind your eyes before he loosens again.
he stays buried, panting against your neck. arm still looped around your throat, but softer now. thumb strokes lazy circles over your pulse point while he catches his breath.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing the shell of your ear. “so fucking good.”
he doesn’t pull out yet. just rocks gently, letting you feel him soften inside while his arm keeps you cradled against him—like he’s not ready to let go.
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Synopsis: you have a fucked up co-dependent relationship with Gojo Satoru. A way to deal with your issues. However what happens if your former friend Geto Suguru comes back four years after he left to ask a question.
content warnings: Explicit sexual content, unestablished relationship, oral(fem.receiving), masterbaiting, spiting(like a lot), missionary, bedroom sex, choking, doggy position, orgasm denial, orgasm control, praise kink, rough sex
word count: 4.3k
A/n; first time writing fanfics after 4 years I’m literally off my meds!! Also this is my first time writing smut so please be kind.
Gojo Satoru was an annoying piece of shit.
You received a text from him in the middle of the night after you finished with work. You were in line at the supermarket, picking up last minute goods before the week started and Gojo let you know he won’t be at your apartment because his mission was going to need an extra day to be completed. Something about a pesky grade one spirit causing trouble at a rural hot spring in Yamagata.
The problem, however, wasn’t the fact he wasn’t coming to you. The fucking problem was his attitude. He had no shame at all.
Loser: Can’t fuck you tonight, Sowwy :(
Loser: Can’t find this damn curse. I think it’s playing games with me. Hope you don’t miss me too much haha. Send me a voicemail of you moaning so I can play it for the curse, you can be useful for a mission for once.
Loser: If it makes you feel better I can send you a dick pic (^ o ^)
“Fucking asshole,” you muttered to yourself. You shouldn’t be upset because the two of you aren’t even dating. Just some fucked-up co-dependent relationship with each other to ignore your trauma and issues. It started not even a year after your former friend Suguru defected. It broke you when you found out what he did to his parents and villagers, and it took three days for you to get out of your room and eat something.
Not even a month after, you dropped out of Jujutsu Tech. You couldn’t do it anymore. The missions, Haibara, the bodies you had to encounter. Not to mention the lack of agency you had. Suguru wasn’t wrong about Jujustu tech. To be stuck where your personal volition was repressed was degrading, and it's all for those who are weak. But to kill all non-sorcerers was where you disagreed.
Nethertheless, you were glad you left. You had enough money to move out of Tokyo and settle in Kamakura, a small coastal city. It was quieter than Tokyo and you had freedom. You took a job at a local preschool, the pay was decent but you enjoyed it.
Gojo often stoppped by the place where you lived from time to time and puts your fucked up emotions through the mattress. You knew it wasn’t healthy and felt guilty using him, but it brought you relief.
When you arrived at your apartment, you quickly placed your groceries in your fridge and got ready to take a shower. A nice hot one was what you needed. Before you did, you sent a quick text to Satoru letting him know you received his message.
Me: It’s fine. I don’t care
Me: Also please don’t. I don’t want your dick polluting my phone.
After the nice bath, you finished cleaning yourself and pulled on your pajamas. You opened the bathroom door to let the cloud of steam into your apartment. But as you took a couple steps into your living room, paranoia burned into your skin. The pit of your stomach churned because there was someone in your home. It was definitely something whose grade was at least a one or above.
“Satoru?” You called out. He was probably playing some sick game with you. “You little shit, this isn’t funny, you know how much I hate surprises.” You don’t mind living alone, but sometimes the thought of situations like this terrified you. It’s pretty ironic because you were previously a semi grade one sorcerer before you left and could exorcize a curse on your own. However it has been four years since you left and you were not going to find out if you can still put up a fight.
You walked around the room hoping to find whoever was messing with you so you can decide to leave or not.
And you did.
Because fucking Suguru Geto was laying on your coach, with his shoes on. With your phone.
“H-How did you get in?” Your head was pounding and your chest felt like it was going to explode.
“Through the window.” He can’t be serious. You despised how nonchalant he was. And he wasn’t even looking at you, only at the small device in his hand. “Your survival instincts are as horrible as I remembered.” He looked up and gave you a cruel nihilistic smile that made you sick. Suguru looked older, his hair was down and his face more defined since you last saw him. “Clearly your priorities are messed up.” He waved your phone at you. Although from where you stood the screen was blurry you can clearly tell he was looking through the text messages between you and Satoru.
Heat crept up and quickly spread to your cheeks. How dare he? He had no right to comment on your life. “Clearly you have no business here. Get the fuck out.”
