#JJK Reader Insert

[nanamineedstherapy]

I lost you when I lost me

Summary: You never wanted to say it. You never wanted him to know. But when the truth comes out—when the realization hits—there’s no escaping the devastation that follows.

A/N: Hey there, fellow emotional masochists! 😈💔 Buckle up because this fic is here to ruin your day. You know that tiny sliver of hope you have for comfort? Yeah, crush it. The title is from the song 'The Pool' by Stephen Sanchez. I highly suggest you listen to it along with its lyrics while reading this. TW: All characters are like around 30s. The reader is gender & racially neutral; you can imagine however you like. Only one bit is slightly suggestive, but nothing in detail, only for the plot. Ok, ready? Now imagine your favorite JJK Male Love Interest & read this. Trust me, it'll be worth it.

The clock ticked relentlessly in the quiet apartment which felt colder than usual. He sat at the dining table, his head resting on his folded hands, eyes heavy with exhaustion. A plate of cold, untouched food sat before him—the dinner he’d cooked, the dinner you hadn’t eaten. Again.

You’d walked in hours ago, a soft smile on your lips but not for him. The same smile you saved for your phone calls, your whispered conversations. He’d tried not to listen, but the way your laughter echoed in the room had gnawed at his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

You were busy, you’d said. Work had been demanding. He understood—of course, he did. But when had "demanding" started meaning you had time for everyone but him?

He stopped setting the table for two. It was easier that way. The leftovers in the fridge piled up, each container a silent testament to another night spent eating alone. The apartment still smelled like your perfume, like the shampoo you used, but it was starting to feel like a place you passed through rather than lived in.

He tried to bridge the gap—suggested a movie night, offered to pick you up from work, even learned how to make that pasta you loved. You’d smiled, thanked him, and promised next time.

The next time never came.

Instead, the glow of your phone lit up the dark bedroom at night, your quiet chuckles slipping between the sheets like an intruder. He lay beside you, staring at the ceiling, hands clenched into fists beneath the covers.

You stopped saying "I love you" first.

The words had once been effortless, tumbling from your lips in the mornings, between sips of coffee, when you rushed out the door. Now, they came only as a response, an afterthought. If he didn't say them, he wondered if you’d notice.

The apartment felt larger these days, too big for just one person to exist in. He found himself cleaning just to fill the silence, scrubbing countertops that weren’t dirty, rearranging bookshelves you no longer touched. He scrolled through old pictures—of vacations, of nights spent tangled together on the couch—and wondered how they had turned into this.

He stopped waiting up. What was the point?

He'd long given up asking where you’d been, who you’d been with. The answers had become vague, rehearsed, the kind designed to end a conversation rather than start one.

The bed felt colder, the nights longer. He filled his time with hobbies, things he never cared for before—reading, baking, even knitting at one point, just to have something to do with his hands. Anything to keep himself from checking the clock, from counting the hours between the moment you left and the moment you came back.

You still kissed his cheek before bed, a ghost of affection that barely lingered. But the warmth was gone, the weight of your love no longer something he could hold.

And so, he sat in that quiet apartment, a forgotten housewife in a home that no longer felt like his, waiting for someone who had already left.

So yes, the apartment felt colder than usual. Not because of the temperature, but because of the distance between them—an invisible chasm that had grown wider with each passing day. He sat on the couch, staring at the muted television. The faint sound of your laughter drifted from the balcony. His jaw clenched.

You were on the phone again.

The laugh that used to light up his world now cut through him like shards of glass. It wasn’t his jokes you were laughing at anymore. It wasn’t his voice that softened your features or brought that sparkle to your eyes. No, that belonged to someone else now.

He’s fists tightened against his thighs as he listened. The man on the other end of the line—some colleague, you’d said—had become an unwelcome fixture in both your lives.

He’d caught glimpses of your texts when your phone buzzed on the counter.

Friendly messages, full of inside jokes he wasn’t privy to. 

You never laughed like that with him.

Not anymore.

---

One night, the dinner sat untouched on the table.

The same as every other night.

He’d spent an hour making your favorite meal, hoping you’d sit down with him, talk to him, see him. But when you walked in, you barely glanced at the plate before heading to the balcony with your phone.

After you disconnected the call, you turned to find him standing behind you.

He wasn’t spying, just hesitant.

Not sure how to exist in a place where he felt like he wasn’t wanted anymore.

This used to be his house too, wasn’t it?

“Who was that?” he’d asked casually, clearing his throat, though the edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Just a friend from work,” you replied, brushing him off.

“You’ve been talking to him a lot lately.”

Your fingers paused mid-swipe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated, unsure whether to push further. “It means I’d like to spend more time with you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Physically, yes. But your mind, your heart… they were somewhere else. With someone else.

---

It had been weeks—maybe months—since the last time you two had shared a proper meal together, one that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t filled with silences too thick to cut through.

But tonight, he was trying.

One last time.

The candles flickered on the dining table, their soft glow casting shadows against the walls. The air smelled of slow-cooked garlic and rosemary, the kind of dinner that used to make you press up against his back in the kitchen, stealing bites, giggling as he swatted you away with a wooden spoon.

He’d set everything perfectly—your favorite wine, the playlist you once called "our soundtrack," the one you played on road trips, during late-night dances in the living room.

When you walked in, he felt it—that brief, fleeting moment where your eyes softened, where your lips curved into something real.

"You did all this?" you asked, stepping closer, inspecting the meal as if it were some rare artifact.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "figured if I waited for you to cook, I'd starve first."

You laughed. A real laugh. The sound was warm, familiar, like home.

"Rude," you teased, nudging his arm before taking a seat.

You actually ate this time. You talked, joked, and rolled your eyes when he grumbled about how much effort it had taken to perfect this dish. He felt like himself again, like the version of him that existed before the distance, before the cold bedsheets and unanswered questions.

Maybe—just maybe—he could fix this. Maybe you were still his.

After dinner, he put on music, an old, slow song that once made you sway in his arms without a second thought.

He extended his hand. You hesitated. But then, with a small, almost shy smile, you took it.

Your fingers were warm against his as he pulled you close, resting a hand on your waist. You smelled the same—like something undeniably you. For the first time in a long time, you weren’t pulling away.

"You still dance like an idiot," you murmured, but you were grinning.

"And you still can’t follow my lead," he shot back, earning a playful shove.

Then, without thinking, without analyzing, he tilted your chin up, his lips brushing yours.

It wasn’t desperate or demanding.

Just a reminder.

But you kissed him back.

Something ignited between you both, something raw, something that had been buried under months of silence. Your fingers tangled in his loose unstyled hair, and his grip tightened on your waist. He pressed you against the table, the wine glasses rattling as he lifted you onto the edge.

For the first time in so long, it felt right. It felt like you wanted him again, like you missed this as much as he did.

And then—just as quickly as it began, it stopped.

You pulled away, breathless but distant, and murmured, "Let’s go to bed."

Bed.

Not together, not with him. Just bed.

He followed, swallowing the unease rising in his chest.

You climbed under the sheets, and he hovered above you, waiting, wanting, aching. But instead of pulling him down, instead of pressing your lips to his like you used to—like you once swore you’d never stop wanting—you reached up and gently, gently, placed your hands on his shoulders and held him there.

Not pulling him closer.

Just holding him down.

His breath caught in his throat. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

You didn’t answer, just smiled softly, brushed your fingers through his hair, and whispered, "Just stay."

He didn’t move.

He didn’t argue.

He just lay there, going along with it, convincing himself it was enough.

That this was still love.

Maybe you were tired, maybe it had just been too long, too much at once. He could wait. He’d waited this long, hadn’t he?

It became a ritual. A routine.

You’d let him kiss you, let him touch you just enough to keep the illusion intact. But every time, just before it could become something more, you’d stop him. You’d wrap your arms around him, whisper something sweet, something distant, and hold him there like a thing to be kept, not wanted.

And he let you.

Because if he didn’t, then he’d have to admit the truth—that something was dying. That maybe it was already dead.

---

Then one night when he couldn’t take it anymore.

When his body felt like tearing itself apart.

It happened.

You were in bed, waiting for him, already curled up like you always did, expecting him to play along.

But something inside him had shifted. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

"You don’t want me anymore."

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t angry.

It was just true.

You stiffened but said nothing.

He let out a hollow laugh, running a hand over his face. "I used to be the best you ever had. Remember?" His voice was quiet, but there was something damaging lurking beneath it.

"Of course," you said softly, like you always did.

Like it was rehearsed.

He turned to look at you, his eyes empty. "Then why do you keep stopping me?"

The silence stretched.

He felt something in his chest tighten, twist, break.

And then—he stopped speaking altogether.

He lay down next to you, let you wrap your arms around him like always, let you hold him down, let you reduce him to something small and quiet.

But in that silence, something inside him went cold.

And you didn’t even notice.

---

Then one evening your co-worker who you swore was ‘just a friend’ dropped you home. Drunk.

The door clicked shut, followed by the faint sound of retreating footsteps.

He sat in the dimly lit living room, the untouched dinner still laid out on the table, growing colder by the second.

The scent of rosemary and garlic—once comforting, once meant to bring you home—now only mocked him.

His grip tightened around the glass in his hand. He had heard it all.

"Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything."

"I will. Thank you!"

The laughter. The softness in your voice. The kind of warmth you hadn’t spoken with in months.

Not to him, anyway.

His jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He didn’t want to fight.

He’d let so much go already.

What was one more thing?

You walked past him like a ghost, barely sparing him a glance. "I’m going to shower."

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His throat felt thick, his chest heavy, his fingers twitching.

The food in front of him blurred.

He swallowed hard, forcing it all down—the questions, the resentment, the ache.

You had forgotten the anniversary.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, before standing up and packing away the dinner.

Like always.

---

Now, the TV hummed softly from the bedroom, casting flickering shadows against the walls. Cartoons. Again.

No invitation for him to join.

You were curled under a blanket, eyes fixed on the screen, the faint remnants of a smile still playing on your lips. The same smile you used to give him.

His patience snapped like a brittle bone.

The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed away from the kitchen table. His footsteps were steady but heavy, each one sinking deeper into the weight of everything he had swallowed for far too long.

"Hey," he said, voice low, measured.

You hummed in acknowledgment, but your eyes never left the screen.

His fingers curled into fists. "Can we talk?"

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you grabbed the remote and muted the TV. "About what?"

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "About us."

Something in your face flickered—hesitation, maybe guilt—but it was gone before he could hold onto it.

He swallowed. "You’re never home anymore. You barely look at me, let alone touch me. You laugh on the phone with… someone else. You don’t eat what I cook, and you don’t—" His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. "You don’t love me anymore, do you? Haven’t in a long time."

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Instead, you shifted, like you were about to get up, about to walk away like you always did.

His breath hitched. His body moved before he could think.

He stepped forward.

"Don’t," he said, voice firmer, sharper. "Don’t walk away from this. I deserve an answer."

"Baby, please…" Your voice was soft, but it felt like a knife, carving through him with its emptiness.

"Please, what?" His voice rose, frustration bleeding into every syllable. "Please let you avoid this? Let you keep ignoring me while I sit here wondering what I did wrong? While I beg for scraps of your affection?"

You flinched, and for the first time in months, he saw something break in you. Your hands trembled as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, like it could shield you from him, from this—from the ugly, raw truth between you both.

"It’s not like that," you whispered.

"Then tell me what it is!" His voice cracked, his composure crumbling to dust. "Tell me why you’re shutting me out! Tell me why you’re treating me like I don’t exist in our own home!"

Your lips quivered, and then the tears came—slow at first, then all at once. You lifted your hands to your face, shoulders shaking as quiet sobs wracked through you.

And just like that—the fight was over before it even began.

The anger in his chest burned, smoldered, and then twisted into something else. Something worse.

He had been so ready for a war.

Ready for screaming, for accusations, for ugly confessions to come spilling out like blood on the floor.

Anything but this.

Because this?

This felt like surrender.

And he didn’t even know which one of you had lost.

