a lot k words but will have a p2 as my brain is fried

it’s third time in two days that inmate poindexter had been sent to the infirmary. technically you were only meant to stand in the corner and observe, maybe even the occasional passing of a supply. but of course with such an incredibly skilled whatever he was extra restraints were needed. maybe even emotional support.

so as he slowly descended into the creaking hospital bed you were motioned to begin adjust the straps on his arms and then those on his feet. why the actual doctor is currently allowing someone with less experience with violent patients to be so close to one is beyond you but questions aren’t welcomed.

poindexter’s eyes are dead.

no life. no curiosity. no hope. just waiting, like he knows one of these days the relentless beatings he’s been trained to withstand may just be his last, or he’s already solidified his escape plan which is bound to fail because this is maximum security we’re talking about. this time it’s a stab; small incision to the abdomen most likely a razor that was a gift to another prison from a guard with a mutual abhorrence to him.

his face portrays no reaction to anything for that matter. not the pain that the even the strongest of humans would surely wince at, the tightening of the straps though you don’t mean to hurt but if protocol says tighter then so be it.

just as the last strap is in place you look up at him. its up to the jury on the reason why. because when he’s staring so resolutely at the wall its easier to get a closer look at the scars he’s amassed from less then a week in gen pop. that’s the preferred thought rather than the fact that your not one to feign ignorance over how attractive he may be.

a three second look isn’t hurting anyone. especially not you.

it’s like he senses the slight tilt in your head because his eyes meet yours as soon as you do. face already contorted into one of disdain but you don’t even focus on it. much more the sheer amount of scars littered on his face that dare you say made him look better.

Dr Eden clears his throat with warning and suddenly has no problem suddenly giving you some hands on work experience and tasks you with the suture. only folding his shirt upwards to give access to the wound and simultaneously revealing built abs that exceeded further than whatever you could’ve imagined. maybe hands on work wasn’t so bad after all. dried blood appeared in a stream like form from the wound meaning the guards waited before even escorting him further down into the prison.

you start by lightly cleaning the wound, a cheap antiseptic and a cotton ball that’s practically disintegrating, both able to work just enough to keep budgets low. it’s all easy enough to preform until you’re threading a needle.

it takes embarrassingly long, and aren’t these supposed to be pre-threaded anyway?—“hey am i gonna get a real doctor?”. poindexter doesn’t even acknowledge you instead his eyes are boring in to the man child that cowers in the corner.

you preferred when he stared at walls with no expression to his mocking smirk that suddenly makes you more insecure of your abilities than it should have been able to.

the doctor clears his throat before stepping further into the room and just now inspecting the need anyone remind him trainee who he should be training.

“not everyone was born with the skills of consistent precision like you.” he chimes but the joke doesn’t land whatsoever save for himself rather a feeble attempt to save face and claim a get outta jail free card if an escape is managed and vengeance.

“real doctors are meant to be meticulous which takes longer. sorry if that’s not up to par with mister fbi agent gone rouge—” that last string of words had no business moving from your brain to your mouth and now you feel physically sick.

“what the fuck did you just say.” he barks, voice sharp and a fist is already balling with no regard to the restraints nor the fact you can hear the faint sound of the officer to the side unholstering his gun.

rule 1 of dealing with known violently behaved patients is to minimise conversation between the two of you because their personal triggers are unknown. obviously you didn’t take heed to that one and now you’re thinking of the ways he could hunt you down and murder you with something as simple as a thumbtack.

Dr Eden is already stepping into reprimand you and calling for a swift exit. you barely get 5 seconds to breath yourself due to the heavy breathing and constant noise of shackles lashing violently against each other and finally footsteps follow behind.

“you don’t come inside that room when he’s here anymore you hear me! i have enough trouble on my hands and i could go without you volunteering me to his hit list!” his voice ricochets off of every surface imaginable and your sure poindexter is listening with a sickening grin across his face, alongside that thought is another fantasy where you storm back in and do very minimal damage to him with the needle you just barely threaded.

“i’m not clear on how i’ll get experience if i don’t get to be there when the single patient we have is.” normally your tone would be less ‘stop bullshitting me’ and more singing his praises but something about that guys face and demeanour is just aggravating in its own.

.

.

it was finally settled that you would be semi-suspended for the next 2 days. meaning you’d only be present for the lower level patients (like there was any) and would leave the room and do whatever when more temporally challenged patients came along.

on your newfound break you found it was finally the time do some sort of exploring around your new workplace, obviously not the smartest decision but the confines of a medical room wasn’t the prettiest sight day in and day out.

you found yourself at the reception talking to asia who you had met on your first day; she was indeed a saving grace of you first day when your boss was already pissed at you even though you just arrived.

“okay hear me out, wilson fisk.” asia laughs heartily like just the thought of him wasn’t rancid as in your mind. she takes the lack of response as reason to go on. “listen to me he’s huge, which also means he’s huge.” you practically gag at the innuendo because it might be the offensive thing you’d heard.

you decide to walk back towards the clinic because an eye wash is definitely needed. your mind definitely strayed further than it should’ve.

you walk was strangely unsettling although everything was as it normally is. rowdy prisoners that clamber at the gate when anything remotely feminine walks past, guards barking orders which make trying to think about anything a forgotten haze.

it’s probably the overall environment and almost termination putting you on edge. but as you near the room you can hear whispers of pained grunts and sharp sounds through the air that meet a target.

you’re right in front of the door when it swings open revealing a guard and an array of bodies behind him. “what the fuck.” for someone who had to be told to quieten down numerous amount of times you could barely manage a half whisper.

the guard still stands over you hat lowered and a dark energy about him. looking up reveals the fact that it’s not only not a guard but the judge declared most dangerous prisoner that’s most likely memorising your face to murder you when walking back to your apartment tonight.