“Mmm, no.” That fake sweetness laced in his voice infuriated you. “Say please.” You glared at him. Every fiber bone in your body is screaming at you to kill him. He left you. Broke your heart and ruined you. Kill him. But that desire doesn’t come. You bit into your lip hard and took a shaky deep breath.
“Suguru.”
”(y/n)” He cocked his head to the side. You remembered how often he did that when something was bothering you. This time he did it to mock you. “I can’t see my favorite girl? I missed you.”
“Oh please,” you laughed. “ You left. So quit the fake sentiment.” You brought your hand up to your face and rubbed it down your mouth. He was playing with you and you want no part in it. Before you opened your mouth to ask him to get out again, the phone that was still in Suguru’s hand pinged. It was from Satoru.
Before you had a chance to see the message he sent, Suguru turned the phone to himself and looked. His face then quickly distorted into disgust. “I can see he is still as shameless as ever.”
To your horror, you immediately knew what he meant. You grew increasingly hot and embarrassed. “I asked him not to. We aren’t anything to each other.” You bit your tongue. But Suguru can see through your lie. He tossed your phone to the other side of the couch and stood up. You noticed he was taller now. The dark sweater he wore showed the outline of his body. More muscles, larger and more handsome.
“Really?” He said as he slowly walked towards you and simultaneously you stepped back. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t know?” As your back connected to the wall, Suguru still came towards you until he was a couple inches away. It was close enough where his intoxicated scent made you go haywire. He smelled of sandalwood and peppermint, and strangely disinfectant spray.
You concentrated on him. You were breathing erratically and him being so close, wasn’t helping. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Your gaze hit the floor and Suguru grabbed your chin and gently lifted it so your eyes could meet.
“So he doesn’t know about us before I left?” He then dropped his hand from your chin and replace it by having it against the wall. He leaned down, to whisper in your ear. “How we fucked,” he lips were so close, the heat that was already present in your cheeks, extended inbetween your legs. “How we touched each other,” his free hand touched your face. You closed your eyes, you cursed how your body enjoyed this “How we tasted each other,” he purred. “Should I text him to ask?” You opened your eyes, “I’m so fucking disappointed in you. Do you really have to be this pathetic?”
This snapped the spell he placed you in. Guilt was eating you alive and it scared you. So you slapped him across the face. “Fuck you.” Next, you shoved him away. “You left me! And I cried for you.” Tears began to flood down your face, “Do you know why I’m fucking Satoru?” You shoved him harder this time, and the back of his knees collided with the coach and he fell back. You towered over him and placed both hands besides his head on the cushion. “Because of you! You, Suguru, stain my memories. You haunt my dreams and nightmares. I’m so fucking pathetic because of you. I use him so I can get rid of you.”
The tears now dripped down to his face. “I blamed myself because I had no idea what you were going through.” Your mouth turned dry and your throat itchy. “S-So please don’t judge me ok. I already know what I’m doing is bad but I don’t want to hear it from you. Please leave.” You prayed he listened and leaves but instead he brought both of his hands to your face and wiped your tears away.
“My beautiful, beautiful girl.” His voice was gentle, contrasted to his tone from before. “Don’t cry for me.” Your face melted against his hand, “only monkeys cry.”
You cringed. How can he be so gentle yet so full of hate? What was his problem? You hated that word—monkeys—because of your past and the memories it dragged up. “Don’t,” you stepped back from the warmth his hands provided and frowned. “I hate that word.”
“Why? That is what they are?”
“Suguru.” You sighed, his new purpose confused you. His distorted ideology of eradicating all non-sorcerers was scary and you really aren’t in favor of him explaining it to you. “I really don’t want to debate you on this. You are being childish.” Geto lifted his eyebrows, as if he had been insulted.
“You call justice childish?” He shifted his body on the couch to get comfortable. He was back in the position when you first encountered him in your apartment. “I’m being righteous. Imagine a world where we don’t have to die for those monkeys. Where we don’t lose faith in ourselves. And don’t give me that look (y/n) because you are smart enough to understand me.” He scoffed and he leaned his body forward to remove his shoes from your couch. “This is the easy way out. It’s the only way forward and to change things in this world.” There was a beat of silence as the both of you stared at each other. It was awful to see how he turned out. The kind charming boy who teased and loved you wasn’t there anymore. “Anyways,” he stretched and as his sweater pulled up, you saw a glimpse of his abs. “I’m not here to preach.”
“Then why are you here?” He smiled.