"Hey…" His voice softened, guilt threading through the remnants of his anger. He took a step closer, reaching for you, hands trembling. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. Don’t cry."

But you only cried harder, shrinking away from his touch.

Something sharp twisted in his chest.

He crouched in front of you, desperation bleeding into every inch of his expression. "Please, talk to me," he whispered. "Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just tell me how."

Your hands slowly fell from your face, revealing red-rimmed, swollen eyes.

You looked at him—not through him, at him. Like you were memorizing every detail, like you were grasping onto something fragile before it shattered completely.

Then, so gently it nearly broke him, you cupped his cheeks.

"Baby…The love of the very essence of my existence in every universe…" Your voice cracked, barely audible. Your thumbs brushed against his skin, slow, reverent. Like you were trying to convince yourself.

His breath caught. His eyes shining with all his love.

"You’re not real."

The words hung between you both, sinking into his skin like ice. A deep frown now etched onto his face.

"What are you talking about?" His voice was steady, but there was something trembling underneath, something afraid.

"You remember your last mission?" you whispered. "When you came home and said you’d retire? For us?"

He exhaled slowly, nodding. "Of course. We defeated that cursed spirit. It was…"

He trailed off as you shook your head, your touch growing lighter, as if you were afraid he’d dissipate.

"No," you mumbled, voice breaking with sobbs. Each one harder than before. "You didn’t. You never came home."

The room seemed to shrink around him.

"You died that day."

His world stopped spinning.

"No," he said immediately, shaking his head. "That’s not true. I—" His breath hitched.

"I kissed you that night. I held you." His heart was pounding, desperate, frantic. "You were in my arms. We even watched cartoons and ate pizza."

You let out a sob so broken it tore through him. "I’ve been pretending," you whispered. "Pretending you’re still here. Pretending I’m not alone. But you’re not real, baby. You’ve been gone for so long."

His lungs felt too tight. His pulse thundered in his ears.

"You’re lying," he rasped. He reached for your hands, gripping them tight, pressing them against his chest. "You feel that? My heartbeat. I’m here. I’m right here."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around his for just a second—one last second.

And then, with a look so full of sorrow it made his stomach drop, you whispered, "There’s nothing there."

He froze.

"No." His voice was barely a breath. "No, that’s not—"

But then it hit him.

The way you never looked him in the eyes for too long.

The way no one else ever acknowledged him.

The way you never reached for him first.

How the food he cooked never tasted right. Not like how it used to.

How the memory foam mattress only ever had one dent in the mornings.

And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

You were still crying, shoulders shaking with the weight of grief too heavy for your frame. "I wish you were here," you sobbed. "God, I wish you were."

He wanted to fight.

Wanted to prove he was real.

Wanted to pull you close and never let go.

But then—the look in your eyes.

Not avoidance.

Not guilt.

Just loss.

And for the first time, in the suffocating silence of your shared home—

he felt the cold, hollow weight of truth.

---

Fushiguro Megumi

At first, he doesn’t say anything. Just… stares.

And then, slowly, his hands lift, pressing against his temples.

"No."

It’s not a yell.

It’s not even firm.

It’s quiet, almost pleading.

"No. That doesn’t—" His breath shakes. "That doesn’t make sense."

He sways slightly, his knees nearly giving out beneath him. His head pounds, his body feels heavy.

"I am with you," he murmurs.

He’s always been logical, always been able to process things quickly. But this—

This is different.

When he finally looks at you, his eyes are empty.

"So that’s why everything felt off."

His voice is hollow. His hands tremble, curling into fists.

"I should’ve figured it out sooner."

And then, finally, his face crumples.

"I should’ve done something."

---

Fushiguro Toji

Toji laughs. Short. Bitter. A sharp exhale through his nose.

"Tch. Bullshit."

His arms cross over his chest, his weight shifting onto one foot like he’s gearing up for a fight. Like he’s daring you to say it again.

You do.

And this time, his smirk falters.

"The hell are you talking about?" His voice drops an octave, his brows knitting together. "I’m right here."

But you just look at him.

No words. No argument.

And that’s what does it.

His fingers twitch. His throat tightens. And suddenly, the air feels wrong.

His mind races—memories flickering like a dying lightbulb. The fight. The pain. The blood.

The way everything just… stopped.

And then, just like that, he remembers.

His breath stutters. His fists clench. His shoulders tremble—not from fear, not from sadness, but from sheer, gut-wrenching denial.

"No." His voice is sharp, biting. He shakes his head. "No, I walked away. Megumi, I—"

His chest aches. His vision blurs.

"I can’t be dead. I fucking can’t."

His own voice shakes, and he hates it. He hates the way his body betrays him, hates the lump in his throat, hates the way his vision distorts as the first tear falls.

"I was supposed to come back to him."

You flinch.

Because you know exactly who him is.

Toji squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tightly it aches. His whole body trembles as the weight of his absence finally, finally crashes down on him.

He falls to his knees.

“I have him. He’s safe with a friend.” You get on the floor and hold him.

You wiped your tears quickly from the back of your hand because you could not bring Megumi in a house that was haunted by you and his father.

---

Geto Suguru

His arms instinctively come around you, protecting you from something he can’t even fight. His breath is uneven, his body trembling as he holds you as tightly as he can, as if you might slip away too.

"I’m sorry."

He says it over and over, voice cracking, shaking, breaking. As if this is his fault.

Tears slip down his face in silent streams, dripping onto your hair as he buries his face in your shoulder. He never cries. But now, he’s unraveling, feeling every moment he missed, every touch that wasn’t real.

"I wanted to come home to you."

And when he finally pulls back, his eyes are haunted.

"I don’t want to go."

---

Gojo Satoru

He laughs. A shaky, humorless laugh—like this is some joke, like you’re playing a cruel prank.

"Nice one, babe. You almost had me."

But then he sees your face. The grief in your eyes. The way your hands tremble. The way you look right through him, like he’s already gone.

And suddenly, the air is gone from his lungs.

"No, no, no—"

His voice wavers, his fingers twitching as he grabs you, pulling you against his chest, shaking his head.

"I’m right here. You feel me, don’t you? I’m here. You’re messing with me. You have to be."

His breath hitches, his infinity flickering, his body betraying his denial.

When you whisper his name, soft and full of sorrow, something inside him snaps.

He crumbles. Completely.

"Please…" he begs, his voice so raw, so helpless. "Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me alone."

Gojo never begs. But he begs for this.

For you.

For one more second.

---

Haibara Yu

He smiles.

A soft, sad little thing.

"Oh."

And then he laughs. Because of course, of course, it had to be true.

He should have known. Should have realized.

The laughter fades, his throat tightening, and his hands shake as he lifts them—to touch you, to hold you. But they hesitate.

Because what if he’s not really here?

The thought makes his chest cave in, and suddenly, he’s crying—quietly at first, then ugly, body-wracking sobs.

"I didn’t want to leave you."

His fingers reach for yours, barely brushing against them.

"I wanted forever with you."

And when you whisper, "Me too," he finally breaks.

---

Hakari Kinji

"Tch, you’re talking nonsense."

He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake off the ice settling in his veins. His usual cocky smirk falters, his bravado barely holding.

But when you keep looking at him like that—like he’s a memory instead of a man—his breath stutters.

"No. That’s bullshit. I was with you every night since. I—I—"

And then his knees buckle.

He slams his fists into the floor, his shoulders heaving, his teeth clenched so hard it hurts.

"WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU LET ME PRETEND?!"

He’s angry—angry at you, at himself, at the universe that took him away. His chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths, his body trembling.

But then, after what feels like an eternity, the fight drains out of him.

"I wanted more time."

And when you reach for him, he leans in, forehead pressing against your shoulder, his tears finally falling.

"I just wanted more time."

---

Higuruma Hiromi

His first reaction is silence.

Then, a low, shaky exhale. He leans back slightly, processing, his lawyer's mind running through every possible explanation, every logical outcome.

None of them make sense.

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. His nails dig into his palms, but he doesn’t feel it.

Then, a whisper makes its way out of him.

"Why didn’t I realize?"

He lets out a dry, bitter laugh, his breath shaking.

"I thought—" His voice cracks.

He swallows, hard. And then he breaks. He never cries. But he looks lost.

"We were finally supposed to be together."

His arms wrap around you, and he clings, desperate—because for the first time in his life, he can’t argue his way out of this one.

---

Inumaki Toge

He doesn’t react.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense.

He just… sits there. Staring at you.

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something. Like he’s trying to process it.

And then, slowly, his hands lift—shaking.

"Don’t."

The single word—so small, so quiet—shatters the room like glass.

"Don’t do this to me."

His fingers clutch at his throat. His cursed speech had always been a burden, a limiter—but now, he thought he could speak.

You both had been talking now without rice ball ingredients.

He wants to scream.

Instead, he just wispers, "Tell me you’re lying. Tell me I’m real. Tell me I’m still here with you."

His shoulders tremble. His head bows.

And when the first tear hits the floor—you swear you hear his heart break.

---

Itadori Yuji

Yuji’s face freezes. Completely.

"No."

There’s no hesitation. No humor. Just raw, unfiltered refusal.

"That’s not—" His voice cracks. His lips tremble. "That’s not funny."

His hands curl into fists at his sides, his breath coming faster, shallower. His body knows before his mind does.

Because suddenly, it feels wrong.

Like he’s not supposed to be here.

The memories come like a gut punch. The battle. The pain. The blood. The darkness.

His stomach drops.

"No, no, no—" He steps back, hands pressing against his chest like he’s trying to feel something, anything.

His breath hitches. His knees go weak.

"I promised—" His voice breaks apart.

And that’s when the sob rips from his throat.

"I promised I'd live."

Tears spill. His whole body shakes.

"I promised I'd be different. That I’d have a long life. That I wouldn’t—"

His fingers dig into his scalp, his chest rising and falling in short, choked gasps.

And suddenly, it’s not about him anymore.

It’s about everyone else.

Gojo, Nanami, Nobara, Megumi—his friends.

"They're gonna be alone."

He chokes, his knees giving out completely.

"I left them all alone."

And when he finally looks up at you—tears streaking his face, lips quivering, hands trembling—you know.

Yuji Itadori never wanted to die.

But he did.

And nothing will ever change that.

---

Kamo Choso

He’s silent. No reaction. No change in expression. He just stares at you, his lips slightly parted, his mind trying to grasp the weight of your words.

Then, slowly, his breathing falters. His fingers twitch, his body stiffens. His usually composed face shatters as his lips tremble, his eyes welling with tears. His voice, so steady before, comes out in a whisper—fragile, broken.

"That’s not true. I’m here. I promised I’d protect you."

When you shake your head, his shoulders shake with the force of his grief. His arms wrap around you—desperate, clinging—as if holding you tightly enough would pull him back into existence. But even as you sob into his chest, he already knows.

And it destroys him.

---

Todo Aoi

"Nah."

Todo grins.

"Nice try, but I’m not that easy to fool."

You don’t smile. You don’t laugh.

His grin fades.

His heart stutters.

"Oi. Quit messing around." His voice wavers, just slightly. Just enough for fear to slither in. "You’re making it sound like I—"

His words die in his throat.

Because you won’t look at him.

And that’s when he knows.

His fists clench. His chest heaves. His jaw locks so tight it hurts.

"Hah… no way."

His breath is ragged now. His shoulders tremble.

His whole life, he’s built himself on strength. On resilience. On always pushing forward.

But right now—right here—

Todo Aoi has nowhere left to go.

He forces a laugh. A weak, broken sound. "So, what? That means I—?"

He can’t finish. He won’t.

Because if he says it, it’s real.

And if it’s real—then he left Yuji behind.

His best friend. His brother.

His chest tightens, his vision blurring.

"I was supposed to be there for him."

His breath stutters. His legs give out.

"I was supposed to—"

His body shakes with silent sobs.

He had promised Yuji he’d never be alone.

And now?

He can’t even keep that.

---

Kamo Noritoshi

Noritoshi barely reacts.

"I see."

His voice is neutral.

Straightens his back. Keeps his composure.

