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Baby!Yuji realizing his resemblance to dad!Sukuna.
°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔*⋆⭒˚｡⋆°❀.࿔
You noticed that six-year-old Yuji had been looking in the mirror a lot lately. He was constantly studying his face and playing with his hair. As he did the exact same thing right now, a fond smile touched your lips. You walked up behind him, resting your hands gently on his small shoulders.
"Looks like someone really loves looking in the mirror."
He turned to you and smiled.
"Mommy! I look like Daddy!" he said.
"Ah, so that's why. You were discovering how much you look like your dad."
"Look, my eyes and my hair... just like his!"
His excitement made you giggle. You ruffled his hair and kissed his rosy cheeks.
"Yes, baby. You're a mini version of your dad."
Lately, everyone who saw him kept saying how much he looked like his father. The boy had heard it so many times that he actually started to notice the resemblance himself.
When Sukuna walked into the room, Yuji shared his discovery with him too.
"Daddy, look at me!"
He widened his tiny eyes as if to prove it and pointed at his pink hair.
"Look, we're exactly the same!"
A small, smug smile appeared on Sukuna’s face.
"You're your father's son, kid."
Hearing his dad's words, Yuji's face lit up. But then, a sudden thought about you seemed to cross his little mind.
"I don’t look like Mama."
You pouted slightly.
"You didn’t have to say that right to my face, Yuji."
Sukuna let out a short chuckle, a lazy, playful smirk on his lips.
"Sorry about that," he murmured. "My genes are just a bit too stubborn."
You rolled your eyes.
Encouraged by his dad's laughter, the little boy turned back to the mirror with a proud grin.
"My lips, my nose... all Daddy!"
You let out a soft laugh.
"Yeah... You really do look like your dad."
"I didn’t know you loved your father quite this much," Sukuna teased, a hint of deep amusement in his voice.
Yuji hugged Sukuna's legs tightly and looked up at him.
"I love my daddy sooo much!"
Sukuna ran his hand through Yuji's pink hair, ruffling it gently.
satoru gojo was many things, and patient was not one of them.
"do you know how long it takes to push out a baby?" he asked curiously as he paced the waiting room. nanami ignored him and continued reading one of the magazines from the table beside him. shoko had rushed you to the hospital earlier after you went into labor. you kicked satoru out of the room after the third hour, claiming his "nervous energy" was contagious.
as nanami flipped to the next page, satoru glanced over his shoulder.
"are you seriously reading a magazine about the best kinds of bread?"
still, no response. "your potential goddaughter is being born and you're focused on how to perfectly butter your bread?! unbelievable." satoru crossed his arms and looked away in disgust.
after a beat, nanami flipped the page and said, "sometimes i can't believe you're older than me. you're like an insufferable child on a road trip constantly asking 'are we there yet' until one of the parents, or both, loses their mind."
he pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed deeply, muttering to himself about age not correlating with maturity.
now it was satoru's turn to ignore him. he tapped his foot anxiously, waiting for an update from the doctor.
finally, a woman in a white coat approached them.
"excuse me, are you...." she looked down at her clipboard. "... satoru gojo?"
"yes. is she okay? is the baby okay? it's a girl right? it better be a gir-"
"they are both are doing well. and yes, she had a girl,” she confirmed, nodding and offering them a small smile. "follow me."
satoru scrambled up from his seat and followed the doctor to your room. there you were, holding your newborn daughter, grinning from ear to ear. you looked tired but happy, glowing as you beamed down at your daughter.
"you're okay!" satoru rushed over and gave you a bone crushing hug.
"satoru—careful. she’s fragile, she’s barely been alive five minutes,” shoko warned.
“yes, we’re okay,” you chuckled, your smile reaching your eyes.
satoru pulled away and looked down at the baby in your arms.
dark, long lashes and big beautiful blue eyes with chubby cheeks and a tiny nose. she was perfect.
"can i hold her?" he asked softly. you nodded, startled by his sudden shift in tone. he gently lifted her out of your arms and held her close to his chest.
"hello there, i'm your dad." she grabbed his finger with her chubby hand and he melted. "you're the most beautiful baby i've ever seen," he whispered, voice breaking. satoru blinked rapidly, trying to hide the way his eyes shimmered.
nanami, standing near the foot of the bed, muttered, “well, at least she won’t inherit your personality.”
you laughed weakly, shaking your head. “don’t jinx it.”
shoko wrinkled her nose, “that would be awful.”
satoru glanced up, smiling through damp lashes. “are you kidding? she’s going to be just like me. strong, brilliant, gorgeous—”
“—and exhausting,” nanami cut in flatly, but his eyes softened at the sight of the newborn.
satoru ignored him, lowering his voice as he pressed his forehead gently to his daughter’s. “but most importantly… you’re mine. and i’m never letting you go.”
the baby cooed softly, her tiny fist still wrapped around his finger, and for once, satoru was quiet.
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first kiss with boyfriend!choso except he doesn’t know what a kiss is ᝰ.ᐟ fluff, fem!reader
“do you think it’d be weird if i kissed him?”
maki had looked at you like you had two heads when she asked, “why would that be weird? he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”
“well, yeah… but, isn’t the guy usually supposed to do it first?”