Like genuinely smiling, the same one from high school that warmed your heart.
“You are going to hit me.”
“What?”
“If I said I want us to have sex right here right now what would you do?” Your eyes narrowed and became slanted. As you raise your hand to hit him in the face, he caught your hand before it contacted his skin. He stood up, his frame towered over you. “I’m being serious.” He lets go and sat back down. With the space next to him, he patted down, signaling for you to sit next to him. You don’t know why your body listened, but you did. “If I told you, my dreams and nightmares are haunted by you, what would you say?”
“I say you are full of shit.” He frowned but he opened his mouth to continue.
“To be honest. I only regret ever leaving you. I knew at the time you would never agree with me because you are so good. That’s why I like you so much but it also annoys me.” His body turned to you. “I know it's stupid and it's not going to change anything but I want us to be us for the night. Forget that I was ever depressed. Forget I ever left you. Forget you ever cried for me.” He cautiously cupped your cheek with one hand. His thumb softly brushed up and down against your skin. “You can say no and I will leave. You can forget I ever came here.” He gave you a few seconds to answer and when you didn’t he prepared himself to leave. However as he rose to feet, you grabbed his hand and forced him to sit back down.
“Just for tonight?” You whispered. You leaned toward him and noticed his pupils dilated. He copied your movements and stopped himself as his lips were mere inches apart from yours. Maybe you wanted a temporary solution to all the fuck-up problems in your life. Maybe you just wanted tonight to be a fairytale.
“Just for tonight.” The next thing you knew his lips were on yours, and you devoured him. “Fuck,” He breathed out. “Lay back down,” and you did. Your mouths were producing the most disgusting sounds. He pulled away only to press heated kisses along your neck. He began to suck, making sure to leave marks. His hands were everywhere, and so were yours. One of his hands slipped into your hair while the other brushed beneath your shirt, groping your breast. “No bra?” He mumbled against the crook of your neck. His hips shifted closer and instinctively, you arched toward him.
“Are you happy about that?” You moaned. “I was preparing to go to sleep until you broke into my apartment.” He chuckled, the vibrations echoed through your body. The heat in your gut began to pool and you felt your panties growing wet. “More,” you begged.
“Yea?” He pulled your top off and you became half naked. The cold air hit your nipples. “Say it again,” he lifted his knee and nudged it in between your legs. Then both hands gripped on each side of your hips and lifted you slightly to allow yourself to grind against his thigh. When you didn’t answer, he nudged upward again making you cry out. “Do it,” his voice low and commanding.
”More,” your hands flew to his shoulders and nails dug into them, hard. You wanted to leave a scar. You wanted him to look at them after this night and not regret it.
He hummed as his lips were back on yours. His tongue licked your lips like a madman. Spit was on your cheeks and on your chin. You felt him begin to lower himself as his mouth traveled down your body. He sucked on your nipples, softly biting each side before licking his way down, only stopping when he reached the waistband of your panty.
“Suguru?” You muttered and his eyes peered up at you. He looked beautiful like this. Your hands reached his precious dark locks and gripped them, preparing yourself for when he tastes you.
“Hmm?” he grinned. His hands reached the outline of your waistband. Pulling it out softly and releasing it back like a rubberband. You were desperate and horny, your hips rolled against him in hopes he will deliver the pleasure you desire.
But no. He laughed at your pathetic attempt, deeming it amusing. He cooed and with the strength he had, he pulled your underwear forward so the fabric would be tightly inside you.
“Oh my god,” you moaned. Suguru chuckled. He held eye contact with you as he let his spit drip out from his mouth and into your cunt. You rolled your hips again, but he stopped them from moving. His hands were back on each side of your hips, bruising you hard enough to eventually leave a mark.
“Wanna take this to your bed?” As frustrated as you were, you didn’t want to have sex with him on the couch. You nodded and he got off of you, and stood to his feet. You led him to your room but didn’t have the chance to gather your thoughts because as soon as you stepped inside the doorway he pounced on you. The door shuts behind you and you pushed Suguru against the door then removed his sweater.
Your mouths crashed against each other. His tongue glided over yours and you felt his boner hitting you. “I missed you.” You pushed his sweats down to his ankles and he kicked them to the other side of the room. Now left with only his boxers, your hands slipped inside his briefs and grabbed his cock. He groaned in your mouth as you started to stroke him.