But his fingers tremble.

"I should’ve expected this."

He nods to himself, as if rationalizing it. As if accepting it.

But the tightness in his throat betrays him.

"Then that means my clan—" His words cut off.

Because if he’s dead, then everything was for nothing.

All that suffering. All that fighting. All of it—

And then, for the first time in years, his mask cracks.

His breath stutters. His hands curl into fists. His vision blurs.

And suddenly, Noritoshi is not a leader. Not a fighter. Not the heir to a clan.

He’s just a boy who never got to live his own life.

And now, never will.

---

Kashimo Hajime

Kashimo laughs. A cruel, hollow sound that isn’t like him at all.

"Really? I died?" he scoffs, voice biting, eyes sharp. "And you’re just telling me now?"

His jaw clenches, his fingers curling into tight fists. He refuses to believe it. Refuses.

He steps closer, teeth bared. "Then how the hell am I standing here, huh?"

But you don’t answer.

And the silence is louder than anything he’s ever heard.

His breathing stutters, and his shoulders tense as the weight of your words presses down on him like a boulder.

He’s never been afraid of death. Never.

But suddenly, his chest is too tight, and his vision is too blurry, and his body is shaking in a way he doesn’t recognize.

"You’re saying I lost?" he whispers, voice hoarse. "That I just… disappeared?"

His hands tremble as he tries to reach for you, but stops himself.

Because he’s starting to feel it now. The emptiness. The absence.

And for the first time in his life, Kashimo Hajime feels something worse than boredom.

He feels regret.

---

Kiyotaka Ijichi

He goes completely still.

And then, he lets out a choked breath, his eyes widening in pure, unfiltered terror.

"No, no, no, no—"

His hands grip his head, his breaths turning erratic. His entire body shakes as reality comes crashing down.

"That’s not true. That can’t be true. I—I was just—"

His voice cuts off.

He looks at you again, searching, begging. Pleading.

But you don’t deny it.

And something inside him shatters.

He sinks to his knees, his fingers tangling in his hair as sobs wrack through his body.

"I didn’t want to die."

He gasps for air, but it’s not enough.

"I wasn’t ready."

You hold him, because it’s all you can do.

And he clings to you, to whatever is left of you both, because he knows—

You can’t hold a ghost forever.

---

Kokichi Muta (Mechamaru)

Just… a slow, pained inhale.

"I see."

His voice is quiet, too quiet. His eyes drift to the floor, his fingers twitching like he wants to touch something, anything.

"Then… it really happened."

His voice wavers on the last word. His shoulders slump.

"And I still couldn’t be by your side."

You reach for him, but—your hands almost pass right through.

He flinches.

His whole body locks up, his breath catching.

And that’s when he knows.

A broken, strangled sob escapes his throat.

He grips his arms like he’s trying to hold himself together. But it’s useless.

"I just wanted… a normal life with you," he whispers.

Tears spill down his cheeks. His hands shake.

"I never even got to hold you with my own body."

And that’s what breaks him.

---

Okkotsu Yuta

"That’s not funny."

Yuta’s voice is soft. Too soft. Like he’s holding something back. Like he’s begging you to take it back before he even processes what you said.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, your eyes filled with pity.

And Yuta’s stomach drops.

"No." His head shakes, frantic now. His hands lift like he’s trying to stop something from slipping through his fingers. "No, I—I was just with them. I was just—"

His breath hitches. His knees wobble.

He remembers.

The mission. The fight. The impact.

The way everything blurred.

He feels cold. So, so cold.

His chest tightens. His pulse races.

"I was supposed to come back."

It’s a whisper. A plea. A lie.

He clutches his chest, desperate for the familiar weight of his beating heart—but there’s nothing.

His body betrays him.

"Rika."

The name barely escapes his lips before he crumbles.

And for the first time since losing her, Okkotsu Yuta is truly alone.

Your heart breaks when he still calls for her.

---

Ryomen Sukuna

"Tch. What kind of pathetic joke is this?"

He sneers, arms crossed, crimson eyes narrowed. But there’s something off. His voice isn’t as sharp as usual. His grip on control isn’t as tight.

You don’t flinch. You don’t waver.

You just stare at him with so much sadness that it makes something twist in his chest.

"I’m serious," you whisper. "You’re not real. You died a long time ago."

His expression darkens. Fury floods his veins.

"You expect me to believe that? That I—" His teeth grit. His breath comes out ragged. His whole body tenses. "That I lost?"

The word feels foreign in his mouth.

Sukuna, the King of Curses.

Defeated.

Gone.

Forgotten.

No.

He refuses.

"Enough," he growls. His claws dig into his arms. "I won’t listen to this nonsense. You’re lying. You’re confused. I’m right here, standing in front of you, aren’t I?"

His voice wavers.

Because suddenly, something feels wrong.

The weight of his body. The air in his lungs.

It’s hollow.

Like he’s made of nothing.

And you—you won’t stop looking at him like that.

Like you know.

Like you’ve known.

Like you’ve been carrying this truth for far longer than he has.

A breath shudders past his lips.

The denial fractures.

"No…"

It’s small. So, so small.

"I am real."

He says it like a prayer. A curse. A plea.

But your silence kills him.

You move to hold him.

And for the first time in a thousand years—

Ryomen Sukuna has lost everything.

---

Shiu Kong

Shiu laughs.

Short. Dry. Empty.

"So that’s how it is, huh?"

He exhales slowly, rubbing his face. His hands are steady. His voice is calm.

But you see it.

The devastation in his eyes.

He looks away.

"Tch. I should’ve known."

A sigh. A shake of his head. A muttered "Figures."

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Composed. Aloof. Unbothered.

But then, you notice—

He won’t look at you.

Because if he does—if he sees your grief, your tears, your pain—

He will break.

And Shiu Kong never lets himself break.

Not in front of anyone.

Not even you.

Even as his hands tremble.

Even as he grips his arms too tightly.

Even as his chest aches with the weight of everything he will never get back.

Because it’s already too late.

And there’s nothing left to save.

---

Takuma Ino

He blinks once. Twice. Then he laughs—light, breathy, confused.

"Okay, haha. That’s a messed-up joke."

But when you don’t laugh with him, when you don’t say "I’m just messing with you," his stomach drops.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His body sways slightly, his fingers twitching at his sides. The reality of your words seeps into his bones like poison, and suddenly, the air feels too thick, too heavy.

"But… I still have so much to do," he whispers.

He turns, as if expecting to see his friends with their cameras at him, proof that he’s still alive.

But there’s nothing.

Just you.

Just your shaking hands, just your grief-stricken eyes.

And then it really, truly sinks in.

Ino is not the type to cry. He likes to act tough, likes to joke through his pain.

"I don’t want to be dead."

His voice cracks. He clenches his fists so hard his nails break skin, his shoulders trembling, his head shaking like he can deny it enough to make it untrue.

"I had plans, I—" he chokes. "I wasn’t done."

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, but it doesn’t stop the tears.

Nothing will.

And all he can think is: I never got the chance to live the life I wanted.

---

Yoshino Junpei

"Huh?"

Junpei blinks, confused. He tilts his head, his lips parting as if he misheard you.

Because he must have.

There’s no other explanation.

"What do you mean?" he asks, a nervous laugh slipping past his lips. It’s shaky. Unstable. But you don’t smile. You don’t joke. You just look at him with that same pitying stare.

And suddenly, he can’t breathe.

"No… no, that doesn’t—" He shakes his head, his hands curling into fists. "That doesn’t make sense. I—I killed them. I came home. I—"

The words die on his tongue.

Because the memories—they don’t fit.

They blur at the edges.

They break apart.

He remembers—

Mahito.

His mom.

The pain.

The cold.

The moment it all went black.

All his life he wanted to die but not after meeting you.

Leaving you alone like his mom.

"No…" His voice cracks. His fingers clutch at his hoodie, nails digging into his skin.

You take a step forward. He takes one back.

"You’re lying," he whispers, his breath shuddering.

You shake your head.

And that’s what destroys him.

The dam bursts. A choked sob tears from his throat as he crumples to his knees, his whole body shaking. His hands grasp at his hair, tugging—desperate to hold onto something real.

"I don’t want to go."

He sounds so small. So broken.

"I don’t want to be alone again."

Because that’s all he’s ever been.

And now, not even you can reach him.

---

Nanami Kento

He doesn’t let anything show at first.

He simply… stares in the distance.

Away from you, trying to get his thoughts together.

His brows furrow slightly, his head tilting just a fraction—like he’s processing your words, like they don’t make sense.

"What?"

He turns to you. His voice is steady. Calm. Too calm.

You repeat yourself. Slower this time.

"You’re dead."

And suddenly, the room feels too small.

His breath catches in his throat, his shoulders going rigid, his jaw tightening as he swallows. Once. Twice.

"No."

It’s soft, barely above a whisper.

"No, I promised you. I—"

His voice breaks.

His fists clench so hard his nails dig into his palms.

"I was supposed to come back to you."

His eyes burn, his chest aches. But he doesn’t cry. He refuses.

But then—he sees your face.

Sees the devastation. The grief.

And suddenly, he remembers.

The pain. The exhaustion. The moment everything went black.

And just like that, his entire world shatters.

"No."

It’s desperate now. He grabs you, pulls you against him, breathing you in like he can keep himself here just by holding on tightly enough.

"I can’t be dead. I can’t—I still—" his breath hitches, his arms tightening around you, shaking. "I still love you."

And then, finally, Nanami Kento breaks.

The first sob rips from his throat like it’s being torn out of him.

"I just wanted to grow old with you."

He presses his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body trembling. "I just wanted more time."

And the worst part?

You can’t comfort him.

Because he’s not real.

Because you’re all alone.

And because no matter how many times he whispers your name—

Nanami Kento is never coming home.

A/N: Oh, you thought that was bad? You thought there’d be even the tiniest bit of relief? LMAOOOO. You fool. You absolute clown. 🤡 This isn’t just pain. This is "why is my chest physically aching?" This is "I just stared at a wall for ten minutes." This is "I need to go yell at a cloud." I wrote this for Nanami at first, but then I was like, "Why should I cry alone?"

Comment below with your pick. Or just… cry in the comments. Bonus points if you can put in what unhinged silly stuff your manz did next in the comments because I personally think now Gojo will stress eat all the sweets and Nanami bread. That’s okay too. 😈💔

All Works Masterlist

Header by @sharmanswife. Here.

[luffyssa]

‎ # NICKNAME !

sum. they ask what their name is on your phone pair. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, yuji, megumi, yuta, inumaki x reader cw. smau, crack

notes. omg i wrote the whole thing and while writing the tags i realized i didnt add choso UGHHH im so sad now

[satorusugurugurl]

JJK Men: I’m Not Going To Make it Home

Character: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Fushiguro Toji, Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU), Kamo Choso, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: angst, final goodbyes, suggestive death, near death

A/N: 🥲

Part Two

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks ks @reap3erslov3 3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

Smau tag:

@creative1writings

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

I'm absolutely feral for this man.

[twinkletfout]

Ever thought about Choso humping to a pillow thinking about you? Cuz i know i did

Choso was so desperate to be inside you, after all he came back from a really long mission just to have you in his arms, to bend you over and fuck you till you see stars. But the thing is, you weren't home. And Choso most definitely couldn't wait anymore.

He took the pillow you used to lay down to sleep. he could feel himself growing aroused just from the lingering scent of your favourite perfume. He felt embarrassed about what he was going to do but he still slid down his pants, the tip of his cock already wet with his precum. Feeling himself rubbing against the cold pillow of yours, "ha.. what am i doing..?" He mumbled to himself, growing impatient as he thought this was your pussy he was grinding on to. Soft huffs and moans filled the room, "b—baby, hng, im close, so close" his eyebrows hardened as he closed his eyes to focus on the sensation, the pillow was gradually getting wet under him because of his slick.

He could feel his orgasm taking over him, placing the pillow under him as he grinded against the fabric at an extreme pace, he clutched on to the soft pillow, scrunching it in a way so as to catch his release. His hips bucked a few more times, lazily moving it as it was now completely drenched with his load.