“choso wasn’t even a fully conscious being a year ago.” she scoffed, “your boyfriend is essentially one of those expanding pill toys we used to soak in the sink as kids. there’s nothing ‘usual’ about you two. I say go for it.”
you nibble the inside of your lip as you think back to the conversation you’d had with your friend just a few hours earlier. she was right, there is absolutely nothing normal about a jujutsu sorcerer and a death painting being in a relationship, so perhaps it isn’t fair to apply the same expectations you would a normal guy to choso. and though he was different from any guy you’d been with before, you could say with utmost certainty that no one has ever treated you as well as your sweet boy does, even if his methods were a little unconventional at times and he still referred to you as his ‘mate’ instead of his girlfriend. but that was just something you’d gotten used to.
the two of you are sat under a tree on a breezy day with your back against the bark and choso’s head tucked in your lap contently. he has his eyes closed but you can tell he’s not sleeping, just resting, his pretty lashes kissing his cheeks. chest rising and falling slowly. if anything, his relaxed stature should mirror onto you but it only makes you more nervous.
gently, you move to hold his face in your hands, thumbs dusting over his cheeks which makes him exhale a breath through his nose a little heavier in response. though no longer a stranger to your touch, it still makes his heart skip all the same. choso and affection had never crossed paths until he’d met you.
and slowly, you lower your face to his, eyes drawing to a close when you carefully slot your lips over his own. you remain there for a beat before you pull away to see a pair of alerted, intense eyes staring directly into yours.
“what did you just do?”
he’s so matter of fact. you still aren’t quite sure if you’re used to how much weight his voice has when he uses it. how it feels like he’s speaking into you instead of to you.
“um, I-“ you swallow, hard. “it was a kiss. i kissed you.”
you hadn’t really thought this through, you realize as your mouth runs dry. feels like it’s been filled with sand.
“why? what is a ‘kiss’?” he’d paused to taste the word, like he’d never spoken it before. because he hadn’t.
“it’s what you do when you like someone. when words aren’t enough to show it. you put your lips on theirs, and… move them.”
you were going to kill maki.
he nods, but he still seems to be thinking on it. “what does it mean?”
“it’s kind of hard to explain. but it’s supposed to be a good thing, you know… that couples do.” he shifts slightly, arms coming up to cross under his head instead. his knuckles brushing against the skin of your thighs, the feeling of his hands making you fidget a bit. they were almost hot.
“how’d it make you feel?” you ask.
“do it again.”
“what?”
he repeats himself, “do it again. you caught me off guard the first time.”
so you do as you’re told. once. just a peck, barely a second. then again, but this time, you stay long enough to feel his lips tentatively start to move against yours. to feel them press deeper into yours when his chin tilts upwards.
a breath is shared between the two of you, lips ghosting against each other’s before you pull away completely.
your heart is beating fast and you know he can sense it.
“so? now how do you feel?” it comes out really soft because you’re nervous and you truly can’t read him right now.
he looks… confused. curious? you don’t know, but there’s a harsh line between his brows while he mulls on his answer.
“warm. like my blood is about to burst through my veins any second now… like—“ his lips close, then part again, but it takes a few more seconds for words to escape and for the first time ever you hear choso trip over his words. “like the feeling you get when you’re getting ready to fight someone. but… different. more intense.”
“cho, it’s okay if you didn’t like—“
he doesn’t let you finish.
“give me more,” and he tacks it on for good measure because yuji’s told him he needs to work on his manners. “please.”
based off this request ! sorry it took so long to get to it! enjoy the tooth rotting fluff <3
gojo’s wife just had a baby girl and their place is full of people filtering in with gifts, shoes piling by the door, low chatter, smiles.
gojo is absolutely insufferable about it. he’s leaning over the couch like, “she has my eyes, right? you see it? everyone sees it,” while his wife, still a little tired but glowing, just sighs and nudges him away with her foot. “she’s been alive for three days, satoru. relax.”
“three days of perfection,” he corrects, grinning.
nanami’s there with his you, standing a bit to the side at first, polite, composed, hands in his pockets. he offers a quiet congratulations, but you can barely stand still when you see the baby. “oh my god—kento, look at her,” you breathe, already stepping closer.
gojo lights up immediately. “you wanna hold her? careful cause she’s premium quality.”
“satoru,” his wife warns, but she’s smiling, guiding the baby gently into your arms.
you melt.
“she’s so tiny,” you murmur, voice soft, cradling the baby so carefully. “hi...hi, sweetheart...” your thumb brushes over the baby’s cheek and you lets out this quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “kento, look at her hands—they're so small...”
you lift one of her little hands like it’s something sacred, her fingers curling instinctively around yours.
“you’re a natural,” gojo's wife says, and you duck your head, smiling.
“she’s just...so cute. i can’t—kento, look at her nose,” you add, shifting closer to him again, angling the baby just so. “it’s so tiny.”
nanami leans in slightly, closer than he meant to. “mm,” he hums low, but his gaze lingers, not just on the baby.
on you.
on the way you’re holding her like you’ve done it a hundred times. the way your voice softens, the way you sway without noticing, like your body already knows what to do. your bright eyes and the way you're glowing.
“she’s so warm...” you whisper, almost to yourself, then glance up at nanami with a bright, almost shy smile. “kento, isn’t she perfect?”
and something in his chest shifts, sharpening with a warm feeling. “she is,” he says, but it comes out quieter than he intended.
gojo’s wife watches the two of you for a second, eyes soft, then bumps her husband lightly. “don’t start.”
“i didn’t say anything,” gojo mutters, though he’s definitely thinking it.
nanami feels it settle in fully then, soft yet heavy and inescapable. he watches you, not even pretending otherwise now. the way you glow, the way you keep looking at him like you want him to see what you see.
for the first time in his life, the thought hits him, clear and uninvited.
he wants you like this, in his home, holding his child, looking at him with that same soft, bright expression.
psychiatrist!geto is better to fantasize about than your selfish boyfriend | 18+
cw: mdni, porn with plot, mentions of masturbation, sly suguru, bro is NOT a good psychiatrist lmfao, shy reader at first, office sex, unprotected sex, cheating oops, 3.1k words, art by chuucho95 on x <3
Doctor Geto Suguru is the same age as you.
Yet the wall behind him is mounted with accolades that rivals veterans in his field.
The rain blurs the lights of the city into watercolor smears against the windows of the doctor's office. Inside, the room is silent, scented with sandalwood and the crisp smell of old books.