“Fuck,” he moaned. His head hit the doorframe and closed his eyes. You knew he was close as his hips started to thrust against your hand, and his face distorted into many expressions of pleasure. But you didn’t give him the release he wanted as you removed your hand and replaced them with his mouth. He was too caught up in the sight of your fingers, his lips closing around them as he slowly drew them clean. Then he caught your hand in his, opened his eyes, and murmured against your fingertips, “Get on the bed,” before letting you go.
You smiled, slipping your fingers from his mouth. Still holding his gaze, you stepped back toward the bed and raised your index and middle fingers to your own lips.
“Fucking dirty,” he laughed, following you.
You crawled onto the end of the bed, facing him. Suguru reached you and leaned in, his body warm against yours. He kissed you gently this time, as if you were fragile.
He then removed his mouth from yours and lowered himself in between your thighs. He removed your panties, discarded them on the floor and finally tasting you. His lips devoured you like it was his last meal. Your hands flung to his hair, pulling him closer to your pussy. “Suguru,” you moaned and his tongue lodged in your wet hole, probing it. Your hips tried to match his mouth, but he was going too fast. He moaned, the vibrations almost made the coil in your stomach snap. “Suguru,” you begged. Tears were already forming as he started to suck on your clit.
However as soon as you felt you were about to cum, he removed his mouth from you. Whining in the loss of your orgasm, tears streamed down your face. You noticed his lips and chin covered in your juices.
“Where are your manners?” He grabbed the back of your thighs and manhandled you to your stomach. He leaned down, trailing his tongue along your spine until he reached the back of your neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, and you instinctively leaned into him. His warmth against you made your thoughts spin. You reached behind you, grabbed his face, and pulled him into a kiss. Your fingers slipped into his hair to drag him closer, but suddenly he stopped. When you turned toward him, you immediately noticed a shift in his expression.
“What is it?” You saw his brows were frowned and he was chewing the inside of his cheek.
“The bed smells like him.” Oh. You forgot how much Gojo meant to him. Their one and only type bullshit. It made you jealous when you were younger because you wanted Suguru all to yourself. It infuriated you now that he still can’t seem to take his mind off of him.
“Oh my god. Can we not do this here? You came here to fuck me, not give a fucking pity party about Satoru.” You snapped. He scoffed as he pulled his boxers off to reveal his massive dick. Your mouth watered, relishing in the fact he was going to be inside you.
“Oh please, you have a fucking pity party about me almost every night.” He then grabbed the back of your neck and forced your face down onto the pillow. “You practically have to use Satoru and pretend it's me.” His tip teased your hole and you started to whimper. “I heard you accidentally moaned out my name the other night.”
You instantly froze. How the fuck he found out about that? “W-What?” Was he spying on you this whole time? Now did he mention it, you never asked how he knew where you lived? You attempted to lift your face and turn around but Suguru’s grip on your neck forced you down again, harder this time.
“How do you think I got your location?” He spat. “I practically had to beg fucking Satoru for a week. It made me angry because all I needed to do was suck him off. He cried like a baby though.” That little monster. So he planned all of this. “You should thank him, cause he is really getting sick and tired of your shit.” He then entered inside of you and you cried out his name. Hands gripping the sheets, the pillow, anything as tears started pouring in. He hadn’t had sex with you in four years and your body forgotten how big he was.
“So what was the point in messing with me earlier?” You struggled to adjust yourself as he started to pound into you.
“I kinda like seeing you cry and having to comfort you. It brings me nostalgia.” He gripped your hair back and leaned down to lick your dry tears. “You forgive me, right?” He rolled his hips against you, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach start to form. You were close.
”Y-yes! Su,” he moaned from the old nickname you used to call him. “Baby, please make me cum!”
“Yea? You want to come?” He picked up the pace and moved his tongue to lick your ear. You prayed your neighbors were out of town because the noises that were coming out of you were obscene. “That’s too bad.” He stopped his movements and the heat in your stomach started to disappear. You desperately tried to move your hips, do anything to relieve yourself but Suguru slapped your ass and removed himself from you.
“Asshole.” You said and you turned around to lay on your back. He gave you a puppy face and leaned down to kiss you. “I want to come,” you demanded against his mouth. Your right hand traveled inbetween your molded bodies and stopped at the apex of your thigh. “If you don’t, I’ll have to tie you up and wait for Satoru to come here so you can watch me suck him better than you.” You slid two fingers inside and arched up. Moaning in his mouth, you quickened the pace as you let Suguru watch yourself get lost.
“I dare you,” he instantly wrapped his hand around your throat, and pressed down. But loose enough so you could breathe. You laughed as your thumb brushed against your clit. You were starting to wet the sheets as you felt yourself getting close.