"ughh what a waste.." he said as he slumped on to the bed

[3seven-gambler]

#⌁꒰You using theiɾ shiɾt ; JJK men꒱

⋆ word count: 1276 ⋆ genre: fluff, suggestive. ⋆ includes: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, higuruma hiromi, toji fushiguro. no specified pronouns. ⋆ a/n: this is my first writing in months, so bear with me pls(╥﹏╥) -~~~reminder that english is not my first language~~~

࿐♡Ꮐꮻꭻꮻ Ꮪꭺꭲꮻꭱꮜ

Gojo had -surprisingly- woken up before you after a rough night you both share. He put on some sweatpants and made his way into the kitchen, deciding on preparing breakfast for both of you. While he was making your favorite dish, he sensed a presence behind him.

-"Good morning, beautiful" he said while turning around to face you. -"How's my princess/prince doing?" he then took complete notice of your choice of clothing that morning, this being one of his shirts, which showed just enough of your body for him to go feral. He could see all the marks he had left the night before all over your tights, as well as some of the marks in your collarbones, marks for only him to see (along with some others that might be for the public eye).

-"Seems you like what you see" you said with a sleepy but teasing voice.

Satoru kept looking at you for a few more seconds. He dropped what he was doing and walked over you, grabbing your face softly with both of his hands. -"You look stunning" he said with a soft smile while giving you small pecks all over your face, and then he gave you a grin -"Maybe I should fuck you more often~"

-"Gojo this is the fifth time we do it in less than two days-"

࿐♡Ꮐꭼꭲꮻ Ꮪꮜꮐꮜꭱꮜ

Geto was reading a book while laying on the bed of your shared bedroom. He was patiently waiting for you to come out of the shower so both of you could cuddle for a while before preparing dinner.

-"Hey, sorry for making you wait" You suddenly say while opening the bathroom door.

Suguru drifts his eyes from the book to your figure, watching as you grab one of his shirts to put above your breath taking body.

-"Don't worry, my love, I don't mind waiting for you." He said while staring at you.

-"Is something wrong?" You said as you take notice of his staring.

-"Mh, no, not at all." He said smiling fondly at you.

You crawl into the bed and Geto leaves the book by his side, turning your way to hold you. You notice how he still has his eyes glued to you. Before you could ask again, he spoke.

-"Maybe I should toss all of your clothes and make you wear mine." he said while softly while caressing your tights. -"But at the same time, if you wear my clothes everyday, I don't think I could hold myself..."

࿐♡Nꭺɴꭺꮇꮖ Ꮶꭼɴꭲꮻ

For Nanami's dislike, he had to go home later than usual. It was Friday, meaning that you and him were going to spend time together. Every weekend you would spend time in each other's houses, and this time it was your turn to stay in Kento's house. He phoned you earlier, telling you that he was going to be late and saying how sorry he was. You brushed him off saying it was ok, that you would make dinner alone for you both. He told you it wasn't necessary, that he could grab some food on his way home but you insisted of making it yourself.

Later on, you went to his house. Opening the door with a spare key he had given you a while ago, you made your way inside. Before starting to cook, you went into Kento's bedroom to get change into more comfortable clothes, but noticed that you haven't brought your pajamas.

-"Oh, what should I use then?" you asked to yourself. You looked up and saw a pile of old shirts that your boyfriend usually uses in the comfort of his house. You smiled mischievously and grabbed the one he uses the most, and then you were ready to start making his favorite dish.

A few hours later, when dinner was almost done, you heard some noise coming from the front door. -"Y/N, I'm here" you heard your beloveds voice.

-"Kento! Hi! I'm in the kitchen!" You said happily.

Nanami quickly made his way into his kitchen where he was greeted not only with an amazing smell coming from the oven but with the most stunning view he had been waiting to see all day. You, all cute in his shirt. Wait, his shirt?

You took notice of this and said -"I'm sorry for this." You said grabbing a bit of the shirt -"I forgot my pajamas at my place so..." You couldn't finish since Kento's lips were on yours.

-"Move in with me." He says in a pleading yet mandatory way.

࿐♡ꮋꮖꮐꮜꭱꮜꮇꭺ ꮋꮖꭱꮻꮇꮖ

It was late. As it usually happends. And he knew. But he couldn't do much about it. Work has been more troublesome these recent weeks, and all Higuruma could think about was coming home to you. He was more than thankful to have found someone as patient as you, since this is not the first time he comes home late. As he goes inside the house, he calls your name, quickly making his way to the living room. His anxiousness calms down when he sees your angelic sleeping form, hugging a pillow as if your life depended on that. He lets out a soft chuckle and before waking you up he takes full notice of what you were wearing.

-"Of course you grabbed one of my shirts" he said smiling to himself. It isn't the first time he sees you in one, since you had asked him a few times before for his permission to wear one. But every time he sees you wearing his clothes, he gets giddy with excitement.

-"Hmm? Hiro?" You said almost in a whisper.

-"Hello baby, I'm home" He said sitting by your side.

You let go of the pillow you were hugging before and you sat on Higuruma's lap, hugging him instead.

-"I missed you" you said hiding your face against his chest.

-"I missed you too sweety, you have no idea how much I did" he said hugging you back.

࿐♡Ꭲꮻꭻꮖ 𝖥ꮜꮪꮋꮖꮐꮜꭱꮻ

He told you not to worry about the rain, since he was sure that it wasn't going to drop. The both of you had planned to go out on a date, but it seems that the weather had other plans for you.

-"I'm never trusting you with this again!" You said while running to his place.

All he could do was laugh. When you were both at the entrance of his flat he said -" 's just water, sweetheart"

-"I know that! But I'm all soaked wet and cold!" You said pouting.

-"Mhhm? Is that so?~" he purred into your ear -"I think I can help with that~"

You just push him away from you -"You can help me by giving my dry clothes" you said crossing your arms.

-"Whatever... You can grab something from there" he said pointing to his bedroom.

You went on and opened the wardrobe door. You were about to grab just one of his regular black t-shirt when you notice a white shirt hanging out there, being one of the only -if not the only- white piece of clothing there. You quickly changed and went over where your boyfriend was.

-"Are you going to take a bath?" You asked to get his attention.

-"Yeah, wanna jo-" he stopped talking as soon as he saw you -"Where did you find that?"

-"There" you said pointing to his bedroom as he had done before. -"Do I look good?" You said playfully smiling.

Toji felt no shame as he scanned you from head to toes. He suddenly grabbed you and tossed you on his shoulder. -"T-Toji?! What are you doing?! Put me down!"

"You, me, bath. Now." Is all what he said.

❥ 𝖱𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽. || 𝖣𝖮 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖱𝖤𝖯𝖮𝖲𝖳/𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖭𝖲𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖤.

[luv4nanamii]

jjk men reacting to you saying "I hate you" as a joke!!

ft. satoru, suguru, inumaki, nanami, itadori, yuta & megumi !

enjoy ;)

this took so long OMFG pls send in ur reqs if you have any!!

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Sukuna "asshole to the world, sweetheart to his girl" Ryomen

🎀minors and ageless blogs will be blocked 🎀

Pairing: Yakuza!Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

Genre: Smut, dark hero.

Word Count: 1450

Warnings: first off, fucking sukuna himself is a warning on his own so let's just start there. Possessive Sukuna, dark sukuna, yakuza sukuna, shitty boss, mean fucking asshole boss, violence, against boss, dacryphillia, p in v sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, read at your own discretion.

Summary: Sukunas heard you cry because of your boss one too many times. He takes matters into his own hands

A/N: This absolutely SPECTACULAR ART is by @innaillus and you can find the original here.

I want to thank her, not only for allowing me to use this as a banner but also for making such amazing art and sharing it with us. ♥️

This is a purely self indulgent fic. If you don't like it, please don't read it. I had a shitty week and needed a place to cool off.

Sukuna Ryomen glared down at your boss. He’d come in to pick you up and heard the creature screaming at you for something he already knew wasn’t your fault. You’d told him about the trouble you were having with your co-workers who slacked off and your shitty fucker of a boss who for some reason didn’t tell them off, but instead unloaded his anger on you. This would be the last time this pathetic vermin made you cry, he vowed.

He pushed open the door to your small office and stalked in. You stood in the corner trying to make yourself as small as possible, silent tears streaming down your face as your boss kept berating you – not even noticing his presence. One of the other workers tried to step in his way but he shoved them aside like they were nothing more than window curtains. He placed himself in between you and the balding middle aged man who dared to call himself your boss. “Hey nimrod, she doesn’t work for you anymore. Don’t fucking yell at her.”

The man cowered. Sukuna was taller than him and his crossed arms made his thick muscles ripple under his skin.

“Ryo…” you whispered

“Wh-who let th-this man in here? Sir, th-this is an office space. You n-need to leave.” your boss sneered at your saviour.

Sukuna merely smirked at you and pulled you into his side placing his lips on the top of your head in a chaste kiss. “Yeah, don't worry, I’ll be going pretty soon. Breathing the same air as you is making me feel nauseated. Can't believe the patience my baby girl had with your shit-ass, fucker” his first met the man's stomach with a sickening squelching crunch, and your now ex-boss, crumpled onto the floor in a heap.

“I'm gon-gonna call the cops on you asshole’ he croaked out.

Sukuna just laughed. “Have at it, ya great ballsack.”

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

When Sukuna came to pick you up from work that day he had planned the night down to a T. He’d wanted to take you to a new movie that you'd been itching to see but hadn't had the time. He would follow that with a fancy sushi dinner at the city's best restaurant and then take you to the outskirts where there was a nice little viewpoint he had discovered where he planned on showing you the stars – in more than one way…

But when you didn't come out at your specified time, nor answer the cute message he’d sent you – Where you at, kitty-kat? – Sukuna decided to investigate and came across your asshole of a boss yelling at you. He’d had enough. You��d been coming home and complaining about him and even once returned in tears. It took everything he had to not rip the bastard’s throat out. But he was done with you being abused. You deserved better. Which is exactly what he told you now as you lay with him on the hood of his car.

The plans had been altered slightly, you would be watching the movie with him the next day. He’d skipped the fancy sushi and instead opted for your favourite comfort food – Chinese cuisine. Slurping down saucy noodles, and munching on crispy gyoza always made you feel better he knew and he found himself smiling at your joy. He’d then driven you to his secret viewpoint. You sat there on the hood of his car with him beside you. In the distance, the pretty lights of Tokyo lit up the horizon and reflected off your lover's red eyes. Above you, the stars twinkled in their own magic…

Something about you had him wrapped around your finger. One of the most feared yakuza, putty in your hands. Of course, no one knew the connection. It was all kept hushed for your convenience.

“Kitty-kat?” Sukuna called to you and you looked up at your man. “You know— you know I’m rich enough to support both of us easily right?”

You hummed. “Yes, but I don’t wanna be some dainty housewife, sitting and waiting for my husband to come home and serve him dinner Ryo! I have a whole ass degree that a lot of money was spent on, I’d like to use it babe!”

“Husband?”

“What?”

“You said, husband. Not boyfriend. Or SO. Or partner. You said husband.”

“Yeah… I said husband…”

“You wanna marry me?”

“I mean, yeah, eventually right?”

Sukuna crashed his lips into yours in a heated kiss; all teeth and tongue. He pulled your body close, pressing against you. “I want you so bad right now, future wife. I want you so fucking badly.” He half growled in your ear.

“You have me Ryo. I’m right here.” you replied. You tugged at Sukunas pants and he unbuckled his belt. Sukuna grinded against your thigh while kissing you. His hands tugged at the buttons on your blouse, undoing them as he went. You could feel the bulge growing in his jeans. He kissed down from your lips, to your jaw, to your neck down to the valley of your breasts.

“I wanna fuck you.” He looked at you with a lidded gaze “May I? I won’t be able to stop if we go further than this kitty-kat.”