Psychiatrist visits inspire thoughts of padded rooms and grippy socks but you're not here due to a sickness of the mind and rather one of the body. One you're certain is going to migrate to your mind if it's not handled now.
See, you can't come. It's been an issue for a while now that's bothered you and you're tired of faking them with your boyfriend. You've decided to come here and see if it's owing to stress.
You lay on the leather chaise, the cool material grounding you as you recounted another week of feeling like a ghost in your own relationship. Another week of your boyfriend’s heavy, selfish touch that left you feeling used rather than wanted.
Dr. Geto sits in his chair, a notebook resting on his thigh, slender fingers curled around his fountain pen as he hums, scribbling down notes with intent nods as you speak.
His long, raven hair gathered loosely at the nape of his neck, trailing over the shoulder of his charcoal suit. He's a man of serpentine beauty—fluid, graceful, and deceptively large, his muscular frame filling the tailored fabric in a way that feels both protective and overwhelming. A few strands frame a face that is unnervingly kind.
“The guilt you feel regarding your own body, it’s a symptom of the neglect you’ve endured,” he says, his voice a low, soothing baritone. “You deserve to reclaim your pleasure.”
While his words aren't inherently lewd or explicit, you still squirm in your seat, unaccustomed to discussing such intimate topics with a man let alone a stranger. However, you're trying to get to the bottom of your rocky relationship with sex and how to resolve the unease you feel so this will have to do.
“How do I do that?”
“You have to touch yourself.”
Rearing back, you swear the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement at your appalled reaction. “I beg your pardon? Doctor, I can't do that. It's inappropriate.”
“Not here, Miss,” he clarifies and your face warms from jumping to conclusions. “Just from how you're reacting, I can deduce that you haven't indulged in self pleasure before. You don't know what you enjoy and have no autonomy over your body. Hence, you need to experiment and try out new things to figure out what pleases you and what does not.”
Nodding slowly, your hands twist the hem of your skirt as you absorb his words. The idea of masturbation feels shameful. You're not particularly religious but after growing up in a household where it was seen as a sin to be lustful, you still harbor such thoughts in your subconscious.
Lifting your shy gaze, you're stripped bare by his amethyst eyes scanning over your face, mentally jotting down every microexpression of discomfort that flickers across it.
Setting his notebook aside, the gentle smile he graces you with has your stomach flipping. It's startling how just that gesture has you relaxing, his presence easy to melt into, loosening your tongue.
“As your doctor, I want what's best for you,” he utters your name in that rich, mellow voice of his akin to a wife calling her husband and you perk up. “Please tell me if I'm overstepping your boundaries. I do not mean to be anything other than strictly professional.”
“Oh, no, no. You're fine. I was just taken aback is all,” you assure him with a shake of your head and an earnest smile.
Relief loosens the tension in his shoulders, his eyes softening. “Good, now shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” that polite word has his irises swirling but you chalk it up to a trick of the light.
“Alright. Are you okay with following my instructions? There's this genre of audio erotica called guided masturbation which I recommend you look into but for professional purposes, I just want to ease you into it so you're not lost when you try it out, okay?”
Swallowing, you nod, shifting to get comfortable as you're laying on the plush couch. “Okay.”
“I want you to close your eyes and imagine your boyfriend touching you. You're in control, he's listening to you and eager to know what pleases you. Tell him how to touch you.”
Brows twitching, you want to tell him that this seems like an exercise for fitting for sex therapy but he'd already told you in your last session that he creates these activities based on the specific needs of his patients according to his observations and what he deems necessary.
“Where would you like him to start?” he asks in a quiet voice that wavers like you're suspended in a body of water, waves lapping at your bobbing body. “Your lips? Your neck? Your chest?”
Hand rising, you brush your fingers over your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they tingle. “My lips.”
“How do they feel against his ones?”
“Soft like petals.”
“How do you want him to kiss you?”
Tongue peeking out, you tentatively lick the pad of your finger, tasting salt. “With…tongue. I've never done that before. He's always refused.”
And perhaps that is why your brain cannot conjure the image of him kissing you. You've always had a vivid imagination but now his silhouette is distorted like the still surface of water disturbed by pebbles dropped into it.
“Does it feel good?”
“This is hard,” you admit, embarrassed.
“How so?”
“I can't picture him doing this.”
The psychiatrist goes silent for a few moments, the faint sound of traffic and the ticking of the clock on the wall all that fills your ears, amplified by your lack of sight.
“No worries, you can picture someone else. A teenage crush, maybe a celebrity you like. Many people fancy imagining their favourite characters too,” he offers simply.
Lips thinning, the daydream you're in darkens, slowly seeping away and your disappointment creeps in. “I can't. Maybe we should try another time—”
“If it’s too difficult to focus on him, imagine me.”
Scandalised by the suggestion, your eyes fly open, head whipping to the side to look at him, your imagination shattering like stained glass hit by a brick.
“Excuse me? That's hardly appropriate.”
“Am I a worse candidate than your boyfriend?” he questions and your eyes widen at the teasing lilt in his voice.
“Um, no. I just find it odd. Don't you?”
A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “I can assure you that I've had patients who've tried much worse than just picturing me in their fantasies, Miss.”
Heat licks at your cheeks. “Ah, okay.”
“You have my consent. Ready to continue?” he cocks his head and asks, sleek hair cascading down his shoulder like spilled ink.
Assuming your position again, you sigh, eyes sliding shut. “Yes.”
“Imagine my hands. Where do you want them while we're kissing?”
With your eyes closed, you followed his forbidden directive. Your hands slid over your ribs, trembling.
“Here,” you murmur, squeezing at your plush waist and skating palms up to the curve of your breasts that tighten. “And here.”