his eyes meet yours and damn the god that gave him such a pretty face with one of the most deplorable characteristics to match. he’s already grinning with a bloody mouth and missing tooth before sliding past you and making his way to the reception.

right to the only friend that you had in this place but your feet are planted just outside of the room and head didn’t dare to turn a millimetre. so silent pleading was your only option.

this might’ve have been the quietest slaughter to be recorded because everything resumes like your life might not have been put on pause permanently.

blood is splattered and dyes half of the furniture, one man’s eye is completely caved in and bloody, both halves of a pair of scissors are lodged into 2 people’s heads— god it’s Doctor Eden and his eyes are stare right at you. this is the first time you’ve seen anything like this up close and you feel frozen at the horror.

sure this was hell’s kitchen the most crime prevalent place to ever be but you’d not ever seen anything up close like this, or a person so close to you.

and it almost serves as his reminder that it might be you next.

when your finally able to muster up the strength to scream for help in a way you’d never expected officers are running in and suddenly everything’s a blur.

.

.

stalking apartment obnoxiously loud speakers playing a song he wouldn’t want to hear again, she’s a perfect contradiction and way of exposure therapy

dexxbreak into her house need patching ask her why work at the prisom she said it was a lucky dip and she got the absolute shortest end of the stick

dex has trying to balance the scales and tie up lose ends and since his hits on wilson keep getting districted by someone that should have the same objective as him he’s on to the latter.

wilson fisk should’ve been dead by now. daredevil, rather murdock should want to kill fisk just as much as dex if not more. as a result of that he’s onto tying up loose ends now such as yourself.

he’s been surveiling your life for two weeks and it’s pretty obvious that you weren’t going to say much. truth is any normal variant of him if it was possible would have stopped watching by now, with the occasional check ins because paranoia worked overtime in his mind.

when you made that comment it was like your words seeped themselves into his brain and played on repeat after every thought he had. he hated the fact that the first time he even heard your voice his reaction was so.. well reactive. he’s glad you left so you couldn’t see the pure wrath painted on his face though he’s no stranger to the volume of his own voice and you definitely heard him outside.

that night he couldn’t even try to fall asleep because he was ruminating on every time he’d seen you. watching through each memory and noticing each thing he ignored whilst stewing on fisk. the way that wimp with a doctor title retreated to the corner when dealing with him. sure dex would never hurt you in anyway but it makes him think about how many other times he put you in that position with other inmates.

and all of a sudden he’s sorry about his death. not for killing him but not doing worse to the body and telling you not to go in so you wouldn’t see it. he couldn’t move the bodies in time so he had no option to leave them but he wouldn’t never do something so cruel to his sweetheart.

he’s seen you wake up in a sweat barely able to calm yourself down before getting to the kitchen and splashing your face with water. he’s pretty sure everyone’s heard you blast obnoxiously loud music in attempts to drown out what you witnessed, which has put him off listening to anything forever longer than that.

sometimes like right now he fantasises about waiting into your apartment and playing hero, though he can barely help himself he'd hold and reassure you liked no watched in those not so stupid movies Dr Mercer prescribed and it would solidify the fact that you needed him just as much as he needed you.

if Mercer were here he’d tell him to keep going right? i mean you acted as the perfect contradiction to his presumed life of order and being around you would be exposure therapy of some sort. someone who is less into upkeep and the precision that he lives for to challenge and transform him.

you were so honest and truly had no regard for how violent he was when you spoke to him and that’s what he needed. pure unbridled and brutal truth to fix him. people worse than him would take advantage of that and he could stop that.

he could help you.

sleeping became more of a chore than a necessity, the slightest noises including creaking of your door which you could still make out with music blasting into the space of your room were quick to wake you up. now dex was stealthy but no magician so he could only note that as something to fix when you on allowed him into your life fully.

still trying to fool your body into dormancy you squinted your eyes but noticed the dark figure stepping inside. you clambered to but your back against the bed frame and smashed the bedside light on only to reveal the nightmare that you've been having.

it's bullseye standing in your room but instead of the comically large thumbtack you've that you've been dreaming of he's got his mask of and is waving shyly like he's not murdered three people that you know of. the way that your features become sharp with detest makes him step back as if your best case scenario isn’t him buried under a prison right now.

“hey.” he whispers, almost like he’s asking if it’s ok that he’s here when it’s so obviously not! ‘what the fuck’ you mouth gripping onto your sheets to gain some sort of grounding. his hand reaches out to provide some sort of solace but the sudden movement is enough to have you attempt to race to the bathroom.

of course it’s barely two steps before dex has his hands finding purchase on your shoulders and is trying to.. shush you? “i’m here to save you.” the tone of his words are sincere and so is his weirdly earnest smile like he believes them. “the only saving i need is from you,” dex’s face falters at that afraid hes being met with the same rejection he suffered with before. his becomeshold now so you take the chance to push him away before shouting “what do you want from me poindexter!?”

hie voice is a shattered plead when he says, “help.. i just want help.” this couldn’t be real. this grown man meant to be in maximum security wasn’t begging a barely qualified assistant for help.

your lips were sewed shut because this had to be a disgustingly elaborate nightmare after overthinking it so much. but he’s really here in all his glory. in a suit that seems to tether to every inch of him. here in desperation for something your not even sure you have.

“help with what?” you sigh.

“i need to know you’ll listen.”

Homegirl don't chase, homegirl gets chased.