You lifted your leg to rub against his clothed cock. “I’d leave you right now if you didn’t, Sukuna Ryomen. So fuck me already.” Sukuna flashed you a fanged smile and dipped his head pulling down your bra and freeing your breasts. He bit and licked and sucked, actions that were sure to leave marks on you. Further south his fingers pushed aside your panties and found entrance. He slowly worked his way into you, rubbing gentle circles in your skin. You allowed yourself to let go and dirty moans slipped out from your lips. Your fingers tangled in his pink hair – so soft, so smooth.

Once he had you dripping, he lay back down and ordered, “Sit on my face, and suck my cock while you’re at it.”

You followed, undoing his zipper and pulling his boxers and jeans off his semi-hard cock. You tentatively licked his head as you positioned your pussy right about his face. Sukuna pushed your skirt up and ripped your panties with a practised ease, pulling your hips down to his face. He loved having you like that. Every time he flicked his tongue against your clit your pussy would visibly tighten. You’d drool down the length of his cock hypnotised. Tongue flat against it as you struggled to maintain composure. It wouldn’t take long for him to make you cum all over his face for the first time. Legs quivering and hips shaking he brought you down again, laying you on the hood for him.

He lined up his cock – now rock hard from your mouth – with your entrance and sank into you. Slowly pushing his bulbous head, followed by his girthy length. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sukuna thrust up into you. Your lips were hot and burning. You felt a wave of emotion come through and tears welled up in your eyes.

“Fuck Ryo— feels s’good!”

Sukuna snarled and increased his pace. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Feels good, huh kitty-kat! Gonna make you mine. No man’s gonna dare fuck with you again.” His movements were rough and jagged but drew out the pleasure in your core. The tightly wound knot in your abdomen built up with each movement, each drawn out pull, each hard thrust. You arched your back desperate to have him more, more, more!

Your second climax hit just as Sukuna grabbed a fistful of your hair. Your cunt spasmed, clasping around him and you cried out his name in a debauched prayer.

Sukuna looked more composed than he felt. His cock throbbed inside you, attuned to the flutters of your pussy. Just because you’d come didn’t mean he would stop. He chased his own release inside of you pulling your hair back, devouring your lips. His cock bullied you to the point of overstimulation. Tears ran down your cheeks again but this time they were those of pleasure.

He came, towering over you, eyes squeezed shut, head buried in the crook of your neck. His giant frame collapsed onto you and he carefully rolled off to the side so he wouldn't crush you.

“So, about that husband thing…”

You turned to look at him, blushing. “Ryo…”

He held up a ring; the ring his father left him. Gold work, carved into a dragon that held a shiny black pearl in its claws.

“I’ll get you a prettier one later, I promise but for now…” he took a deep breath. “Marry me, kitty-kat?”

A/N: please note this was a very hurried creation and edit, if you do find any errors or typos feel free to point them out KINDLY. Thank you for reading.

As always likes and reblogs are much appreciated and comments will earn you kissies!

[ushijimaschubbs]

no thoughts just geto between your thighs in a restaurant bathroom stall because he couldn't wait to taste your pretty cunt with his slobbering mouth, lapping continuously and edging you because he doesn't want to stop eating you out while he also teases you because of how rapidly your pussy is throbbing against his tongue.

[sophiria]

JJK x reader Tumblr recommendations

[18+ only]

❤️🖤🤍

postmortem / postpartum by @/umemiyan (gojo)

gojo crawls home to you by @/izvmimi (gojo) the machinist and the faerie by @/wri0thesley (gojo) angel gojo by @/izvmimi (gojo) holy fool by @/tearzintheclub (gojo)

canon gojo will... by @/prettyboykatsuki (gojo)

soul tied by @/its-luna-noel (gojo)

worship of a sacrificial lamb by @/yandere-daydreams (gojo)

satoru gojo knows he's not wanted by @/elsecrytt (gojo)

don't make me feel alive by @/lilacxquartz (kenjaku)

all my love, suguru by @/chosos-mascara (geto)

metamorphoses by @/bontenten (naoya)

of cruelty and clemency by @/tawus (geto)

how we break by @/tojisun (toji, gojo)

bewitched by @/lalunanymph (naoya)

ave maria by @/lovenona (nanami)

someone wants to cut a hole in you and fuck you through it, buddy by @/strawberrystepmom (kenjaku, geto)

❤️🖤🤍

[difficultdomains]

a/n: satoru! with! long! hair! - that’s it, that’s the post

mdni - nsfw under the cut

long hair but not the way suguru’s hair is long.

long hair as in it’s been a while since he had a moment to himself, let alone time for a haircut. so when he returns home to you after yet another long mission, his hair is falling into his face and over his eyes, almost hiding them completely from view.

“looks strange, right?” is the only thing he says with a grin when he sees you standing at the door, eyes wide.

he prefers his usual look, the undercut, the controlled unruliness. but you? even though you think you’re being sneaky, he notices.

those quick little glances through the fogged up mirror when you catch him fresh out of the shower. it’s not the towel sitting way too low on his hips that has your gaze lingering longer than usual - it’s the semi-dried white chaos on top of his head that’s making you want to follow every drop that drips from his ends and trace it down his skin. the time you usually take to brush your teeth suspiciously doubles.

or later that same night, when he rests his head in your lap only for your hands to absentmindedly tangle in his hair. with your attention captured by the movie you had chosen together, your fingers fall into a rhythm of their own, twirling lock after lock around your index finger, over and over again, like a mantra. he would love to let you lull him to sleep with your steady, repetitive motions, let himself drift off under your touch right where he is - but he wants more.

he wants you to forget all about your movie when he pulls you onto his lap, hips between your thighs and arms wrapped around your waist, tightly, until your chest is completely flush with his. unknowingly you reveal what's on your mind once again, breath lodging in his throat when all the tenderness in the world concentrates in your fingertips, pushing back his bangs and running through his hair all the way until you arrive at the nape of his neck. your nails meet sensitive skin, and he shivers, electricity trickling down his spine. you search for his eyes, only to find him already watching you with overcast skies, longing pressing down on his lungs like humidity. you mirror him, your gaze stifling when it drops down to his lips and all at once the brewing summer storm in his irises unleashes, lightning cracking when he finally gets to kiss you, soft and scorching at the same time.

what he wants even more though, is to look up at your flushed cheeks and the reddish bruise threatening to form on your neck before he dips down between your thighs, drinking in the gasp that falls from your lips when his own connect with your most sensitive spot. your breathing quickens, air sticking to your airways as he coaxes only the sweetest sounds out of you with every flick of his tongue. you push him closer, white locks spilling out from between your fingers - but he still needs more. you miss the near-devious look from under his heavy eyelashes as he abandons his firm hold on your hips and trails up your thigh, only to travel down again until he’s right in between. a broken moan slips from your mouth when he slides his fingers in with one smooth motion, your hand coming up to stifle it and prevent the sound from bouncing off the walls of your living room. you grab onto the loose collar of your shirt, bracing yourself for what you know is about to come - but he moves agonizingly slow, slowing down all of his motions until you're reduced to a rubber band pulled taut by impatience.

his name mixes with an exasperated groan on your tongue, head falling to the side onto the backrest of the couch.

“what’s wrong, love?” he purrs, looking up at you and halting his movements altogether.

the furrows between your brows deepen when he gifts you an angelic smile.

“tell me what you want.”

you reach out, gripping his hair again, the tenderness from before replaced by intention.

“do it properly.”

his eyes glaze over at the pleading tone you mutter your command in. he almost has you exactly where he wants you. just one more push-

“you sure you can handle it, baby?”

he watches it snap in your eyes, your refusal to play along evident in the way you use your newfound leverage to push him back between your legs, right where you want him the most.

without granting you a single breath more, he suppresses a triumphant grin and his lips reattach, fingers slipping back in to curl right against your spot with absolute precision. sudden sweet pressure has your back arching up into him and your fingers pulling on his hair, hard, tearing a moan from him that immediately intertwines with yours.

maybe he‘ll consider postponing that haircut - just for a little while longer.

this is what i have in mind if you need a visual for the hair LMFAO

[phyrestartr]

Deal With It (P.1) | Gojo x M!Reader |

W/C: 2.8k C/W: depictions of self-harm, depictions of depression, poor mental health, stress, mental illness, arranged marriage, hostile relationships, smoking, language, violence Tags: SFW, hurt/comfort, drama, canon-typical violence, character growth, eventual romantic feelings, eventual fluff and good vibes, kouhai gojo, senpai reader, plot and lore

Tag List: @pleniluneg4ze @aizen-lover @easnowpw @tomiokasecretlover @snoweclipsese @mef0rg0r @soulsire @kiiyoooo @reiluvr @fricking-ur-mom @cucumbertoptier @enchantingkitty @mira-la-sol @deepestartisanhumanoidshark @animadi888 @cloudserenity @sageofspades @dietothemusic @prettorett @animadi888 @playboygeniusphilanthropist @chikai-k @starrykie

1.

“So, you really don’t care what he thinks?” Shoko asked as you lit her cigarette. “Even I think he was kinda harsh.”

You pocketed your lighter and leaned back against the cold college walls. “He’s got a thing for that black-haired guy.”

“Getou.” 

“Sure.” You shrugged and tried to rub the ache out of your neck as you stared up at the bleak, grey skies. The air reeked of petrichor. Thankfully you’d brought an umbrella that day. 

“And you’re not bothered he’s in love with Getou?” Your friend continued, her cute bobbed haircut swaying with the tilt of her head. She always looked so charming like that, when she was being a mischievous brat while pretending to be anything but. 

“Dunno.” And that was the truth. “He’s not even my type. I’d rather hitch up with someone like you or Nanami. Someone less annoying. Less loud-mouthed.” 

“Ooh, that'll hurt his ego.” Shoko smiled. “Well, guess you'll have to learn to deal with it.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your face as you nodded. “Yeah.”

–

“Forever is a long time,” You mumbled, leaning your forehead against the cool touch of the window. Rain pittered and pattered, exploding off the glass like trillions of kamikaze planes. It almost birthed some sort of hurt in your chest. Best not to dwell on it, you decided.

“Hah? Are you talking to yourself again like a weirdo?” The one and only Gojo Satoru yowled before kicking you in the rear like a petulant child. “Pft! Figures. Knowing my luck, I would have to get married to a creeper.” 

“Even if you married Getou, you'd still be marrying a creep,” you grumbled, dusting the dirt off your behind. “You need something? Or did you harass me just for the fun of it?” 

You heard Gojo, your fiancé, scoff and shuffle behind you. “I just wanted to remind you to humble yourself! Just because I'm forced to marry you doesn't mean you're accomplished or cool or anything, got it?” 

Being in his presence had you craving a cigarette. “Yeah, got it.” 

“And Suguru's better than you,” he added, aloof voice bowing down beneath hardened, steeled words. “Don't forget that either.” 

You bit down on your cheek to ward away the heat building under your skin, the magma sinking deep into your eyesockets and threatening to pour down your esophagus. The taste of iron washed against your tongue, and you released your flesh from between your molars. Sometimes, you wanted to keep boring down on yourself to see how much you could really take, but a fear of the answer too often made you think twice. 

“This is starting to bore me,” you said, tilting your head as you caught a flicker of red in your rain-muddied reflection. You touched your fingers to your tongue and found blood coating the tips. 

“Pah. I was gonna say the same!” You watched his reflection turn away. “Good luck trying to impress me.” 

I'm not interested. You watched him walk away, slouching and with his hands in his pockets like he was emulating some kind of yankii character. He might have fit the bill, if he hadn't had such a ridiculous, brat side to him.

Just deal with it. You wiped the red on your uniform with a sigh. Tomorrow's a new day. 

—

“Sorry about Satoru,” Getou said. He'd found you outside, tucked close against the stone wall with a cigarette in your mouth as you watched the downpour. Apparently, he liked the rain, too. 

“You don't need to apologize,” you said after a drag. “It's not your fault.” Probably. 

The younger sorcerer smiled a little bit wider. “In a way, it almost is; Satoru wouldn't be coming after you if it weren't for my, ah, sheer existence, I guess you could say.”