However, yet again, Suguru liked to watch you suffer because he squeezed your neck and commanded, in a scary tone, to stop. “Be a good girl for me.” You cursed at yourself for how well you listened and your fingers removed themselves from inside your cunt. He removed his hand from your neck and quickly laced his fingers with yours. “I’m going to fuck you for real this, ok?” With his other hand he pumped his cock and slid inside you.
You gasped at his length as he rocked against you. His face hid in the crook of your neck and started to moan. “Oh my god,” he called out your name and praised how patient you were for him. How good you felt. He licked your cheek, then moved his mouth to your lips. “You are my good girl, yea? You deserve this.” He sped up, the bed creaking back and forth and the sounds of yours skins slapping echoed across the bedroom.
You couldn’t speak. The pleasure was too much and your pussy was begging to cum. Your eyes were closed and your mouth opened. You needed to it, you don’t know how many times you would take him denying you.
“I’m soo close, baby.” He said as he kissed you. “Come with me.” And you sobbed, unclasped your fingers with him to wrap your arms around his back. Your nails digging half-moon shaped scars that he would gladly honor. His body began to crumble as he delivered his final thrust that caused you to snap and finally cum. He groaned as he bit into the flesh of your shoulder, and you felt the thick ropes of his come painting your cunt.
“Oh, Suguru!” You cried. Your legs shook and your body arched up. He grunted in response as you went to heaven and back.
When your orgasm began to pass, Suguru pulled out and collapsed next to you.
There was a brief moment where both your breaths filled the room. Then a few seconds later he turned his body to you.
He purred against your ear, praising how good you were. How much he missed you. You knew he was going to leave in the morning, knew this moment would not going to last forever, but you didn’t care. He was next to you, taking care of you and that’s all you needed. Suguru pulled you close, his arm wrapping around you. He was spooning you, and held you against his chest. His fingers drew lazy shapes against your skin, and a small smile tugged at your lips.
He pressed gentle kisses to your cheek and collarbone, touching you as if you were made of glass—like you were his. His hands moved with the same admiration he’d shown you back in high school, reminding you of how completely he used to worship your body.
Your eyes grew heavy, and slowly, you drifted into sleep.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You worked up next to an empty bed, in the morning just as you expected.
“Fuck,” you sighed. Lifting the sheets, you looked down at yourself. Your skin was covered in the marks he’d left behind. You breathed in the faint trace of his scent still clinging to you and let out a small, disbelieving laugh.
Your phone pinged on the nightstand. Suguru must’ve placed it there before he left. As you reached forward and grabbed it. You unlocked the screen, and saw a message from Satoru.
your now ex-boyfriend sukuna decides to flaunt his new girlfriend around the latest frat function, your hot best friend's take it upon themselves to show him you're completely unbothered the night after the break up... || my response to all the dumb gojo twin drama @sweethearticism this is for you my girl
to say you were fuming would be a terrible, towering, tragic understatement.
your asshole of an ex, ryomen sukuna, (whom you had only just broken up with, by the way) was making a big show and dance of flaunting his new girl in the middle of a party you now seriously regretted going to.
the theme was black-out, but the short raven dress, nor the pretty onyx heels you adorned, did anything to boost your confidence. especially not when faced with this display.
his big hands flew all over her skin as they danced and laughed together, those ringed fingers digging into her hips, not yours…
my god, it's been a week! could he have some class?
as you're seething from the kitchen with a drink in hand, contemplating stomping over and pouring it all over his fat, pink head, you're interrupted by not one, but two sets of hands smoothing over the back of your exposed shoulders.
you shiver in place, then whip your head around only to be met by two pairs of crystal blue eyes sliding up and down your pretty body.
"you're all dolled up, what's the occasion?" sato, the nerdier twin, smiles.
to the right, toru butts in, giving his fratty two cents. "holy fuck." he whistles. "you look sexy, [name]. nice to see you showing that body off instead of hiding it away because of your crazy boyfriend suku—"
"—shut up." you scold, pressing a manicured nail against toru's plump lips. "i don't wanna hear that name tonight." you sigh, the tension in your shoulders dissipating slightly as you lean against the counter, looking up into both of he boys' eyes.
you'd been good friends with the twins ever since first year, although for a good two weeks, you lowkey thought they were the same guy.
you were in sato's lab and toru's math lecture, and it just so happened that you'd sat next to both of them in their respective classes. you'd just assumed he liked to switch up his style.