They finna be needy and desperate when I'm done with them.

contains : reader lowkey cheating but it’s justified imo, toji being sukunas number 1 hater, sukuna being a bad husband but later trying to be better

this is part 1/?

life wasnt all bad considering you were married to the richest man you’d ever known. contrary to the elites words money does by happiness, just momentarily.

because as soon as your back from a shopping spree done right— we’re talking laces and silks that are guilt pleasures to the average person— that happiness disintegrates the moment you step inside somewhere you’re meant to call home and are reminded of the absolute bleakness in every aspect of it.

now your sat in the same dressing room you have been which is starting to make you insane as the stark white light glares down on you. normally it’s the other way around where a husband watches in such great astonishment whilst his wife tries on a plethora of fabrics and hues, not a wife being told to rate 4 different blacks that look the exact same even to a trained eye.

“boring, boring and boring.” you sighed heavily, admiring yourself in the mirror that the brutes unnecessarily large frame dominates. sukuna adjusts his cufflinks for the hundredth time, stares as fondly as someone like him could at his reflection and motions the cashier over.

it’s almost taunts you. the blasé way he taps his card like the number of zero’s are irrelevant makes you sick. something you once relished in—because who wouldn’t. anything and everything that you wanted just waiting for your orders. it was great until it was all you had.

soon enough the spontaneous dinners and gifts that kept the marriage in its never ending honeymoon phase faded into black. replaced with wordless passings in hallways, strange men filtering in and out of the place you were supposed to call home and the tacky stench alcohol that refused to leave your side.

someone who gave you a promise land that he swore to share with you now practically lives in his office. first you thought sukuna clearly didn’t want to be around you, then it was questioning the sanctity of the seemingly pointless marriage and it finally dawned on you that it’s not you he fell out of love with it’s his business that he just loves more.

he ignores your comment picking up his now blaring phone and walks away mumbling something about work as always and disappears. you wait around for a while, browsing your own options as the store clerk saunters over. smiling over the dresses colour and how it would match with yours but before you can even give her a polite smile sukuna is rushing in with a stern “car. now.” like you were a child. like you had no agency of your own.

the drive is anything but the calm attitude that he tries to portray. his jaw ticks. eyes locked on outside the window like he reminiscing in something that stays forever unchanged. not to mention the wheel almost combusting at the amount of pressure on it.

“you should speak your mind before you crash this car.” you snide and he lets out an annoyed sigh. “the more you speak the more i’m inclined to.” the remark isn’t foreign to him, almost like he might’ve considered it.

and they say romance is dead.

it’s weird how your lives have come to this, from the most lovey dovey couple that people came to admire and look to for imaginary relationship goals to two people who could only be in each others line of sight for so long before the tension was practically waving a bright green sign for all to see.

the gps chimes and a ‘REROUTING’ alert pops up the screen, prompting you to look outside to the now unrecognisable route and then to sukuna’s lack of expression.

“you haven’t forgotten the way to your own house have you?’. taunting the person most cable of cutting your life short wasn’t the smartest of things you could have done but he’s become so used to it that he only grunts in response before the car turns left and begins to slow on to a gravel path.

was this finally it? was he bringing you to a secret location where he’d murder you or worse, keep you estranged from anything and everything. he pulls into a discreet house nothing to broadcast really but not a shack just, quaint.

a man is already outside letting a cigarette fall to the ground as smoke clouds around him emphasising the ghastly visual. he smirks and its sharp— goading like he wants to fight. when he reaches the car he’s already leaning on it like it’s his own, sukuna pays it no mind because that’s most likely just him but it irks you in the strangest way.

sukuna steps out to talk out of earshot moving further into the unfamiliar territory, the man is barely focused on the conversation staring right past your husband and at you. maybe eye contact wasn’t a strength of yours or maybe his was lethal either way you quickly found something on your phone to keep some sort of barrier between the two of you.

the distant voices come to a stop and the sound of gravel shifting towards you starts. “toji,” sukuna introduces whilst the other stays silent, “protection until i get some things sorted.” you scoff followed by an onslaught of words that no marigge with an inkling of normality would ever meet. he whispers a faint ‘you done?’ and you’re already storming away and into your new home.

the place is quiet, has an absence of humanity it it even could; bleak walls that just scream i’m gonna murder you.

you look around almost tripping over a black bag that’s obviously out of place, but the sound of the door whining open is enough for you to draw your hand back from exploring. “found something interesting?” toji asks lingering at the door, eyes tracking your slowing movements.

“you’re staying here?” you ponder turning to meet a smile that is the slightest bit disingenuous.

“no we’re staying here.”

.

it was like you could literally feel the evil swirling around you but it was just toji. draped in all black to look somewhat smart but he managed to ruin that image with his mouth. a series of obscene words that created vivid images which for some reason he couldn’t keep to himself. and pet names that no married woman would appreciate.

it’d been a couple days of tiptoeing around the house to avoid anymore interaction than needed but toni revels in the art of making people uncomfortable.

luckily for him sukuna wasn’t much of the possessive angry type he was before so it made his stalker level planning safer, just like today.

like normal you woke up, ready to swiftly move in and out of the kitchen as to not be noticed. you stood infront of the stove, oil already splattering onto surfaces, and dragging your hands down your face wiping the sleep away.

mornings in the place were surprisingly calming with the low hums of whatever roamed outside and the hum of the running pond.

toji heard you. he always does. maybe because he wakes up at abnormal times and holds himself stiff against the mattress so you wouldn’t be woken up. even though he’s been trained in the ways of sneaking aaround like a literal ninja.

he lies there and listens to your relentless grumbles because fair enough your whole world went to shit, a child that barely know how to run his own business for a husband. but you got a new house with a hot body guard so pros and cons.

Benjamin 'Dex' Poindexter x f!reader

Summary: After Julie rejected Dex, his world was shattered. Untethered and alone, he has to shift focus onto something new. His work can only do so much.

You were new to the city, working a job at the Presidential hotel as a front desk receptionist. Every day you see the same FBI agents coming in and leaving, but one in particular was of interest to you. He never spoke to anyone.