“Okay, let's start slow. We want to build up the tension, drag it out. There's no finish line to race to. Just feel.”
Obliging, you run your hands up and down your sides from your hips to your waist, groping and caressing. They're not your delicate fingers but his thick, long ones digging into your flesh over your clothes, grabbing greedy handfuls of you.
“Does that feel good? My hands gripping at you, feeling you up in fistfuls?”
The question trickles into your ears, your pulse melting into hot syrup that pools in your stomach and dips between your legs. An airy, needy sigh passes your lips.
“Great,” you breathe a dreamy sound, thighs rubbing together, skirt bunching up and you can feel the phantom of his deft fingers hooking into the hem to hike it up.
“Very good,” he praises, voice light and sweet like he's proud of you for being an active participant in this exercise. “Now on to your neck. My lips are grazing your skin there, what do you want from me?”
“Bite it,” you blurt instantly, brows knotting as your neck warms with the ghost of his teeth sinking into it, your pulse racing against the enamel as he sucks a flowering hickey into the blank canvas of your skin, hot, needling desire swirls in the pit of your stomach and sizzles against your clit.
The dream morphs into something lucid, him hovering over you, caging you with those bulky limbs, mouth latched onto your neck as your nails drag down the cotton of his shirt that's taut against his meaty pecs, the muscles flexing beneath your palms. The zwip, zwip, zwip of your clawing against the fabric, laddering it with how desperately you're scratching.
His gentle scent of lilies and something woodsy, the tan terrain of his skin, the dips and ridges of his sculpted form, sweat beading his skin, a devouring hunger in his eyes that scares you and arouses you at the same time because it's so visceral and yet he's holding himself back, willing to kneel at your feet and worship you.
You don't see your boyfriend’s indifferent face; you see Geto's broad shoulders and his dark, predatory gaze softened by that clinical smile as he tells you how good you're doing for him, kissing down your neck and unbuttoning your blouse, calling out your name as you moan in response.
“Miss [Name].”
No, that's actually him talking to you right now. A big, warm hand clasps your wrist and tugs, your eyes blinking open, vision blurred and slowly clearing as you look at him.
Tie askew, his hair is not as neat as it was before you shut your eyes and his cheeks are slightly red as he peers at you.
“Sorry for touching you without your permission but you were getting carried away there,” he apologises, glancing down at your chest and away.
Glancing down, you gasp as he lets go of your wrist as you see the lace of your bra on display. You'd been undoing the buttons of your blouse, skirt ridden up so far that one move would have your panties flashing him too.
Mortified, you spring up and he hands you the blanket beside him which you gratefully accept and cover yourself with. “I am so sorry. I didn't realise—”
“It's okay, just tell me that your imagination will work perfectly when you're exploring it yourself somewhere private,” he interjects with a reassuring smile, clearing his throat.
Clapping, he stands. “Well then, this session is over. We made good progress, I think. Get home safe,” he greets you with a nod, exiting to room to give you privacy to gather yourself.
The fantasy was a revelation. It makes the drive back to your apartment bearable; it makes the shower sessions a sanctuary where you’d slip your hand between your thighs and whisper your psychiatrist's name into the steam.
After all, there's no harm in practicing. It's make believe, it's not like you're cheating on your boyfriend. Everything is alright.
It's liberating, really. The realisation that you're not a broken woman. That you're not undesirable. Touching yourself becomes a self love ritual.
The shame that usually curdles in your stomach evaporates, replaced by a searing, liquid heat.
Weeks pass. Your boyfriend is the last thing on your mind. When he fucks you, his movements are still clumsy and selfish, but you simply close your eyes and summon Dr. Geto, hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit and make yourself come.
You're glowing, revitalized, and Geto watches it all from behind his mahogany desk, taking meticulous notes on your psyche—and your scent.
For months, he had been the architect of your recovery. After your boyfriend had spent years treating your body like an inconvenient vessel for his own release, Geto had taught you that your pleasure was a sovereign right.
During your final session, the air in the room changed—charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sudden, sharp intent in his eyes.
“I’ve been observing your progress,” Geto muses, standing up. He moves with the grace of a panther on the prowl, stopping beside the chaise. “You’re smiling more. You’re distancing yourself from the man who doesn't deserve you. But there is a final stage to this therapy—one that addresses the psychosomatic tension you’re still carrying.”
The man reaches down, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek. The touch is electric. “Sit up.”
You obey, heart hammering against your ribs.
He clears the papers from his heavy mahogany desk with a single, slow sweep of his arm. “Your boyfriend treats sex as a conquest. I treat it as a necessity. Bend over, please.”
Fantasy is about to become reality.
Moments later, you're gripping the edge of the polished mahogany, the grain cool against your palms, as Geto comes up behind you. He takes his time as he lifts your skirt, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with agonizing slowness.
“This is the session I've been waiting for,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath hot.
Skirt rolled up to your waist, he bares your ass to him and peels away your soaked panties, picking them up and inhaling your musky sweet scent deeply. It's dizzying, so addictive. He balls up the flimsy cloth and stuffs it into his pocket.
When he eases in, it isn't the clumsy, impatient shove you are used to. It's a slow, deliberate push. He's massive, a solid weight that filled the void your boyfriend had left behind. You let out a shattered cry, your forehead pressing into the desk.
“That's it, you're doing so well,” he growls, his hands catching your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones to hold you steady. One hand slides to your belly, pressing down on the bulge there as you whimper. “Feel me here? Feel how perfectly you fit against me."
The drag of his cock inside you is all-consuming. Every time he drives forward, his heavy weight presses you down into the desk, the glossy wood and the heat of his body creating a sensory overload. Each vein and ridge rubs back and forth inside you, tickling all those sweet spots inside you that have your head swimming, drool dribbling from your parted lips and moans spilling from you that you barely recognize.