on mondays in the lab, he obviously liked to dress a little nerdier, with thick-rimmed glasses and graphic game tees hanging off his bulk. then, in maths, you'd assumed he decided to dress trendier to impress the multitudes of friends he hung with at the back of the hall.
the fact that they were, in fact, different people, only dawned on you when you saw them together at a party three weeks after meeting them. that was definitely an awkward conversation..
nevertheless, you'd gotten closer and closer as the years dragged on, sharing inside jokes and lighthearted banter other guys could only wish they had with you.
that was, until, you started dating sukuna.
he hated the twins. to be honest, they might have been a contributing factor to the inevitable break up (not undermining his disgusting mistreatment of you).
but now that you were free from the tatted man's year-long curse, the boys saw it as the perfect opportunity to weasel their way into your heart and get their best friend back.
"y'know, standing here getting all angry over it isn't gonna make it go away," sato states, leaning against the counter space to your left while toru mimics his motion on your right, both of them caging you between them.
"mhm, and acting like you care only feeds his fatass ego. come party with us, baby. we'll show you a good time." toru flirts, placing his palm over the back of your hand that rests on the bench.
you think on it. i mean, you're already a little bit tipsy, already a-lotta-bit upset. what was the harm in having a little fun?
you huff out a sigh, then let a small smile slip by. "mm, i guess.."
"perfect!" they say simultaneously.
you end up being dragged across the room to the beer pong tables, watching a few games play out amongst the competitive frat bros while the twins take turns holding you against them in some way, shape, or form.
sato would have your delicate hand weaved through his arm, then toru would get antsy and throw his bicep over your shoulder. it was an exhausting back and forth, to be honest.
but when the table clears out, toru is embarrassingly quick to claim the next game. “kay! we’re running teams,” he announces, clapping obnoxiously to get attention from onlookers. “th' winner plays on.”
a few people gather around, eager to see how this pans out. toru was pretty well known for being a monster at beer pong.
sato takes your wrist and pulls you over to the array of lined-up solo cups, propping you up at the opposite end to toru. his chest presses against your back, pushing you up against the edge of the table. on the other side, his brother paces back and forth ready to go.
"i'll help you out if you need," the nerdier twin suggests from behind you.
you glance back at his righteous expression. “oh yeah? are you actually good at this?”
his chin dips close to your ear. “i’m good at everything that involves angles and positions. y'know, the whole physics thing."
you snort. “that was the most virgin thing you’ve ever said, holy fuck."
toru cackles out a laugh from across the table, but sato squeezes your hips softly in warning. you did kinda miss how possessive he got before your life was ruined by sukuna, you are suddenly pleasantly aware of how boxed in you are, with this cocky geek behind you and his himbo brother ready to destroy you from across the table. yikes. or yay, however you decide to see it.
"you can do this, hun. i believe in you." toru winks, and you can only flush in response, taking your first shot.
after a few goes, it becomes very obvious that the beer pong gods have not blessed you, let alone touched you with their heavenly hand. you miss almost every shot.
toru groans after about the third time. “c'mon, baby. that was just tragic.”
“shut up,” you snap, and sato chuckles from his spot behind you.
"maybe bend your knees more?" he suggests with a smirk, pulling your hips back until your butt meets his crotch.
“don’t tell her to bend anything,” toru shoots back, and you flush before squirming out of sato's grip.
by the third game, you're slightly getting the hang of things. you haven't missed in a while, you're reaching flow state.
from their respective positions, the twins exchange a look, then peer out into the sea of people while you're distracted taking your turn, trying to see if they can spot sukuna gawking.
and, bingo. he is.
he’s near the dusty leather couch on the far right wall with his big arm slung over that girl’s shoulder. she’s laughing and talking into his neck all flirtily. it makes them both sick to their stomachs, but they notice how he barely reacts..? he used to react to you when you did that.
surely if they could see how badly he'd fucked up by losing you, he could too, right? they could only hope, because that would make their revenge scheme that much sweeter.
this clearly gets toru feeling some type of way, because he's got that special look of lust on his face that he only gets when showing other assholes that he is, in fact, better than them.
“hey,” he says suddenly, stepping closer to you while sato grabs the ball from a missed cup. “if i win this round, you owe me something, yeah?"
“oh my god,” you groan. “what.”
he tilts his head, blue eyes bright and oh so cocky. “a kiss.”
you roll your eyes. “you’re such a child.”