Friendliness turns into obsession and stalking. Dex needs to learn more about you; the girl with an elusive past that you never want to talk about. Both are trying to fill a void, but neither know who they're really dealing with.

Series Content Warnings: Stalking, obsession, (past) domestic violence, murder, explicit smut, toxic relationship, slow burn, possessive behavior, strangers to friends to lovers, dom/sub dynamics, heavy angst, manipulation, masturbation, codependency, FBI!dex creepy!dex dom!dex, power imbalance

Series word count: 94,785 - this is a long slow burn :)

Chapter word count: 6,396

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Dex wasn’t looking for a replacement for Julie. He was convinced she was his everything. The only one he could rely on in times of uncertainty. Stable, predictable, maybe convenient too. Her life was so out there- flashy in a way. Her bright red hair, toothy smile, and welcoming personality was perfect for him. A perfect north star.

When she was gone, so too was his stability. Everything just felt so out of reach. The routine was gone. His spare time was filled with anxiety over what to hold on to. So many nights where he crawled into a corner listening to those recorded therapy sessions again and again and again. There wasn’t a guide any longer. Just him, all alone.

You were different from Julie. So different that initially Dex didn’t bother to remember your name the first few times he encountered you at the front desk of the Presidential Hotel. He noticed new faces all the time and he categorized them into levels of presented threat. Yours was nonexistent and so too was his interest- at first.

(sukuna x thoughtful reader)

contains: fluff, reader crocheting because i do, sukuna not knowing what to do, readers love language is gift giving?, uncle sukuna

toji x sukuna x reader masterlist

sukuna isn’t one to expect people to do things to make his life easier in the way that you do. he’s much happier to complain in a passing conversation and then accept his new reality or change it himself if needed.

he didn’t get why you listened to the slightest of grievances and actuallly proposed solutions when it just wasn’t that serious. which is how we got here.

sukuna making a recipe that the two of you knew all too well whilst you lingered having been told he liked cooking for you.

you look around the now decorated kitchen from all the gifts you’d gotten and made for him rather than the bleak and boring scene it was. until the round and dark— presumably coffee stains that litter the kitchen island catch your eye.

“thought you were a clean freak.” you laugh turning back to a now confused sukuna who hums as if asking ‘what?’ then looks behind you and mutters a small “yujis fault. can’t find a coaster for shit.”

yuji had slowly started to reclaim sukuna’s apartment as his own under the guise of missing his favourite and only uncle when really it was the only place he could play his games freely after getting grounded for eons.

again you look around at the seemingly invisible things then turn back to the chef with a grin that could only be described as plotting.

“don’t look at me like that.” he sighs. the sounds of the knife hitting the chopping board gradually quietens before he moves to face you, palms planted on the counter.

“like what?” your tone is smooth and taunting. something that makes sukuna look away to hide his own growing smile! its moments like this that he still hasn’t become fully invitational of. “i’m just saying that it looks like you can’t keep coasters, and maybe if they were made with love them you wouldn’t.”

his scoff is incredulous because just like before you’d swoop in like it was moral obligation to kiss his wounds better when he didn’t even have any. it’s the same as the scarf you made him when choso stole his, or the oven mitts even though he told you a couple burns weren’t that serious.

sukuna was unsurprisingly quiet for the most part but manages to whisper a reassurance that there was no need to but of course you wouldn’t listen.

.

.

one day, one skein and 4 new additions to sukuna’s kitchen that were bound to make his heart clench in a way that would render him speechless for a couple hours.

he already knew when he opened the door.

he already knew when you pulled out something neatly wrapped and laid it out for him to open.

lowkey inspired by ugly betty

summary: ex frat boy turned lover boy

gojo stared intently through the glass panes encasing your office like you were some obscure painting with meaning only a scholar could understand. manilla file crumpling under freshly bitten nails. sure he’d been to art exhibits, in depth explanations about the mona lisa in the louvre but nothing made zero sense yet was so clear like you.

your father owned a publication company and often had you featured on shoots. eventually you’d fallen in love with his magazine branch, creating layouts that would entice readers helping stylists and seamstresses create what belonged on the centre page.

fortunately for gojo his father wanted to expand whatever business he had towards the fashion space. originally he wanted someone that was actually interested in fashion to be a part of his small operation but satoru was just too eager to go. and why wouldn’t dear old dad listen to his golden child’s wants— and giving his own employees a break from the white haired terrorist.

sukuna approaches with the same smirk always present when he catches his oh so nervous friend on his way to your office. he never understood why, i mean somehow the ‘king of the frat’ persona disintegrated whenever your name was breathed or he caught the slightest glimpse of you.

what he didn’t know that gojo became the very weirdo that the two of them hated. a higuruma or a nanami. a nerd.

no he wasn’t reading fashion books so he could have something to relate to you with. it was like he was fifteen again except he was a grown ass man with a horrible infatuation.

the first time gojo heard of you he searched everywhere for any shoots your face was on and ripped out the page hiding his collection in some scared shoe box. learned the names and faces of all your ex’s and swore he’d make sure they never neared you again.

scribbling their pictures out like it actually affected them but it made him feel like he did something. like he was saving you. in reality he looked crazy muttering things that could pass for incantations as he ripped up the blonde standing next to you.

when his father miraculously had ties with you and your father he couldn’t let you go.

getting the job was easy because nepotism?

but keeping it was taking effort he’d never used before. you didn’t drink coffee so there was no runs to a cafe across the street. he’d have to walk to some specific ass place with your specific ass order and get back all within some timeframe that only you were privy to.

if he came in the middle of a meeting you’d get angry and not speak to him for the rest of the day last time that happened he refused to leave your side whether you spared him a glance or not.

he sat across from you making jokes that were so unfunny they forced you to crack a smile. he stood next to you nudging your side until you stepped away from him or the very rare occasion that you followed suit.

in short gojo became the most persistent person you knew, but weirdly the most encouraging?