"Your body isn't a burden," he whispers, his voice thickening as the friction built toward a fever pitch. "It is a temple, and I am its most dedicated servant. Tell me... does your boyfriend ever make you feel this seen?"
"No," you breathe sharply, vision dimming with heat. You're jelly, your senses dissolving into the scent of his cologne and soap.
"Then let him go," he grits, his grip tightening until his knuckles were white. "Forget his name."
Who?
He leans down, biting the sensitive skin where your shoulder meet your neck, his long hair falling like a curtain around you both. As he hits your deepest point, over and over, you feel the last remnants of your old life shatter.
"This is the only medicine you need," he hums, his voice breaking. "And I'll be sure to provide it whenever you want it."
You could feel the power in his thighs, the strength of his chest against your back as he presses his lips into the softness of your neck, cock sinking into you deeper and deeper with each smooth roll of his hips, the desperate drag of his body against yours nearly molding you two together as his cock carves a home for itself in your snug cunt.
“Fuck, do you know how good you feel? Sucking me in so greedily, fitting me like a glove. Your boyfriend barely left a mark,” he seethes, biting down on your shoulder as his lazy, savoring thrusts descend into something feral and harsh, grunts thrumming though your skin as the desk creaks and whines with you.
“Ah, Geto—”
“Suguru, baby. I'm your Suguru,” he mumbles in a drunken slur against the side of your face, lips smushed to your wet cheek, licking up the tears of pure bliss and relief that streak down your face.
“Suguru,” you gasp out and a long, drawn-out groan rumbles out of him, his abdomen bunching against your lower back as his hips smack against your plush ass, the flesh rippling.
“I’ve spent months learning every fracture in your psyche,” he rasps, his pace quickening, the sound of sweat-slick skin slapping skin echoing in the quiet office. “I know exactly where you’re broken. And I know exactly how to fill those spaces.”
He reaches around, his large fingers finding your aching clit, circling with a clinical precision that sends sparks crackling through your vision. You are far gone, your mind turning to white noise as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over.
Cupping your jaw, he turns your face so he can get a good look at you, half-lidded eyes dark and glistening with elation as he takes in your messy hair, smudged eyeliner, tears dotting your lashes and parted lips.
Ducking down, he licks a hot, wet stripe up your chin, slurping the drool there, tongue delving into your mouth and kissing you sloppy like you had fantasized about for months, hip thrusts stuttering from how sweet and buttery you taste.
“You’ve never looked better," he moans into your mouth, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied pride as he feels your pussy clench around him in a violent, weeping orgasm, drinking down your whimpers. “This is the only medicine you need from now on. I'll give it to you every time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you mewl, incapable of saying anymore as you struggle to kiss him, legs quivering and cunt convulsing, drawing his orgasm forward, thick, creamy cum splattering inside your squelching walls.
You lay slump against the mahogany, breathless and gold-spun with afterglow. Suguru doesn't pull away immediately, buried deep within you, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you together.
"Much better," he sighs, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his kind smile returning to his face even as his eyes remained dark with a predatory satisfaction. "I think we’ve made excellent progress today."
Smiling deliriously, you're spent and shimmering, a patient finally cured by the most radical of treatments.
note: i doubt i did that blurb justice huhu but i wanted to write suguru
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You’d been sitting on Satoru’s lap for what felt like forever—probably half an hour, maybe more. The moment he got home, you didn’t even give him time to hang his coat.
You hooked your hands around him and practically demanded. “Sit down.”
Satoru blinked like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Whatcha’ up to now?”
Before he could answer, you climbed onto his lap and made yourself comfortable like you belonged there. He froze for a second—then his hands hovered awkwardly, unsure whether he was allowed to touch you yet.
“Hey—Why are you acting so—”
He didn’t get to finish.
You grabbed his blindfold and ripped it off his face with reckless confidence.
The movement was so random Satoru barely had time to react. His hair fell into place, and then—those bright blue eyes were there, fully uncovered.
For a moment, he looked almost startled.
Then his expression softened, concern creeping in. “Baby…Did I do something?”
You didn’t answer. You just stared—steady, intense, like you were really inspecting him. Like you were checking something important.
Satoru swallowed.
“No,” You finally said, voice quiet but certain. You leaned closer, meeting his gaze like a promise. “Have I told you how much I love your eyes?”
His shoulders loosened and you could almost see him realize he wasn’t in trouble. He let out a small laugh, then tried to grin like everything was normal.
“Yes,” He said gently, looking at you like he adored you. “Yes, you have, sweetheart.”
he has you on your knees in front of him in the library he told you to come to. it's late at night and there's hardly anyone around. you were a little nervous but he assured you that "it's fine" and to "stop being a baby."
he leans back and spreads his legs, revealing his hard cock through his pants.
"alright. first step, get it out." he says, broad smile on his face. you look up at him, eyes wide before you reach a shaky hand out to his belt. undoing it slowly, you take it off and place it on the ground.
gojo watches almost endearingly as you nervously unbutton and unzip his pants. he sighs softly and ruffles your hair with a lazy hand. after lifting his hips to pull down his pants a little, his boxers remain the only barrier.
"come on, i didn't think it would take this long."
"s-shut up, i-i, i just-"
"i know you're nervous. it's cute. so scared of me and yet you're still willing to suck my dick."
your face reddens as you slightly pull down his boxers and take out his cock. it's heavy in your hand and pink at the tip, already weeping a little. you swallow nervously, to which gojo laughs soflty.
"relax, i'm not gonna hit you with it. now, spit on your hand and rub it alllll over."
you hesitate only for a moment before listening, covering his cock in your spit until it is glistening. he grunts whilst you run your hand up and down his cock, containing his moans.
"okay, now pump it, up and down. slow at first."
he shuts his eyes as you listen, shifting his hips forward. he tilts his head back and breathes deeply.
"a-am i doing it right?"