“nuh uh. not just any kiss,” he continues, ignoring you. “a good one. y'know, with lots of tongue.” he wiggles his eyebrows playfully, but the thought of pushing up against some wall and kissing you senseless in front of your ex has him feeling anything but playful.
a couple guys at the table howl in laughter, and toru eats it up with a taunting smile.
you don’t notice that sukuna has his eye keen on you, but the gods must of , because something in your heart, call it divine intervention, tells you to say yes.
“m'kay,” you say, lifting your chin. “but you actually have to win, y'know. no cheating or anything."
toru grins like you just handed him the keys to a car he’s been eyeing for years. “watch me.”
he doesn't miss a single shot that round.
not one.
he’s utterly ridiculous about it too, bouncing the ball off the table in an overly exaggerated fashion, blowing on it before he throws, winking at you after every cup dunks with a plonk. by the time the last one drops into the water, the table is chanting his name and you are flushed from more than just the alcohol.
“pay up,” he says immediately, stepping around the table. his cock's actively throbbing with anticipation.
by this point you're laughing and definitely tipsy enough that your thoughts aren't quite lining up properly. "mhmm." you sigh, pacing toward him with sato in tow.
he lifts your chin to stare you straight in the eye, then takes note of the bashfulness in your expression. “c’mon,” he murmurs. “don’t go shy on me now.”
as you smile shyly and inch in closer to seal the deal, sato suddenly pulls your shoulder back to stop you.
"what the hell, man?" toru protests, hands thrown up.
but sato, ever the observer, leans into his twin's ear to whisper something under his breath.
you try to make out what they're saying, but the frank ocean floating through the air was making that increasingly difficult. you watch as toru's once irritated expression morphs into a big grin, and you gulp.
"toji! c'mere." he shouts over the room toward the kitchen, where toji's manning the expensive alcohol. the buff boy sighs before pushing off the bench, stalking over to the twins.
"what d' you assholes want?"
then, three minutes later, the boys are dragging you back to the kitchen as toji stands on a nearby table. "body shots!" he announces to the nearby crowd, and the reaction is exactly what the twins wanted.
oh.
everyone's circling around the kitchen table, very eager for a little spice. the two boys gently guide you towards the crowd, keeping you close as they watch the people flock. toji lifts both hands for quiet, grinning when the noise barely dips.
“alright, listen up,” he calls out, pointing at the cleared table. “two people will come up. rock, paper, scissors, then the loser lays back right here.” he slaps the surface. “th' winner takes a shot from their neck.”
the crowd roars at that like a bunch of horny slags.
“first pair?” toji barks.
shoko and yuki, like the fine ass lesbians they are, push through to the front of the crowd with pretty smiles shrugging off their jackets, their cheeks flushed pink with whatever they'd been jointly sculling.
toji makes a big song and dance of them playing fairly, then the sea of people erupt when shoko throws scissors, and yuki, paper.
"oh no, i lost." yuki fake pouts, climbing up onto the table without shame, propping herself back on her elbows, and tipping her head to the side to bare her slender neck.
shoko smiles sweetly as she leans over her girl, rolling her shoulders once like she’s preparing for surgery, you couldn't deny that this was very attractive.
toji pours carefully into the hollowed out skin of yuki’s collarbone, the liquor catching in the dip of her skin. a few drops spill down into the cleavage of her breasts, and someone in the crowd groans at the sight. promptly followed by a middle finger thrown over shoko's shoulder.
the brunette doesn’t mess around, she bends down and takes the shot in one gulp, her hands braced beside yuki’s shoulder. the room goes mental with people howling and stomping as she draws it out by sucking seductively at her neck.
yuki grabs at shoko’s hair, laughing, and the cheering only gets louder when shoko finally stands up wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
you’re clapping with everyone else all tipsy with your thoughts slightly out of order.
but something keeps snagging at your mental.
toru never claimed his kiss, did he?
he won fair and square. he could have taken it right there in front of everyone, but instead, he let sato pull you away and gossip about starting this game up with toji.
your eyes drift between them now, watching the way they stand shoulder to shoulder, murmuring to each other with big grins while the next few volunteers shout to take their turn.
toji waves them off after another quick round. “alright, alright. next pair!”
but your brain clicks onto their mischievous looks a second too late.
because now the boys' hands are pushing at your waist then at your back as they steer you forward through the crowd.
sato's got a playful grip on your arm as he guides you toward the table lightly. conversations flatten as people notice the three of you stepping up to the table, and someone whistles when they get a proper look at you under the kitchen light. someone else nudges a friend and points, already stirring things up. "she's a looker." they exclaim.
toji clocks it and chuckles, he’s just been handed the best play toy in the house, after all. sukuna's cute little ex. now, as much as he liked the guy, even an asshole like toji knew ryomen needed a little wake up call, and he was more than happy to help those idiot twins show him up when they'd asked earlier.