—

the first time he was convinced he wasn’t a parasocial loser is when you had some fancy dinner with your father and investors. he sat before you as he always did picking up and playing with everything he could no matter the material or the price tag.

his eyes tracked you standing in front of the gold rimmed mirror your hands readjusting everywhere you could, the hem and straps the sides that didn’t move no matter how much you picked at them.

your skin glowed against the warm lights above the lip gloss you had on catching it. “stress gives you wrinkles.” he chimes pen twisting between his fingers. your eyes shift from the mirror to him in a stupidly nice looking suit and a tie that somehow matched his eyes; he leaned back in the chair watching your mouth open to speak but only a deep sigh comes out.

“can’t take a joke?”

“no i can’t mess this up.”

“well your the smartest person i know” he pauses lips curving upwards, “which is saying something because i’m like a child genius.” he rushes out bracing himself for something physical or verbal to hit him. “your need to make everything about you always ruins every moment.”

“so this was a moment?” he teases finally dropping the pen and resting his head on his palm.

“you wish.”

but when he saw you getting stressed at the dinner his pinky met yours underneath the table. and in the car back but who’s counting.

—

“sure she’s a pretty piece of ass but i just don’t get why you’re so worked up over her.” gojo has to tear his eyes off you to respond. “she’s not a piece of ass don't say that. she’s.. amazing.” sukuna stares at the love stuck man with mix of pity and disgust.

“can’t tell if you’re the campus’s favourite alcoholic suddenly reformed or if you’re some weird sensitive ass clone.”

“fuck are you talking about?” gojo questions eyes narrowing at his friend.

“look around bro, there’s models everywhere. no point begging to score with the one that only cares about the job.”

“bro i—”

“and you of all people becoming all feminist? all ‘don’t call her that’ do you hear yourself? you’re not a changed man because you stepped into a suit and tie. remember that.”

“i—”

sukuna give him one last pat on the back before sauntering away.

and you sat oblivious to the worry outside your eyes stay glued to the monitor reading another email along the lines of a models complaint of another stealing a dressing room. “satoru.” you call and that stops him from starting another childish fight with sukuna and disturbing the whole office. he walks quickly to the transparent door accidently dropping his folder trying to grab the handle. you turn your face and smooth your hair trying not to make him more embarrassed than he was.

“stella and kasey.” you start his voice is small when he returns a “yes?” hesitating before stepping closer to your desk. “im sure you’ve been acquainted with them. it’d be good if you could fix whatever issues they have between them.

“i can, i will.” he breathes. “good.” you pause.

you weren’t supposed to be interested in where he came from and you didn’t care. but it'd be a lie if him being a millionaires child set up for life then coming to work for a fashion magazine when he barely knew anything about fashion— you were pretty sure a girlfriend maybe even his mother was dressing him— didn’t peak your interest “i’m curious as to why you wanted this job? i highly doubt your into fashion or magazine in general.” you pause, “what is it that you want satoru?”

the first thing that came to mind to say was you but he obviously couldn't say that he saw you on one of the covers and that night and did the most research he's ever done on anything before. he’d probably be fired from the magazine for being a creep, meaning away from you and he didn’t even want to think off the bullshit his dad would have for him.

“wanted to venture into a new space.” that was a lie; he couldn’t care less about fashion hell all he knew was polo shorts and kaki’s because clothes had nothing to do with status, money had the final say. which meant he had to adjust heavily to the glamour that was the first stage of acceptance in the company. “don’t believe you but i don't care, file.”

“r-right, the models not available for the new years shoot.” he hands the file over brief contact sending adrenaline throughout him. “stop staring into the distance this is half my call sheet.” he scans your frame as if the answers lie within the stiches. plus looking at you wouldn’t hurt. “god gojo have you ever been given a job?” his brows furrow your tone a stark contrast to the praise he was used to receiving from peers as well as adults back home. he looks as if he’s barely registering what you’ve said and your voice raises. “have you ever done it well?”

he blinks caught off guard by the straightforward questions. were they rhetorical? would you scream at him if he answered?— would you scream at him if he didn’t?

“and there’s no reasons how can i approve absences with no reasons— nevermind i’ll get a different assistant because mine clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing.” he stands straighter hands darting out as if that’s any consolation blurting, “no!.. i mean i’ll stay back its my job.”

“you? stay back?” your eyes were practically puncturing into his. “i wanna do good for you— my job. and you..” he clears his throat now looking at everything but you.

just kill me already

“you can uh.. go now.”

later that evening you saw him sat at his desk office phone in hand and what looked like multiple calls left “gojo.” you hummed stopping beside his chair. his eyes dart up only to fall back on the sheets in front of him. “do you want help?” you offer lightly moving the papers for a clearer view. he shakes his head quickly thinking if he takes to hard path you'll like him more. “its not a test i’m offering.”

after you give him a small genuine smile he finally agrees, only planning to stay a small while you sit on the edge of the desk. he doesn’t move at the action but you hear the slowing of his breaths, could see his hand holding the phone tighter. that continues through out the whole interaction, you’d ask something and he’d just give short incoherent responses or him refusing to look at you but if he did he wouldn't stop.