"you're doing perfectly well, honey." he says, looking back down at you. "now, put your little tongue on the tip of it. that's right."
you take in your mouth and grimace slightly at the salty taste. letting your tongue explore the ridges and dips, gojo has to try and contain himself.
"now do that, and the hand thing at the same time." he grunts. you continue licking his tip and pumping his shaft at the same time, looking up at him as you do so. he makes eye contact with you and you notice the way his cheeks have slightly reddened, and how his brows crease. you pick up the speed and he curses, hands gripping the chairs handles.
"f-fuck, that's it. keep going." he struggles to keep himself in his chair as he grows closer. his hand nearly reaches out to push your head down, but instead he gently grips your hair, caressing.
"i'm gonna, i'm gonna cum, okay? swallow it." you keep your mouth on his cock as he bucks, letting out strangled moans and growls. his eyes roll back as he cums into your mouth, hips bucking with desperation. you close your eyes and swallow his cum, face contorting in slight disgust.
you pant a little when you lean back, face flushed. he pants too, looking down at you.
"good job honey, didn't know you had it in you." he says with a smirk. you wipe your mouth and stand up and he grips your wrist.
──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! gojo loves using the “i’m married” card whenever he gets approached, because in his mind you guys are married.
the thing about being satoru gojo is that people look at him.
he’s used to it by now— the double takes, the whispered gossip, the way strangers feel entitled to his attention just because he happens to be tall and white-haired and annoyingly beautiful(so he’s been told). it’s exhausting, honestly, but he’s learned to deal with it over the years.
the second her manicured fingers land on satoru’s forearm, he knows exactly what’s coming.
he’s seen this script a hundred times. the coy smile, the slight tilt of the head, the way her lashes flutter like she’s got something in her eye. he’s been fielding these approaches for years, long before you came along, and he’s got it down to a fine art now.
“sorry,” he says, before she can even get a word out. “i’m married.”
the lie rolls off his tongue as easily as breathing. it’s not even really a lie, not in his head. you’re his girlfriend, yes, but you’re also the one. the endgame. the person he’s going to annoy for the rest of his natural life and probably well beyond that if he figures out how. in his mind, you’ve already got the ring, the shared last name, the matching toothbrushes in the bathroom. the paperwork is just a formality.
the woman’s face falls slightly, but she’s persistent. he’ll give her that. “oh, i don’t see a ring—”
“left it at home,” he says smoothly, already starting to edge away. “wife’d kill me if i lost it.”
he does have a ring. it’s just that it’s still sitting in the expensive jewellery shop that you always stare at when you guys pass by. he’s been meaning to go in and custom-make one that’s been appearing in his mind lately, one that would be unique and fitting only for you, but there’s no rush and the right moment just hasn’t shown up yet, because every time he looks at you, his brain short-circuits and he forgets how words work.
but that’s a problem for future satoru.
right now, present satoru is trying to escape this conversation without being rude, because you’re waiting for him in the car, most likely dozing off against the window with that cute pout on your lips.
he’s reaching for the strawberry milk with the cute cow on it, when he hears the click of heels behind him.
“excuse me?”
satoru doesn’t even turn around. his hand closes around the bottle anyway. “married,” he says, tossing it into his basket.
“oh! i—i wasn’t—”
“very married. disgustingly married. my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world and i think about her constantly.” he finally glances over his shoulder, offering a bland smile. “sorry.”
the woman blinks at him, then laughs nervously and retreats toward the chips aisle.
satoru turns back to the fridge, satisfied. it’s not even a lie anymore, not really. you’ve been his girlfriend for two years, and somewhere along the way— maybe when he watched you fall asleep on his couch with your glasses askew, or when you sent him a photo of a cat you saw on the street with the caption him, or when you laughed so hard at your own joke that you choked on water— he stopped thinking of you as just a girlfriend.
you’re his wife. you just don’t know it yet. there’s paperwork to do, and a ring to buy, and a question to ask, but in his head? you signed the papers months ago.
he grabs another bottle of milk because you like the chocolate one too, and heads to the checkout, basket swinging from his wrist. the cashier gives him an interested look but he only looks at you through the transparent doors that open and close, smiling when he sees you rubbing your eyes through the window and looking around sleepily.
.
.
.
the first thing satoru notices is that the afternoon sun is hitting just right against your hair, making it look like something out of a painting. the second thing he notices is the woman approaching.
he clocks her immediately— the way her eyes flick to him, the subtle once-over, the way she angles her body toward his. he’s seen this movie a hundred times. hell, he’s starred in it a hundred times.
“excuse me,” she says, all polite smile and batted lashes. “i’m so sorry to bother you, but i just had to say—you have the most stunning eyes i’ve ever seen.”
satoru feels you stiffen slightly beside him. your hand, which had been loosely linked with his, tightens just a fraction. he wants to squeeze back, to reassure you, but he’s also kind of… curious. because usually, when this happens, he’s alone. he gets to play his little game where he flashes an imaginary wedding ring and says sorry, i’m married with a soft, stupidly fond smile that he practices exclusively for the version of you that lives in his head.
but you’re right there and he’s never had to play that card with you within earshot before.
“oh,” he says, tilting his head. his glasses slip down his nose just enough for him to peer over them. “thanks.”
the woman takes the lack of immediate rejection as encouragement. “i don’t usually do this, but i was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab a coffee sometime? there’s a great place just around the corner—”
“no can do,” satoru interrupts, his voice softening at the edges. he feels your hand twitch again. “i’m married.”
the word hangs in the air. married. he’s said it a thousand times to strangers, to cashiers, to that one persistent guy at the bookstore who wouldn’t take a hint. but never like this, never with you standing right there by his side.
you go very still.
the woman blinks, glances at your interlocked hands, then back at his face. “oh. i’m sorry, i didn’t see a ring—”
“don’t need one,” he says simply, he’s not even looking at her anymore. he’s looking at you, at the way your lips have parted slightly, at the confusion and tenderness flickering across your face. “some things you just know.”
there’s a beat of silence. the woman mutters an apology and retreats. satoru doesn’t watch her go. he’s too busy watching you stare up at him like he’s grown a second head.