You shrugged. “You didn't ask to exist,” you said, secretly cringing as the words left your mouth.

Getou laughed. “Ho, that's a good point, I didn't think about it that way.” Another chuckle left him as he leaned against the wall beside you and stared at the rain. “It's definitely Satoru's fault, then.”

You hummed in agreement and offered him a cigarette. He blinked, but plucked one out of the box and looked it over before fumbling to tuck the end into his mouth as you held the lighter's flame out for him. You blocked the wind as he leaned in and inhaled deeply until the butt hissed to life with molten red. A beat later, Getou sputtered and coughed wildly, waving his hand through the air to dismiss your stare and the smoke's mockery. 

You frowned. “You don't smoke?” 

Your company wheezed and laughed, leaning back against the wall with a humbled smile. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he said. “You and Ieiri—I feel like I never see either of you without a cigarette.”

“Life’s stressful, I guess.” You looked at the half-spent smoke in your hand, exhaling smoke through your nose as you thought.

You saw Getou lean in out of the corner of your eye. His dark hair brushed against your shoulder, though it could have just been the wind, too. “It doesn't affect you?” 

“Shoko reverses the negatives,” you grumbled. You stuck the cigarette into the corner of your mouth again before pocketing your hands. “Lung cancer would be an easier out than getting ripped to shreds by a curse, besides.” 

“Ho? You think so?” Getou teased. “You don't think you'd go mad? Laying in bed, suffocating in your own body, just waiting to die?” 

You shrugged. “It's a human way to go, at least. Random. Maybe self-imposed, sometimes. But…normal.” 

Time slowed for a second as Getou stared at you. You hazarded a look for once in your life, and caught the enigmatic thing's warm, obsidian eyes. They gave you pause, made you wonder, sent your mind reeling as you caught glints of jagged edges disrupting smooth, volcanic glass. 

“Are you alright?” You asked without thinking. 

Getou blinked, then smiled. “I just think you're interesting, senpai.” He glanced down at the smoldering stick caught between his fingers. “It's a surprise, to be honest. I think Satoru'll be in good hands with you.” 

You stared down at the puddle pooling around your boots. Another self stared back, his image ruined and distorted by raindrops crashing into him, yet he was still clearer than the version trapped in your skull. Maybe the mirrored image was your real self, and you were just the distortion. “I don't have much of a choice, I guess. But I’ll try my best.”

“That’s all we can really hope for with partners, right?” 

“Right.” A moment passed. “You’re oddly okay with this.” 

“I’m not taking it personally,” Getou said. “How can I? Neither of you want to do this, anyway—you hardly even tolerate each other in the first place, and now Satoru’s gone extra crazy about it.” 

The ground felt a little more solid under your feet, and you were a little more real, after those words were spoken. Even the reflection in the puddle grew clearer, revealing fresh colours once concealed by grey thoughts. Something would drain the world of its saturation again, but that moment would stay with you until that day came. 

“Thanks,” you said with some difficulty. “The thought’s appreciated.” 

“It’s the least I can do.” His hand clasped your shoulder and squeezed gently. You forced yourself not to shrink away from it like a slug trying to flee a grain of salt. “Thanks for putting up with him, senpai. Most people aren’t so charitable. Besides,” he said, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush against your ear, “I get whatever Satoru gets, and you get whatever he has, no? What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours, and all that?”

Heat scattered across your face and prickled the length of your spine. You were foolish to forget that Getou was a menace, just like Gojo, yet somehow more lethal. 

“Sure.” You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t look at him. It’d be a death sentence. “You’ll get as much as he gets, I guess.”

Getou chuckled and backed off. “We’ll see.”

–

Gojo threw open the door to your room and zoomed inside, socked feet sliding against smooth hardwood. “It’s me!” 

He slipped and fell as soon as you turned to look at him. “It’s you.” You snatched your walkman out of the air as it tipped off your desk following the sorcerer's tumble. “Why is it you?”

“Rude!” Gojo spat out in-between his pained whining. “I'm your fiancé! I'm allowed to be here!”

“That's not really how that works.” You watched Gojo melt into a starfish, stomach down, cheek smooshed against the floorboards. 

And you turned away, back to your work of flipping through astronomical charts and comparing the dates and info with the briefs sent to you, the one third year who bothered to stay. The admins relied on you too much, yet thankfully left the role of guidance counselor and teacher to someone older and more tolerant like Yaga. Still, the sparks of hope that were Utahime and Shoko promised some future relief for—

“Mou, why aren't you more concerned for your fiancé’s well-being?” Gojo whined. 

“I'm more concerned about your sudden desire for me to be concerned,” you offered. 

Gojo gasped and sat up in a whirlwind. “I never said I desired your concern! That's so salacious.” 

“Is this because Getou spoke with me?” You asked, leaning back into your chair with a sigh. 

“No!” He rebuked. “Maybe,” he said. “You better not be trying to win him over ‘cause you’re jealous.” 

“I’m not interested in him,” you snapped. “I’m not interested in you.”

“Hmmm, sounds fake. Everyone loves me.”

“Right.”

“You think there’s any chance they’ll call off the engagement?” 

“No.” 

“Can’t you, like, look into the future and figure it out?” 

You frowned and sent him a look. “What?”

Gojo swayed side to side, hands tucked in the middle of his criss-crossed legs like a kindergartener. “Isn’t that your thing?” He huffed. “Doing pre-op stuff, predicting future events, never really going out on missions ‘cause you’re low-key kinda weak in the field?” A ghoulish snicker left him. “I mean, you’re waaay weaker than me, so—”

“I don’t divine for myself,” you said, voice sharp and jagged. “I help avoid disasters. I help foresee assignment outcomes and the best way to move towards or away from them. I don’t—” You swallowed and caught your breath. “I don’t divine the fates of people.” 

“Well, maybe you should,” Gojo said, sobering slightly. “I don’t wanna do this, you don’t wanna do this, why don’t you just check and see how we can avoid it, huh? This is kind of a natural disaster in its own way.” 

“It’s just an arrangement,” you rasped. “You’ll get over it.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” Gojo frowned in return. “I’m gonna be the strongest sorcerer in the world. I don’t have to settle for an arranged marriage.” 

Your heart thudded dully in the back of your skull, its rising pace shaking the cage keeping it safe. Your throat tightened, too, while your thoughts warped and rippled into one another like your reflection, unable to stay whole under the devastation of falling rain, until you heard everything but nothing at once.

Your face must have done something strange for Gojo to look at you like you were a kicked puppy. You hated it, the way his expression flickered and the way his posture lost its self-righteous poise despite his childish way of sitting. He looked less-than. You didn’t mean to make him look that way. 

“I—” He tried, but you raised a hand. He fell silent. 

“I’ll look into it,” you said. “You’ll know if I find anything.”

If Gojo said anything more, you didn't hear it. You shut the rest of the world out and lost yourself in the positions of planets and the elements of each sorcerer available for future missions, comparing and contrasting the direction of energies to decide who would be best suited for which job. Losing your mind in the charts and data calmed your mind and spirit, easing you back down to an equilibrium until the sun rose again and you’d forgotten the turmoil of the hours before. 

Morning already. You squinted looking out your window and closed the blinds with a quick snap. Right after the blinds settled, you heard a snore. 

Gojo Satoru was asleep in your bed. His gangly arms hugged a pillow to his chest as he laid on his side, facing your way. The odd sight of peace on the younger sorcerer's face drew you in, bringing you close enough to get a good look at the snowy lashes resting against porcelain skin. He always looked odd to you, as though he were some kind of inhuman human, like an alien trying to put on the guise of your fellow terrans. But he was very much human; the glimpses caught of him during a distantly shared childhood proved as much. 

I don’t wanna do this, you don’t wanna do this, why don’t you just check and see how we can avoid it, huh? 

You'd never tell him you already tried to divine that. You could never relay properly how your mind burned with ways to discount your work and force self-doubt into what you knew to be true time after time after time; you were going to marry him. There was no way out. 

But there were still some things you could judge.

You sat down at your desk and skimmed through files until you happened upon Getou Suguru. Your heart hit your ribs a little faster, a little harder, as you found his birthdate and recognized his element as metal. It suited him. Gojo, on the other hand, held earth energy. That coupled with the more Western-normalized fire sign Sagittarius, explained him in a way that could be regarded as violating by those who didn't understand. 

You rubbed your brows and squeezed your eyes closed until sparking colours and inky black splotches danced against your eyelids. Charting the stars, understanding people, contrasting energies and suggesting changes to ensure favourable outcomes—all were the culmination of onmyoudou, the ancient art that carved the path and existence for jujutsu, but people feared an onymoji’s ability to read people more than the destruction caused by sorcerers. Onmyoji helped empires move, assisted in bringing them good fortune and positive outcomes; they could foretell what a person should and shouldn’t do. Clairvoyance born from calculations, and the wielding of shikigami by those clairvoyants, reeked of power and the abuse of it. 

Curiosity wrenched your eyes back open. You blinked away the stars and darkness until your vision and mind cleared enough to let you draw up a timeline of events and planets you’d already looked over a thousand times. 

You frowned and double checked, triple checked, quadruple checked the facts after a first look. You glanced at birthdates again and again. You looked for anomalies in the calendar and cross-referenced your sources. All stayed the same, all were as they’d been five and sixty minutes ago—you were too good at your job to be wrong, yet you still always held out hope for errors and your own incompetency. 

You leaned back in your chair and picked at a hangnail. You can always redirect energy for the sake of a client, you recalled; your mother had taught you as much. It might not be perfect, but we can try. You pulled at the sliver of skin until you gouged it out of your finger, leaving a bloody wound and a shred of relief in its wake.

You jumped as your door slid open to reveal Yaga. His train of thought stopped dead in its tracks as he spied the bratty Gojo curled up in your bed, snoozing without a care.

“What the hell is he doin’ here?” Your teacher groused. 

“He came in to harass me, I guess,” you said. “Then apparently fell asleep when I started ignoring him.” 

“Hah. Yeah, that kid can't function unless someone's giving him attention.” Your superior sighed and crossed his arms. “Anyway, you have those predictions?” 

“Yeah, I—yeah, just one second.” You rubbed your eyes and begged the rest of your lifeforce to lock it in as you saved documents and compiled them in an email for all the higher-ups to view. Something about the process made your spine rattle; it must have been the fear of not CC-ing someone by accident. “Sent.”

Yaga checked his phone as it dinged. He took a moment to skim through the forecast and nodded, letting you stand impatiently before him. 

“Looks like you touched on everything,” he said as he tucked his phone away. “Good job. Now get some rest, you look like shit.” 

Yaga took his leave, and you stared at the oversized baby hogging your bed. 

Rest. You nudged and pushed Gojo into the wall before collapsing beside him. Right.

[togenabi]

my home is where your heart is

inumaki toge x reader

♡—your things keep winding up in toge's place, and his things in yours. what are you going to do about it?

word count♡— 1k

genre♡— fluff. pure fluff

content notes♡— blushy toge, established relationship, moving in together, dancing in the kitchen in the refrigerator light vibes, megumi gives advice

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is an overdue request! anon, if you see this I'm sorry this took me a while! I kept it short, but did not hold back on the fluff. please enjoy!

“Toge,” You call for your boyfriend, who is currently sprawled over your couch. “Have you seen my charger?”

Toge looks up from his phone, pausing for a moment to think. After briefly looking confused, he lights up and lifts his hands to sign, ‘I think you left it at my place.’

“Ah,” Not again. Must this always happen? “Remind me to get it back next time we’re there.”

He nods and gets up, gesturing for you to hand over your phone. Toge moves to charge it with his own charger.

“Thanks.” You kiss his cheek, relishing the way he blushes. Flustered, it takes him more than one try to plug the charger into the wall socket. You can’t help but shake your head at him. He’s just too cute sometimes.

About the case of things going missing, however, it happens to Toge too.

You were cleaning up your apartment when it suddenly started raining. Thoughts of Toge in the rain immediately caused you to worry, but you managed to calm down somewhat. He should be fine since he has an umbrella.