“what is it.” you sigh voice soft and in his mind inviting. satoru stays silent internally weighing his chances of getting fired for what he’s about to do. regardless he leans up to press hesitant but somehow rushed kiss to your lips. your eyes instinctively fall and you try to force them open anything to stop yourself from melting into the stupid kiss, into him.

when you reluctantly break away he looks up at you with familiar nervousness in his eyes—which didn't even share a fraction of the panic he housed—the same nervousness you caught when he stared into your side profile thinking you weren’t watching. the nervousness that followed every word he spoke to you making him second guess everything even though he knew it to be true.

you didn’t say anything even though he waited for what felt like hours no spoken saviour came to shield him from the embarrassment. he whispers a small “fuck.” before crushing all the papers into his bag and rushing to the exit.

“satoru,” you call voice no longer carrying the light tone it once had. instead something craving and breathy.

he stops. he didn't want to but who was he if not yours. he didn't look back not yet what if he saw pity in your eyes.

he's satoru gojo no one has or will pity him. fuck he was meant to be ontop of things, maybe coming here was stupid an—

“come back.” he follows your as soon as the honeyed words fall from your lips, not taking anytime to drop the bag and make his way back. his eyes become shielded as your perfume invades his sense making every little action surreal.

your fingertips lightly guide a timid gojo's face to yours. he takes deep unbelieving breaths every time your lips meet. now leaning closer—pushing closer with sheer desperation and dropping each hand to your sides as an act of protection.

god he was going to die.

that was the start of side glances gojo couldn’t explain to anyone and late night finishing touches happening more often. his heart hammered each time but he couldn’t help wanting more so that he didn't feel like a kid with a hallway crush.

—

in five minutes anthony beaumont became gojo’s sworn enemy. the way he stared at you like he had a chance. well he didn’t because your picked the guy with pretty blue eyes right. right?

“mr beaumont lovely to see you.” you smiled, practiced, because you’d done this a million times before. so the small tilt of your head that came when he asked a question meant nothing. as did the sound of playful laughter you directed into your palm when he leant in to say whatever bullshit he had in mind.

it all meant nothing. but why was that nothing building in gojo’s chest and worsening his self doubt. why did it discourage him from walking over there and making a scene like he usually did.

he couldn’t handle it but tearing his eyes from you was impossible let alone forcing his body to turn away from a conversation he wasn’t even a part of. so he stood. silent. angry.

glaring.

he whispers a half assed joke into your hair, one that shouldn’t have got the response it did. that shy laugh that becomes a downturned smile. it was his meant to be reserved for satoru only and there it went presented to an undeserving asshole. you didn’t even look at him refusing to stop networking, no wordless reassurance like a small smile or even mouthing a small hi and waving.

he stalks over, regardless of age still taller than you and beaumont. “toru.” you smile holding his fore arm and bringing him closer. maybe the alcohol made you forget about all the secrecy but he wasn’t complaining. the anger that carried him over was slowly fleeting at the warm touches but the scowl on his face was still present.

“the assistant right?” he questions. the dismissive words pool in his head. is that what you’d called him? is that all he was? “fuck is that supposed to mean.” his fists were already clenching ready to meet that ‘perfect’ face. you roll your eyes at the outburst setting down the champagne flute and pressing a soft hand to his chest. “excuse us anthony, apparently he doesn’t know his job title.”

the two of you walk into your office; you barely make it over the armrest legs dangling over the side. “are you kidding me?!” satoru shouts standing over you all while making sure you’re sitting properly and the glass was on privacy mode. his features wrung with anger.

“please toru im pretty sure the room is like spinning.” he dismisses your words volume still increased. “secret doesn’t mean you can’t tell him to fuck off!”

“and lose my dad’s investors yeah right.” letting out accidental snort he watches you laugh at your own actions.

“he’s not even funny,” he sighs dragging a hand down his face veins becoming distinct with each flex. “all my dog jumped in the pool, no one even cares about his stupid dog!”

“hey i like dogs.” you whine, wide smile on your face oblivious to the torment on his.

“no you like me!” he thundered. his distorted and pleading voice takes you out of your dizzy state. he took a liking the deceitfulness of the relationship, sneaking into the store rooms then planning your separate escapes, memorising your face every time the two of you indulged in each other then acting like he didn’t even remember the colour of your shirt— it was pink something you'd picked out with him on facetime but i digress.

but at the same time he’s filled with disgust every time he sees you having anything to do with another guy. because they didn’t get how you practically tired your self out when you spoke about things with passion or your weird love for extinct animals he’d never even heard of. but he got it. you.

sure he was jealous guy but he trusted you. and now every conflicting feeling was pushing him to his limits.

without his consent one tear then another trickles down his face, it doesn’t help that you look at him with those big eyes filled with pity. “aw toru.” you coo the sight bringing a small pout to your face. your tone ran cloying melting the wall he was trying to build between the two of you.

he steps back as you stand hiding his face in his elbow as if it’ll stop the overwhelming feeling. you take his hands in yours swinging them as you wait for him to finally look at you. “‘m not a baby stop it.” he sniffles staring down at your manicured fingers in his.. well not so taken care of hands. “thought you were my baby.” you sing peering through his shelter.

he can't help the boyish grin adorning his face before he quickly squints it into an attempt at an expressionless one.

muffled music and laughter thrums at the door but the two of you stay swaying to no beat in the office space. “me having conversations with people is always going to happen. doesn't mean that my feelings suddenly disappear.” a frown flickers on his face as his thumbs rub small circles on your hands. he gives a lacklustre mhm.