“married?” you repeat, your voice going breathy like it does when you’re trying not to laugh but also trying not to cry.
“well, yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he brings your joined hands up and presses a kiss to your knuckles, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. “i mean, not legally. yet. but in my head? you’ve had the ring for like eight months now. it’s very sparkly. you look great in it.”
you blink at him once, twice, and then you make a sound that’s half-giggle, half-gasp, shoving at his chest with your free hand. “satoru! you can’t just tell strangers we’re married!”
“why not?” he grins, bright and boyish and entirely unrepentant. “it’s gonna happen eventually. i’m just saving time.”
“you’re insane.”
“insanely in love, maybe.”
you groan, burying your face in his shoulder, and he feels you smile against his shirt. your ears are pink. he wants to bite them.
“you’ve been doing this the whole time?” you mumble into his collarbone. “every time someone flirts with you?”
“every. single. time.” he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you closer, resting his chin on top of your head. “you’re my wife in every way that matters. the government just doesn’t know it yet.”
you pull back just enough to look at him, and there’s something in your eyes that makes his chest ache— all shimmery and wondering, like you’re seeing him for the first time. you smile, small and private, and tug his sleeve. “c’mon, husband. my show starts in ten.”
he word husband hits him right in the stupid chest like a truck made of flowers.
he follows you out, already planning the ring. already knowing exactly what it’ll look like. already halfway down on one knee in his head.
you don’t know any of that, not yet. but you said it and now he’s never letting you go.
baby!yuji acting like his Uncle Sukuna to protect you from flirts
≈ 898 words
masterlist
"VROOOM VROOOM!" Yuji squealed, his tiny, dimpled hands gripping the shopping cart as if it were a steering wheel while he sat inside it.
You leaned your weight into the handle, making a dramatic turn as the wheels squeaked in a drift, sending Yuji into a fit of breathless giggles. Every time someone passed by, Yuji chirped, waving so hard his whole little body rocked as he greeted every stranger.
"Oh, what a little sweetheart," an elderly woman cooed. Yuji gave her a toothy grin, his cheeks puffing out until his eyes crinkled into happy crescents. He lived for the praise, wiggling his little toes inside his sneakers.
Turning into the snacks aisle, you spotted the bag of chips Sukuna liked on the top shelf. You reached up, toes barely touching the ground, when a tall shadow loomed over you, and a man reached over, grabbing the bag for you.
"Here you go," he said, handing it to you with a lingering look. He leaned against the shelf directly in front of you, his eyes travelling over you in a way that made your skin prickle with discomfort.
‘Thank you,’ you said, voice tight as you placed the bag into the cart and continued moving ahead in the aisle.
"Is this your kid? He’s a cute little guy," the man said, falling into step beside the cart. His voice dropped into a cheesy, flirtatious tone.” You're way too pretty to be wandering these aisles all by yourself doing the heavy lifting."
You kept your eyes fixed forward, pointedly ignoring him. Beside you, the giggling stopped. Yuji went dead silent. He stood up in the cart, planting his feet firmly. His tiny arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted back with a chillingly familiar expression. He narrowed his eyes, looking down his nose at the man with pure disdain.
"No," Yuji said, his voice lacking its usual toddler pitch, a tone that resembled his uncle’s arrogance. "You can’t have her."
The man blinked, looking from the small child to you, his brows furrowing. "Uh, kid, I’m just talkin-"
"She belongs to my Unckuna," Yuji interrupted, his lip curling into a tiny, fierce scowl. He clicked his tongue, “Go away, brat."
The man’s face flushed a deep red. He looked at the toddler, who looked ready to pounce on him. At first, he giggled nervously, but then looked at you, who was watching the little boy with quiet pride. He hurried away, muttering something about “weird families”.
As soon as the man disappeared, Yuji’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes grew wide and watery, leaving behind a little boy who suddenly looked very small. He reached his arms up high, his fingers wiggling for a hug.
You scooped him out of the cart instantly, holding his warm, trembling body against your chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck.
"Are you okay?" he whimpered, his voice muffled against your skin. He pulled back just enough to hold your face with his chubby hands, his expression frantic with worry, "Was I brave? You're not gon leave me right?"
Your heart squeezed with so much affection it almost hurt. You peppered his face with kisses until he started to giggle and squirm. "You were the bravest boy in the whole world, Yuji. I would never leave you. Thank you for protecting me."
Yuji let out a long, dramatic sigh of relief, head dropping onto your shoulder as he had just lifted a mountain. " ‘M tired now," he murmured. “Being brave is hard.”
The front door had barely clicked shut when Yuji scrambled out of your arms.
"UNCKUNA UNCKUNA! I SAVED AUNTIE FROM A BIG BOOGER”
Sukuna was in the bedroom with a pile of laundry on the bed when he looked up, watching a pink-haired blob charging at him. Yuji skidded to a halt in front of him and immediately launched into acting, puffing his chest out.
"There was a big booger, A big one! He was talking to Auntie and being ‘noying! I had to use my scary face that you taught me."
Sukuna leaned against the dresser, his eyes shifting to you, eyebrows raised in a silent question. You leaned against the doorframe, smiling and nodding. "And what did you tell the booger?" Sukuna asked, his voice a low, amused rumble.
Yuji stopped, planted his feet wide, crossed his arms, tilted his head, and held the deadliest scowl a toddler could muster. "I told him he was a brat! I told him Auntie belongs to you and to go away!"