Only, he doesn’t. You stare at the compact, foldable umbrella in horror. It’s positioned beside yours at your apartment’s entryway.

Toge, completely drenched, arrives at your place an hour or so after that. Luckily, you anticipated as much, and already had a change of clothes, towels, and warm food ready for him.

He gives you a kiss on the cheek this time, walking backwards into the bathroom, forming a heart with his hands and a goofy smile glowing on his face.

The more time you and Toge spent in each other’s places, the more your things seemed to shuffle about. Your book on his desk. His jacket in your closet. An accessory of yours on his bedside table. That snack he bought is somewhere in your cupboard. It was getting confusing, how your lives were getting tangled up in two separate places.

“The solution is obvious, isn’t it?” Megumi asks one night when you bumped into him at a convenience store. “Move in with him.”

“Oh.” Speechless, you can only blink at him in response. “We’ve never really talked about that.”

Megumi shrugs, “Sounds like that talk’s overdue, if you ask me.”

And maybe it is, because you’re seriously considering it when you can’t find a single pen in your apartment. Why do ballpens vanish when you need them, and why are there so many of them when you don’t?

But of course, you find your favorite ballpen in a mug Toge had turned into a pen holder, sitting with his other pens and markers.

You must have been staring at the pen—at his desk—for quite some time. It makes Toge look at you with concern in his eyes.

“Takana?” He asks, checking on you while resting a hand on your arm.

Snapping out of it, you try to gather your courage to bring up living together. There’s no reason for him to say no, right? And you’d be fine whichever place he chooses. Or maybe, you could meet in the middle and  look for somewhere new?

The thought of apartment hunting with Toge strangely sends butterflies in your stomach. But before you get ahead of yourself, you have to properly ask him about it first.

“What do you think about living together?” You blurt out, and your heartbeat feels rapid and unsteady. Suddenly, it feels like you’re confessing to him all over again.

Toge breathes out a laugh, pulling you into his arms. Nestling his head into the crook of your neck, he accepts. “Shake.” 

“Really?” Stunned that it was that easy, it takes you a second before you return his embrace. “Where should we go?”

He pulls back to kiss the tip of your nose cutely. Smiling, he motions to sign, ‘Wherever you want! I’ll follow you anywhere.’

It takes several weeks of planning and headaches, but you and Toge manage to find a new home. It’s close by, still in the same neighborhood that you’re used to. You didn’t want to move too far from this community and your loved ones. 

Other than that, your main goal was to find a place with more space than either of your previous residences. You wanted to organize storage properly. Contrary to your expectations and true to his word, Toge wasn’t picky at all. He was just happy to always be close to you.

As you were unpacking food and supplies in the kitchen, you looked over at your boyfriend. He was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, configuring the wifi. 

“Toge, should we have food delivered? Or would you like to cook in the new kitchen?”

Mouthing, he responds, ‘Cook.’

You gasp, delighted he chose so. “Okay! Let me know if I can help you.”

He quickly fiddles with the wifi router before waving at you to come over. You laugh, “I meant I’d help with the cooking, but sure.”

Toge gets up, taking one of your hands in his. He presses something on his phone before reaching for the other.

The expression on his face is playful and sweet as he places your hands behind his neck; your fingertips brush against the ends of his hair. Music starts playing the moment he holds onto your waist. 

It’s strange, nothing has changed about the room. You’re still surrounded by countless unpacked boxes from the move, and yet the apartment has never felt so vibrant. 

Is it the music? The song he played fills the space and bounces back from every corner, breathing life into your new home.

It could also be the way he dances with you, making you feel like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. No other’s company you’d rather have.

Or, it must be all of that and how he looks at you while he mouths, ‘I love you.’ Because you love him too.

A few days later, while out on a date, Toge asks if you’ve seen his charger.

You hum in thought. “Did you leave it at home?”

Amused, he looks at you funny before pointing to your heart. ‘Is it in there, then?’

“I don’t understand.” You admit, waiting for him to elaborate.

‘My home is where your heart is.’

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

taglist: @flowerjun @songsofadelaide-archive @mellozhi @luccaaedd @ihaveanexistentialcrisis @starszns @msmisasoup @appalost @akakaze @isentsworld @hellyyy06 @lownna

[satorusugurugurl]

JJK Men: Your Costume!

Summary: JJK Men find your Halloween Costume a bit distracting. 😏

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Suguru Geto, Fushiguro Toji,

Warnings: Language, suggestiveness, kind smutty, sexting, costumes, role play, (little religion mentions stuff idk)

A/N: Kinktober Day Twenty-Three! Your Costume?! A SMAU for Kinktober! 🎃

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918 @draculemon

SMAU Tag List:

@sad-darksoul

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

NANAMI BAE GET OUT OF HERE AND COME BACK HOME THE KIDS MISS YOU. COME BACK.

[k-nayee]

Cursed in the Spider-Verse JJK x Spider-Verse ii

wc: 3.7k a/n: lol, once again a part-two series became part three.

Jujutsu Kaisen x Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The doors to the Jujutsu High teachers’ lounge slammed open so hard they bounced back with a loud bang.

Nanami's brow rose in irritation from his seat at the table with the daily newspaper in hand while Yaga paused in his knitting, his fingers halting over the newest cursed doll he had been conjuring up.

Even Gojo, who was laying sideways on the couch with a cup of bubble tea, tilted his head curiously at the sudden intrusion.

Itadori stumbled in first, his breaths ragged, his face pale as his wide eyes darted around the room. Megumi followed close behind, his shoulders stiff with tension.

The previous warmth that filled the lounge stilled instantly.

"Heyyy!" Gojo's sing-song voice was the first to break the silence. "Look at you two! Did ____ beat you up in training or something?” His usual playful tone carried a smirk as he added, “Don’t tell me my favorite kouhai is out there gloating while you come running to cry like sore losers.”

At the mention of your name Itadori froze mid-wheeze, his eyes going wide. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Gojo’s smirk faded instantly, the playful edge in his tone faltering. "What happened?"

Nanami set down his papers with deliberate care as his narrowed gaze looked between the boys. Yaga had leaned back in his chair at this point, his usual firm expression growing darker as he took in the sight of them.

Itadori ran a shaky hand through his hair. "She...she's—"

“Move, move, move! Let me through!”

Nobara stormed in, dragging a thoroughly exasperated Maki behind her. The spectacled teen's hair was slightly mussed, her usually neat uniform wrinkled as she scowled.

“The fact I let you to drag me along this shit...” Maki muttered darkly, her voice laced with irritation.

“Yeah yeah whatever. You'd do anything for ____,” Nobara replied dismissively, her arms loaded with shopping bags.

Seconds later Panda and Inumaki followed them also carrying an array of bags. Panda, grinning like a child, sported a fuzzy white sweater that seemed just a size too small.

Meanwhile Inumaki had a pair of sleek sunglasses perched on his nose making him look unbothered and far too cool for the chaos he’d walked into.

“Yo! We’re back!” Panda announced proudly, holding up his bags. “Check it out—look at this sweater! So stylish right?”

“Salmon,” Inumaki added with a nod of approval, adjusting his sunglasses.

Nobara ignored them, her sharp eyes scanning the room until she landed on Megumi and Itadori. Her brow furrowed immediately.

“Speaking of ____, where's my favorite partner-in-crime?” she asked as she dropped the bags unceremoniously to the floor. “I found the cutest top and sweaters for her—she's gonna love it!”

Itadori flinched again, his face twisting into an expression of pure guilt. The silence that followed her question was deafening.

Nobara’s playful tone vanished in an instant. “Where is she?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

Megumi took a deep breath in attempt to keep his voice low and controlled. “The mission we were sent on...The Grade 2—”

“Grade 2?!” Itadori interrupted, his voice rising as his frustration boiled over. “It was not a Grade 2! That thing was way above our level—”

Thunk!

Nobara slammed her fist down on Itadori’s head making him stumble forward. “Shut up and let him finish idiot!”

Itadori groaned rubbing the back of his head. “Fine fine…”

The argument sparked a chain reaction.

“What kind of curse was it?” Maki asked sharply.

“Why didn't you call for backup?” Panda chimed in a scolding way.

“Salmon roe,” Inumaki added pointedly.

“Shut the hell up. All of you!”

The voice was gruff and mocking, its origin unmistakable as everyone turned their attention to Itadori’s cheek.

Sukuna’s mouth curled into a wicked grin, his crimson eye gleaming with malice.

“Finally,” he sneered, “I thought I was going to have to listen to you brats cry all night. The little broad? Yeah, she got sucked into a portal by a curse way out of your league.” He chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with derision. “Not that it matters. She’s probably dead by now.”

The room froze.

For a second no one moved. The weight of Sukuna’s words hanging in the air like a guillotine un—

“WHAT?!” The uncharacteristic outburst came from Inumaki, his usual restraint shattered in an instant.

"Dead?!" Nobara wailed, her arms flailing dramatically as she dropped her shopping bag. "Are you serious?! She’s not—she can’t be—”

“Shut up!” Maki’s voice cut through the chaos as she slammed a hand down on the table, her sharp glare pinning Sukuna in place. “What the hell do you mean ‘out of our league’?”

“Exactly what I said four-eyes,” Sukuna sneered, his gaze flicking lazily to her before settling back on the panicked group.

“Enough.”

The single word came from Yaga whose firm tone silenced the room instantly. His expression remained unreadable, but those who truly knew him noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw.

Megumi took a deep breath. “The curse...”

All eyes returned to ravenette. He looked down for a moment to collect his thoughts before raising his gaze once again.

“It wasn’t like anything we’ve fought before—much stronger than we anticipated," he began. "It could manipulate dimensions. The curse called itself Masato."

Nanami, who had remained silent up to this point, straightened slightly. "Masato? That name sounds familiar..."

"It wasn't normal," Megumi continued, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "It opened a portal right under her. We tried to stop it, but…” His voice trailed off as his composure wavered.

“She was gone,” Itadori finished weakly, voice barely above a whisper.

Gojo’s posture was unusually still. Even with his eyes covered, his displeasure was clear to see.

"Sukuna."

The atmosphere was cold, tense as Gojo turned his head toward Itadori—or more specifically toward the grinning mouth on his cheek. “You seem to know more than you’re letting on. Care to share with the class?”

Sukuna's mouth curled into a mockingly thoughtful smirk. "Maybe I do....maybe I don't."

The tension in the room grew so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Oh come one…” Gojo’s voice was light, though the edge in his tone was unmistakable. "This is the child of the Principle of Tokyo's Jujutsu High we're talking about! You’re really gonna tear this poor man’s family apart like that?”

Gojo tilted his head slightly toward Yaga who remained stone-faced. But the slight clenching of his hands as they rested on the desk betrayed the concern he wasn’t voicing

Sukuna’s grin widened. “Child huh? Could’ve sworn she was adopted.”

The air shifted.

Gojo took a step closer,his tone dropping to a dangerous calm. "Sukuna," he repeated the King of Curses name.

Sukuna chuckled tauntingly. "Or what? You’ll fight me? That's cute."

Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but a faint hum of cursed energy crackled in the air around him.

“If you know anything about how to get her back you’ll tell us,” he said, his voice colder now. There was no room for argument in his voice—it was an order.

The room felt frozen, it felt almost too tense to even breathe as the two powerhouses sized each other up.

For a moment Sukuna simply stared at Gojo, the grin never faltering. Then he let out a sinister laugh. "Fine fine. I'll tell you something...for a price."

"A price?" Gojo's gaze darkened, and a faint hum of cursed energy crackled in the air around him.

Sukuna's grin widened. "Nothing in this world is free Satoru. You want her back? It’s gonna cost you. And trust me…” His voice dropped, almost a purr. “The price won’t be cheap.”

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The cool night air nipped at your skin as you climbed in through Miles’ window, his hand firmly on the small of your back to help steady you.

He moved quickly, already crouching inside his dimly lit room as he pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shh!” he whispered barely above a breath. “Just a heads-up, my parents are not only super light sleepers, but also not cool with the whole sneaking-a-girl-through-my-window thing. So y’know, the whole interdimensional-traveler-from-an-anime-universe thing would probably make their heads explode.”