“plus, you were right he is so boring compared to you.” you add giving him a lopsided grin of your own cocking your head slightly, and as he returns the gesture with a dimpled smile the two of you burst out in laughter. “im just always right what can i say.”

rafe gets into a fight with his dad and finally makes the call instead of lingering

“you shut your fuckin mouth rafe! think you can step up for me? fuckin failure that's what you are!” ward's backed rafe into a corner now pushing him with every word. at first rafe tried to defend himself, y'know get a couple words before his fathers became too real. too true.

ward gives him a final look of disgust before pushing rafe's head back once more and slamming the door. rafe screams throwing the lamp beside him causing glass to skid across the polished wooden floors. “fucking failure my ass, i've done the most for this bullshit family. don't see sarah going out of her way to help anyone of us.” rafe continues to shout ignoring the fact that the rest of his family was still trying to fall asleep.

all he could think of was running back to his room and calling you, but he couldn't. not because you blocked him or anything you were too indifferent for that, and it scared him. scared him enough to not call for two months and fall back into his deplorable party life.

everyone noticed because even a blind man could see rafe wasn't as great as he wanted to be. the excess usage and anger, swallowing anything in a red solo cup like it was second nature. but no one cared enough to mention it and if they did they weren't ready to meet his wrath over a simple “are you okay?”

topper and kelce were fine with it because they finally got their friend back from the oh so evil witch that tried steer him on the right path. so as soon as rafe started declining the fancy parties or the borderline aa meetings they decided you ruined him. sarah barely interacted with him due to his violent outbursts becoming more common even when you were with him she kept a safe distance. he'd burnt so many bridges that the only ones that remained were pulling him further down.

rafe hurried up the stairs like his footsteps volume would cover the soft sniffles that refused to stop. to make matters worse whilst running he stubbed his toe and as per usual he made it a problem for everyone in the house. “fuck!” he screams. “stupid fuckin stairs.”

he finally gets to his room and scrambles for his phone before curling up on his bed and hesitantly bringing his finger to call the contact 'my pretty girl'. he didn't change it, couldn't bring himself to because somewhere in that twisted mind of his he held hope that you wouldn't leave. that you guys would get back together and everything would be perfect again.

at the same time he also knew you were always clear on your boundaries but one call for peace of mind was worth whatever punishment he got and if it was from you he'd be fine.

you're forced awake as your ringtone blares in your ears a single 'x' on the screen. “hello?” you yawn. rafe doesn't reply at first; sure he's thought about this moment a trillion times but having it play out the same as his dreams wasn't expected. “i need you.” he cries, trying to calm himself with the sound of soft breaths and muffled jazz on the other side. you roll your eyes having remembered you explicitly instructing him not to contact you again. it was only meant to be for a week or two but seeing how peaceful life was without rafe just extended your timing.

“wrong number rafe you need a therapist.” “no no no i just need you just stay on the phone...please?” his whiny voice brought a subtle grin to your face, after all begging is one of the many ways to your heart so you decided to humour him. “what is it rafe?”

he breathes raggedly in attempts to go back to his normal self. “my uh dad.” he sniffles with every word and it almost makes you feel bad for the guy. almost. “do i have to remind you of how good you're doing without me?” rafe groans forcing his head further into his pillow, after the breakup he'd spammed you with texts that relayed the same message of him not needing you and when he got no response he just got more embarrassed.

“i don't wanna be better jus' yours i swear. i promise i promise.” he repeats the words like they’re prayer tiring himself out every time he speaks. you let out a blithe giggle that calls him closer to the phone. “you were mine rafey.” your teeth caught your bottom lip. “but you're insensitive and i'm not.” “i know your the kindest most prettiest girl in the world baby and i don't wanna be me if you don't like it.” “don't flatter me rafe.” you purred rolling your eyes at the smile his words gifted you.

“you deserve it. not any of the shit i put you through.” “you can't respect me and not yourself rafe. its not good for you.” he groans “nothing’s good for me except you.” the two of you sit in silence processing the words just exchanged. “you wanna come over.” he murmurs cautiously hiding his face from the phone as if you were watching his every move. “now why would i come to you.” “sorry i'm sorry. can i come over?”

you pause already knowing your answer but to have him struggle with the suspense is an opportunity you couldn't pass up. “hmmm. but you’re not nice rafey not to me not to a lot of people.” your words were like a stab to the chest especially with their candied tone. he sat up quickly forcing his brain to find anything to convince you. “c'mon i gotta see you baby. i’ll be good i’ll be nice ill be whatever you need me to be. i’ll apologise to you and anyone you want i swear it.”

“alright alright just bring me some snacks will you?”

sure enough rafe grabs his keys and runs to kitchen grabbing any snack he thought you'd like. he gets to his car dropping the bag in the passenger before speeding off. he almost runs a red with his eagerness but who was to blame him he was gonna see his girl even if it was only for the one night.

the tires screeched against the gravel from your driveway signalling his arrival though it took 10 minutes or so for him to actually open the door. rafe spent the first five telling himself to be normal and strangling the wheel to death and the next pacing infront of your door which was entertaining to watch from the camera.

when he finally grabbed the key from under the plant pot—because you knew he was never going to disrespect you like that and force you to change it’s place—he creeped up the stairs bag awkwardly swaying with each step before reaching your room. “rafe?” he took that as invitation to come in but before you could give him a lecture on how he had to stay on the far end of the bed as tall as he was he crawled over to you and laid his head on your chest.

you laughed softly trying to push the man off of you but he refused taking you sitting up as the opportunity to wrap his hands around you. “missed you.” his breath fanned across your skin. “you’re not a dog rafe get off.” “don’t do that. i’d be anything for you.” “you gotta move rafe the tv.” “jus’ stay there okay tell me what to do.” he was talking like you’d dissipate if you moved an inch but who gives up the chance to boss the ‘manliest man ever’ around.

the two of you laid on the bed rafe still holding you like he wasn’t planning to let you move and ‘constantine’ played on the tv. your hand cradled his cheek admiring the remnants of tears stuck to his skin and his puffy eyes. “you get prettier when you cry.” all he could do was stare at you. your eyes, your nose. your lips.

he raised a hand to squeeze your face and kiss you softly. “need to stop watching this dc bullshit.” you laughed and swatted his hand away. “not sure you have speaking privileges if you like marvel.” squishing his own in return.

contains : reader lowkey cheating but it’s justified imo, toji being sukunas number 1 hater, sukuna being a bad husband but later trying to be better

this is part 1/?

life wasnt all bad considering you were married to the richest man you’d ever known. contrary to the elites words money does by happiness, just momentarily.

because as soon as your back from a shopping spree done right— we’re talking laces and silks that are guilt pleasures to the average person— that happiness disintegrates the moment you step inside somewhere you’re meant to call home and are reminded of the absolute bleakness in every aspect of it.

now your sat in the same dressing room you have been which is starting to make you insane as the stark white light glares down on you. normally it’s the other way around where a husband watches in such great astonishment whilst his wife tries on a plethora of fabrics and hues, not a wife being told to rate 4 different blacks that look the exact same even to a trained eye.