A slow smirk spread across Sukuna’s face. He reached down, hooking his hands under Yuji’s arms and hoisting him high into the air before settling him on his forearm.
"Is that so?" Sukuna’s gaze moved to you, filled with a possessive pride that made your heart skip. He ruffled Yuji’s hair roughly yet affectionately. "That’s my boy. You did well, brat. You’re a natural."
Yuji chirped with joy, throwing his arms around Sukuna’s neck, while Sukuna reached out his free hand, fingers tangling with yours to pull you into his side. He leaned down, lips brushing your ear as his voice dropped into a low rumble. “You okay?’ he asked. When you nodded, leaning your head against his shoulder with a sigh of content, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured, grip tightening.
notes:
a lil happiness after the angst
divider: @uzmacchiato
"what am i to do with you frivolous little creatures?" your husband grunts though there is no real malice behind his words.
if anyone approached sukuna years ago and told him that he'd be wrapped around the fingers of a lover and two children, he would've beat the shit out of them.
but here he is— sprawled out on a large, animal-themed playmate with his two adorably irresistible infant children.
your daughter coos affectionately at her father, small mouth forming a smile. her twin brother copies her actions and raises his limbs to wiggle them in the air. sukuna feels how his heartstrings begin to reluctantly tug. how could he ever be his aloof self when around his own flesh?
"i see you have inherited your mother's sense of humor, towa." he observes as his large fingers pluck your son's foot, causing him to babble in delight. sukuna's attention shifts to your daughter. "as for you, yuwa—"
"am i interrupting a moment with babies and daddy?"
your husband's head immediately snaps towards the direction of your voice. there's a natural, maternal softness illuminating your figure, a glow that draws sukuna towards you. you bend down to pick up your daughter, purring as you kiss her cheek.
"my sweet yuwa," you say before lifting her up to check her diaper. "someone's a little stinky— don't you think, kuna?" you ask, followed by kissy noises to your daughter.
sukuna doesn't answer. he's enamoured by the sight in front of him— you, his darling wife and his precious daughter. what knocks him out of the trance is his son, who delivers a playful kick to his face.
he huffs when he faces his son, eyes narrowing slightly. "only six months of age and you are already plotting against me, towa." your son lets out a mixture of a giggle and babble, causing your husband to bring down his front. "it seems that i am raising you and your sister well."
"da… dada—!" towa blurts out before seemingly clapping his hands and wiggling his legs. both you and sukuna's eyes widden at the sudden action.
sukuna then picks and lifts your son into the air, tossing him up every few seconds. "mind repeating what you just said, towa?" he presses playfully— a rare side of him.
"dada!" your son babbles happily. "dadadadada!"
as if interlinked, your daughter begins to reach her tiny hands out to her father. "d—dada!" yuwa squeals, making grabbing motions with her fingers. you transfer her over to sukuna, who professionally handles the two of them in his arms.
immediately she begins to paw at sukuna's face, to you stifle a giggle and assuringly pat his back. "you've gained a few followers, kuna."
sukuna rolls his eyes. "they know who their 'dada' is."
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ᢉ𐭩 fem!reader, little yuji is shy around you, sukuna’s gf
“behave, brat. don’t crawl all over her when she’s here.” ryomen looks at an excited yuji, who’s bouncing off the walls in the living room.
“i’m excited! i wanna see her, i wanna see her! when’s she coming over?” he shouts, referring to you, his older brother’s girlfriend.
right as yuji asks, the doorbell rings, and he runs while shouting, “she’s here, she’s—“
on the porch, you hear muffled yelling inside from a high-pitched voice, most likely from sukuna’s little brother yuji. quietly, you tap your floor against the wood and hum to yourself, when the door opens with a click.
and the picture is a sight to see. sukuna’s hand lies on the door handle, and the other on a pink tuft of hair belonging to little yuji.
the boy’s cheeks pinken as you look at him and crouch down to his level, “hi there, i’m your brother’s girlfriend! i’ve heard a lot about you, you’re yuji, right?”
his eyes widen and he nods, “i’m… i’m yuji…” his voice quieter than usual.
ryomen’s eyebrow raises in confusion. normally his brother would be running around and asking guests questions, especially when first getting to know them, but he’s acting different.
but when his thoughts gather, and the thought renders in his mind, he scoffs with a smile and ruffles yuji’s hair.
the rest of the time is filled with you asking yuji questions as he shyly answers and hides behind sukuna, but occasionally he’ll peek out from behind and look at you with big, curious eyes.
and eventually, he puts a hand over his mouth to cover it, to try and whisper to sukuna, “she’s too pretty for you…”
sukuna’s head whips around, “what?!” as you cackle at the boy’s audacity, then he turns to you, “and what are you laughing at?!”
“it’s true though! she’s pretty and funny, and you’re… you’re big and mean!” yuji’s eyebrows furrow with determination, and sukuna rolls his eyes and lightly flicks his forehead, “i’m better!” he says while his hand cups his forehead.
“i’m an amazing boyfriend to her, brat.” sukuna pokes at his brother’s chubby cheeks, trying to aggravate him more.
you smile, “you are.”
the room becomes quieter, and ryomen places a small, soft kiss on your lips. his hand reaches out to yours and he holds it, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.
but yuji crawls across his lap, onto yours. he rests his head on your shoulder, unpleased with how little attention he’s getting.
your eyes widen as it’s a switch from how he’s been acting for most of your visit, but you give in and rub your hand down his small back, and he wraps his tiny arms around your neck.
you don’t see the small smirk he sends to sukuna, and how his tongue sticks out as his eyebrows furrow.
sukuna notices.
gosh, yuji’s such a brat.
thought this was cute soo yeah
yuji’s really young so maybe a kindergartener and has a cute little crush on reader! sukuna catches it but obvi reader does not reciprocate yuji’s feelings, ryo’s her bf :)
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