You shot him an unimpressed look, brushing the dust off your uniform as you landed softly on his carpet. “Noted,” you whispered back dryly as your eyes began to scan the room.

A small lone lamp in the corner casted a soft yellow glow over the space, illuminating the walls lines with posters of graffiti art, vibrant sketches, and a few music icons you vaguely recognized.

A cluttered desk sat in another corner, covered in half-filled sketchbooks, cans of spray paint, and what looked like a half-finished design he’d been working on.

The bed, unmade and covered in a navy-blue blanket, sat beneath a few shelves stacked with books, comics, and what looked like action figures.

Messy yes, but in a way that felt...lived in.

Miles scratched the back of his neck once he caught your staring, his lips twitching into a bashful smile.

“Uh yeah. Welcome to Casa Morales,” he gestures dramatically as he moved further into the room. “Not exactly Jujutsu High, but it’s home.”

You ignore his attempt at humor. Your body was still tense from the events of earlier, your mind racing to figure out where you were, what was going on, and—most importantly—who this boy was.

He offered you a small smile and gestured toward his bed. “You can sit here if you want.”

You didn’t move, choosing to stay near the window. “I’m fine standing. Just start talking.”

Miles blinked. “Right. Yeah. Okay, but first…” He reached up, tugging at the edge of his suit mask. And as the mask slipped off, you found yourself momentarily caught off guard once again.

The dim light in the room hit him differently.

His skin glowed warmly under the soft glow of the lamp and his honey-colored eyes sparkled with a kind of youthful energy that was hard to ignore. His hair was cut in a clean fade, the tight dark curls on top so fluffy and healthy it almost felt unfair.

He looked…boyish. Young. He couldn’t have been much older than you—sixteen at most.

And yet there was something about him that made you pause.

You realized you were staring, snapping yourself out of it, straightening and forcing your expression back into its usual guarded state.

“Stop stalling,” you fold your arms. “You still haven’t explained how you know everything about me.”

His smile turned sheepish.

“Fair point. Anyway, uh—come here!” He practically bounced toward the bookshelf above his bed.

You move over to his desk to lean against. “Alright Morales,” you said, quirking an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

Miles didn’t answer right away. Instead he squinted his eyes, scanning the shelves with a focused expression before letting out a triumphant, “Aha!”

Pulling out a comic book, he holds it up like it was a trophy.

“This,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement. “This is how.”

You tilt your head as you step closer to get a better look. Edges slightly worn from use, the glossy cover of the comic stared back at you causing your breath to hitch.

It was you.

The artwork was stunning as it captured you mid-action. Your figure stood in the center of the page, fiercely staring down the viewer with a vague smirk tugging at your lips.

Your hands were outstretched with cursed energy crackling around you as the world behind you was frozen solid—time itself locked under your control.

The title in bold letters read: Jujutsu Kaisen Gaiden: The Path of ____

“…What the hell is this?” you muttered, reaching out to take the book from him.

“That’s you,” Miles said proudly, grinning ear to ear. “The Jujutsu Kaisen manga is huge here. Like...huge. This issue is a special one—a sort of in-between-arcs, and it’s one of my favorites. I mean look at you! You look so badass.”

You hesitated before flipping it open, the pages feeling oddly heavy in your hands. The first panel was a memory—a scene you could never forget.

It was the day Yaga—Masamichi—took you in. You couldn’t have been older than seven, your small hands clutching a scarf too big for your neck as he knelt in front of you, his face kind but serious.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the page. You flipped to the next panel, your stomach twisting as you saw more memories.

The years you spent with Megumi flashed by—how he would summoning his shikigami for fun before you had mastered your freezing techniques, how you both used to hide under the school steps when you wanted to skip chores.

Another page.

The moment you met Yuji for the first time, your staff swinging toward him as he dodged at the last second. You remembered the way he grinned at you as though he hadn’t been intimidated in the slightest.

The panels flowed like a movie reel, showing moments you had long thought belonged to you alone:

Late nights spent sneaking extra snacks from the school kitchen with Megumi. A quiet moment in the garden where you sat with Yuji, his head tilted toward the sky as he talked about his grandpa’s last words.

Things that had happened in private. Moments you’d only shared with your closest friends.

It was all there...everything was there.

“This...this isn’t possible,” you whispered, your fingers trembling as you turned the pages. “How did you do all this?”

Miles was quiet for a moment as he shifted on his feet. “It wasn't me,” he said cautiously. “It was an manga artist, his name is Gege Akutami. I told you—you’re a character in my world. People read about you.”

You stared at him then down at the book in your hands. It was too much. It was all too much.

But then you reached the final pages of comic and your heart sank. The fight with Masato—the curse that had dragged you into this mess—was laid out in shocking detail.

You could see every strike, every movement, every moment you had shared with Yuji and Megumi as the three of you fought....

And then the panel of you falling into the portal.

Your hand was outstretched, reaching for Yuji and Megumi as they desperately reached back. The expression on your face—fear, determination, and sadness—was captured so vividly it made your stomach turn.

“That’s…that’s where it ends,” Miles said softly, pointing to the panel. “No one knows what happens after that. Been a huge cliffhanger for months actually.”

You slammed the comic shut, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“This is insane,” you muttered, your voice shaking. “How does your world know all of this? How can I be—” You stopped yourself, unable to even say the word.

“A character?” Miles offered gently. “I know it’s a lot. Believe me, I’d freak out too if I were in your shoes.”

You turned away as you clutch the book tightly. The fight, the portal, the look on Yuji and Megumi’s faces as you disappeared—it was all burned into your memory.

And now seeing it again, drawn on a comic page for strangers to consume as entertainment...

Before you could spiral too far, Miles grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward his desk.

“Hey hey—don’t get all gloomy on me now,” he said, his voice light and reassuring. “Let me show you something cool!”

You let him pull you along, your curiosity overriding the heaviness in your chest. He sits you down at his desk-chair and quickly wakes up his computer.

The screen flickered to life and he began typing furiously, pulling up tabs faster than you could process.

“Alright...check this out,” he said, spinning the monitor toward you.

You were met with endless fan art—your face in every style imaginable, from detailed realism to exaggerated chibi drawings.

One image showed you standing shoulder to shoulder with Megumi and Yuji, snowflakes falling around the three of you, while another depicted you mid-fight, your staff raised high and ice shards surrounding you like a storm.

“People love you,” Miles babbled as he scrolled through the images. “Look at this one—oh and this! And there are fan polls too. Like, tons of them. Who’s stronger, you or Gojo? Who’s your best ship? People even debate your favorite food. It’s wild!”

“Ship?” you echoed, leaning closer.

“Yeah, like who you’re supposed to end up with romantically.”

Your brain short-circuited for a moment, but before you could demand clarification, something on the screen caught your eye.

You point at the screen. “What’s that one?”

“Oh that’s a fan theory about your technique,” Miles explained, clicking on the post. “People think you’re gonna unlock some next-level time-freezing ability soon. They call it Chrono Dominion. Sounds pretty sick right?”

You could only blink. “I don’t even know what that is.”

Miles laughed. “Yeah well fans go crazy with theories. Oh and here’s your wiki page!” He clicked on another tab, revealing a detailed biography filled with stats, trivia, and even a popularity ranking.

You squinted at the screen, your voice flat. “Why does it say my favorite food is taiyaki? That’s not true.”

Miles grinned sheepishly. “Uh…artistic license?”

As he scrolled, a tab briefly flashed across the screen. Your caught glimpse of it made your brows furrow—Rule 34: ____ [NSFW], it blinked innocently among the others.

“Wait—what was that?” you asked, leaning forward and clicking.

Miles froze, his entire body stiffening as an array of pictures appear. “Nothing! It’s nothing!” he nearly shrieks, quickly closing the tab with a flustered expression.

Your eyes narrowed. “Was that…? Was that...hentai?!”

“No! No no no!” Miles said as he waves his hands frantically. His face flushed as he laughed nervously. “I mean not on purpose! It’s—it’s the internet! Stuff like that just happens! I wasn’t even looking at it—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You can feel your face heat up as you turn away horrified. “What are you, some kind of perv?”

“I’m not a pervert!” he exclaimed, practically falling out in desperation to defend himself. “I swear it wasn’t me—it was the algorithm!”

“Yeah the algorithm,” You mutter as you glare at him.

Desperate to change the subject Miles suddenly blurts out, “So! Anyway about the love triangle!”

“Love triangle?” Your glare softened slightly, replaced by confusion. “What love triangle?”

“You know,” he said, brightening. “The big Jujutsu Kaisen love triangle!”

You tilted your head, still not understanding. “You mean...between Gojo, Geto, and Shoko?”

Miles paused, looking at you like you’d just sprouted another head. “What? No, I’m not talking about—”

“I knew it!” you interrupted, your entire demeanor shifting in an instant. Your eyes lit up, sparkling with excitement as you leaned forward. “Me and Nobara totally have theories about them! Like, okay, listen—”

“Wait hold on—” Miles tries to cut in, “That’s not—”

“We’ve been piecing it together forever right?” you said, your excitement spilling over as you launched into full gossip mode. “The way Gojo and Geto used to look at each other? Please, there’s no way that was just friendship. And Shoko totally knows—she’s in on whatever they had going on. Like c'mon it's sooo obvious.”

Miles opened his mouth to object again but you weren’t done.

“Seriously,” your tone grew more animated. “There’s no way it was just a friendship. I mean, Nobara and I have been compiling clues for months. And then there was this one time Shoko made this offhand comment about how they used to share—”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Miles finally interrupted, holding up his hands to stop your tirade. “First of all there is no Shoko in their relationship.”

You paused, blinking. “Wait...really?”

“Of course,” Miles said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone knows Geto and Gojo are the OTP of the century—GGs for life. Nobody can come between that.”

“Oh...” Your shoulders slumped slightly, a pout forming on your lips. “So...you weren’t talking about them?”

“Nope,” He pops the p. “I was talking about the real love triangle.”

You frowned. “What real love triangle?”

Leaning casually against his desk, honey-colored eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know—the one between you, Itadori, and Megumi.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” Miles continues nonchalantly. “It’s a huge deal in the fandom. Like one of the biggest debates in the entire series.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait hold on! What?! No no no! They’re my best friends! That’s it!”

Miles shrugged, clearly amused by your reaction. “Hey that’s how it starts. You spend all your time together, fighting side by side, sharing moments—all that good stuff. People can’t help but see the tension.”

“What tension?!” you demanded, your voice rising slightly.

“Exactly!” He snapped his fingers. “That’s what makes it so great. It’s subtle! It’s all in the looks and little moments. You don’t even realize it’s happening, but the fans? Oh they see it. The angst, the chemistry, the possibilities.”

You backed away, shaking your head as your mind spiraled into chaos. “When would there even be time for tension? Between fighting curses and almost dying, there’s no room for—” You cut yourself off with a groan.

Miles, utterly unbothered, grinned wider. “I mean you’ve got to admit you three are pretty iconic. A girl stuck between two dudes who are both crazy loyal to her? People eat that stuff up. Ultimate poly ship.”

Your jaw dropped. “Poly—what?! We're friends! That’s all! No one’s stuck between anyone!”

Miles raises an eyebrow like he didn’t believe you for a second. “You can be friends and still have romantic tension. That’s like half of anime.”

You pressed your hands to your temples. “Love? No. No way. It’s not like that. It’s never been like that!”

Miles just leaned against his desk as he continue to watch your internal meltdown. “Man I wish I could take a picture of this reaction. You’re so in denial. The fandom would eat this up.”

You glared at him, pointing your staff in his direction. “Say one more thing and I’ll destroy your stupid laptop.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay okay. But seriously though...you’ve got a lot of fans rooting for you. It’s kind of cool don’t you think?”

You groaned at his words. “I can’t believe this.”

Slumping into the desk chair, your head bury into your hands. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Miles smirked. “Worse than being sucked into another dimension?”

“…Okay, second worst.”