“alright,” he calls out, waving his cup in the air, “we got a new round.”
you watch as the people push closer and become more intrigued, more commotion than before. normally this was done with two people, not three, so everyone's two cents was stacking up until there were dollars of noise filling the room.
sukuna’s head whips over from his spot on the outskirts, and his cocky laughter dies. he freezes so stiffly at the sight of you about to 'volunteer' it’s almost funny, his brain needs a second to catch up to what he’s seeing.
you. here. between the twins of all people?
your chest thumps with adrenaline, but you force yourself to keep your eyes from switching to that disgusting pest.
sato steps right in front of you for a second, his big, broad frame blocking your sight so you face him instead of the man burning a hole into you from across the kitchen, while toru laughs from your other side. "aww look who's watching, let's give him a show, yeah?"
two of sato’s fingers brush your chin, pushing so you're looking up at him with that beautiful expression. “trust us,” he smiles quietly so that only you and toru can hear it. “we’ll be gentle with you, sweetheart. promise.”
toru smiles, winking at you before quickly kissing your forehead.
"i'm assuming you're both throwing to see who takes the shot off her?" toji asks, and the twins nod eagerly in agreement.
toji shakes his head before barking out, “okay then, rock, paper, scissors."
the chant picks up around you, everyone watching as sato and toru hold out their hands, they throw at the same time, and.. they tie.
the crowd react accordingly, and they go again.
another tie.
toru laughs, “fuck it. we both win.”
a swell of noise piles up with people hollering and leaning in to see what happens next. neither twin looks bothered. in fact, they look like they planned it from the beginning with matching smirks slipping across their faces as they turn to you. yeah, they definitely wanted this. both of them on you like some reverse harem bs.
“come here,” sato teases.
they guide you toward the cleared section of the table and you lean back as they direct, hands braced behind you against the surface. you feel so exposed like this with your collarbones tipped toward the ceiling waiting for the liquor.
“tilt your chin up,” toru mutters leaning close so only you can hear him. “js' relax.”
toji trapses towards you with the 1.5L of absolut vodka. you smile when you notice he's being gentler with you than he was with the others, pouring ever so carefully into the hollow of one collarbone, then the other. the chilled liquor makes you jolt, but the twins steady you with their calming palms at your waist.
they both grin at the sight of the alcohol sitting there ready for them to drink. they have to bite their lips in unison to distract from the throbbing hard-ons in both of their pants. shit, you just look so pretty laid out all sweet and ready for them.
the nerdier twin slips his glasses off and shoves them into his jean pocket. sato leans down to your level first, and god if he didn't take his time about it. i mean, sukuna is watching after all. he needed this to be a spectacle.
he gives you the filthiest look before dipping down, and sucking the liquid from your chest. you gasp as he does so, the feeling of his tongue against your skin sends your hand flying into his riddled white locs.
the people are losing it, because sato never does this sort of thing. he’s usually acting better than everyone in the library or turning his nose up at jocks in the quad, not taking body shots off of hot girls in crowded kitchens at parties like these.
as sato's halfway through his very public little display, toru decides he's done waiting and that he'd like to join in on all the fun.
with his pretty eyes flicking up once to make sure sukuna is still staring, the playboy bends down to your other collarbone and drinks from you too, far, far slower than necessary. his big hand sliding from your waist to your hip to keep you in place.
sukuna looks absolutely fucking murderous.
he watches it all play out with the most feral, pathetic, jealous look on his once smug face.
and to add insult to injury, the twins go further.
they don’t pull off if you when they're done, oh no. sato’s hands push you down when you try to sit up, you giggle in reply while torus mouth sucks higher up your neck than necessary after the liquor is gone.
you did owe him a kiss, after all, and they made sure to make a big show of it.
sukuna sees nothing but red, fiery fury, and the twins know he’s watching.
they lift their heads so horribly slow, sato wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb while toru lets his tongue drag across his lower lip.
they look at you first, making sure you’re okay. hm, flushed as hell, but fine. they think in unison.
then, they both turn their heads,
and their eyes lock with sukuna’s.
and they give him the biggest, cockiest, shit eating smirks they'd ever given anyone in their entire lives.
ours now. they mouth.
A/N: i'm sorry i haven't posted in like a week and a half ik i suck throw tomatoes at meuhhhhh