“boring, boring and boring.” you sighed heavily, admiring yourself in the mirror that the brutes unnecessarily large frame dominates. sukuna adjusts his cufflinks for the hundredth time, stares as fondly as someone like him could at his reflection and motions the cashier over.

it’s almost taunts you. the blasé way he taps his card like the number of zero’s are irrelevant makes you sick. something you once relished in—because who wouldn’t. anything and everything that you wanted just waiting for your orders. it was great until it was all you had.

soon enough the spontaneous dinners and gifts that kept the marriage in its never ending honeymoon phase faded into black. replaced with wordless passings in hallways, strange men filtering in and out of the place you were supposed to call home and the tacky stench alcohol that refused to leave your side.

someone who gave you a promise land that he swore to share with you now practically lives in his office. first you thought sukuna clearly didn’t want to be around you, then it was questioning the sanctity of the seemingly pointless marriage and it finally dawned on you that it’s not you he fell out of love with it’s his business that he just loves more.

he ignores your comment picking up his now blaring phone and walks away mumbling something about work as always and disappears. you wait around for a while, browsing your own options as the store clerk saunters over. smiling over the dresses colour and how it would match with yours but before you can even give her a polite smile sukuna is rushing in with a stern “car. now.” like you were a child. like you had no agency of your own.

the drive is anything but the calm attitude that he tries to portray. his jaw ticks. eyes locked on outside the window like he reminiscing in something that stays forever unchanged. not to mention the wheel almost combusting at the amount of pressure on it.

“you should speak your mind before you crash this car.” you snide and he lets out an annoyed sigh. “the more you speak the more i’m inclined to.” the remark isn’t foreign to him, almost like he might’ve considered it.

and they say romance is dead.

it’s weird how your lives have come to this, from the most lovey dovey couple that people came to admire and look to for imaginary relationship goals to two people who could only be in each others line of sight for so long before the tension was practically waving a bright green sign for all to see.

the gps chimes and a ‘REROUTING’ alert pops up the screen, prompting you to look outside to the now unrecognisable route and then to sukuna’s lack of expression.

“you haven’t forgotten the way to your own house have you?’. taunting the person most cable of cutting your life short wasn’t the smartest of things you could have done but he’s become so used to it that he only grunts in response before the car turns left and begins to slow on to a gravel path.

was this finally it? was he bringing you to a secret location where he’d murder you or worse, keep you estranged from anything and everything. he pulls into a discreet house nothing to broadcast really but not a shack just, quaint.

a man is already outside letting a cigarette fall to the ground as smoke clouds around him emphasising the ghastly visual. he smirks and its sharp— goading like he wants to fight. when he reaches the car he’s already leaning on it like it’s his own, sukuna pays it no mind because that’s most likely just him but it irks you in the strangest way.

sukuna steps out to talk out of earshot moving further into the unfamiliar territory, the man is barely focused on the conversation staring right past your husband and at you. maybe eye contact wasn’t a strength of yours or maybe his was lethal either way you quickly found something on your phone to keep some sort of barrier between the two of you.

the distant voices come to a stop and the sound of gravel shifting towards you starts. “toji,” sukuna introduces whilst the other stays silent, “protection until i get some things sorted.” you scoff followed by an onslaught of words that no marigge with an inkling of normality would ever meet. he whispers a faint ‘you done?’ and you’re already storming away and into your new home.

the place is quiet, has an absence of humanity it it even could; bleak walls that just scream i’m gonna murder you.

you look around almost tripping over a black bag that’s obviously out of place, but the sound of the door whining open is enough for you to draw your hand back from exploring. “found something interesting?” toji asks lingering at the door, eyes tracking your slowing movements.

“you’re staying here?” you ponder turning to meet a smile that is the slightest bit disingenuous.

“no we’re staying here.”

.

it was like you could literally feel the evil swirling around you but it was just toji. draped in all black to look somewhat smart but he managed to ruin that image with his mouth. a series of obscene words that created vivid images which for some reason he couldn’t keep to himself. and pet names that no married woman would appreciate.

it’d been a couple days of tiptoeing around the house to avoid anymore interaction than needed but toni revels in the art of making people uncomfortable.

luckily for him sukuna wasn’t much of the possessive angry type he was before so it made his stalker level planning safer, just like today.

like normal you woke up, ready to swiftly move in and out of the kitchen as to not be noticed. you stood infront of the stove, oil already splattering onto surfaces, and dragging your hands down your face wiping the sleep away.

mornings in the place were surprisingly calming with the low hums of whatever roamed outside and the hum of the running pond.

toji heard you. he always does. maybe because he wakes up at abnormal times and holds himself stiff against the mattress so you wouldn’t be woken up. even though he’s been trained in the ways of sneaking aaround like a literal ninja.

he lies there and listens to your relentless grumbles because fair enough your whole world went to shit, a child that barely know how to run his own business for a husband. but you got a new house with a hot body guard so pros and cons.