#gojo doesn’t let himself process things and | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joemama-2 · 3 months ago

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"are you the fairy?"

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: You meet Gojo Satoru in a place untouched by time, where his laughter rings through empty streets and his hands chase yours like a promise he fully intends to keep. He is younger, reckless with his love, blind to the weight of the years that separate you—years that have taught you that love is not always meant to be kept. You let yourself have him anyway, knowing all the while that his future is stretching toward a horizon you cannot follow. When the time comes, you do what must be done—let him free.

wc: 7.3k

tags/warnings: angst, eventual comfort, suggestive content, older! reader, dividers by @/cafekitsune, HOPEFULLY PROOFREAD ENOUGH :(

Aging. A fear most people have. The fear of growing old, growing weaker, needing others to rely on for simple tasks, no longer being in your ‘prime’, and of course—the grey hairs. While it can be argued that aging is a natural, human process; it can also be argued that no one ever really wants to grow old. No one wants to see everything they knew and loved vanish before their own two deteriorating eyes, no one wants to become just a distant memory. But no one wants to be immortal either. It’s a weird push and pull, leaving humans with only one choice: enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of your life.

And so, that’s what you have been doing.

Graduating, getting a nice paying job, having a good place, traveling the world, making a name for yourself, being…happy. Sure, you’ve made friends and connections, but none of those amount to being in the peaceful solitude of your lonesome. You’ve faced adversaries in your life, and you’ve overcome them—that’s what making the most out of your life means. But you know what doesn’t fall under that category?

Allowing yourself to fall in love with a man almost two decades younger than you.

But with life comes spontaneous events, debating the pros and cons and wondering the ‘what ifs’.

And what if—against all logic, against every carefully laid plan—you let yourself have him? What if you ignore the whispers in your mind that warn of fleeting youth, of inevitable goodbyes, of the cruel march of time that will leave you grasping at something you were never meant to keep? Gojo Satoru is reckless in his affection, undeterred by the years between you, pressing himself into your life with an audacity that makes it impossible to push him away. He tells you that love doesn’t care for numbers, that age is nothing more than an arbitrary construct, and when he looks at you with that unwavering gaze, you almost believe him.

Almost.

You’re forty-five when you meet him, he’s nothing but a young and adventurous thirty-year-old. You remember being thirty.

“Are you from here?” you asked, resting your palm against your cheek. The coldness of the bar’s countertop sits underneath your elbow—you regard him with a curious gaze. The first thing you noticed was the pretty eyes he had. The next was his smile—that handsome smile that was doing weird things to your heart. You remember your late husband smiling at you like that every day, every chance he got. Your lip quirks up.

“No, I’m from Japan,” he replies smoothly, jutting his chin in your direction. “And you?”

You tell him.

“Oh, that’s nice. So, what are you doing all the way here?”

“Vacation.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Pretty well. Italy is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

A cheesy pick-up line you’re more than accustomed to. You save his awkwardness with a small laugh, eyebrow raising. “Thank you,” you glance down at the dark liquid in your cup, swirling its contents. “Though you aren’t the first to tell me that.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick with the weight of history you’ve long since buried. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? To be flattered but not fooled, to hear compliments that once would have made your heart race but now only bring a faint ache, like a ghost brushing past your skin. You didn’t expect to be here, sitting in this foreign bar, in this foreign city, drinking away the remnants of a life you thought you’d left behind—no more waiting for a man to come home, no more running on borrowed time. And yet, here he is, his smile still holding the weight of something undeniably fresh, something he hasn’t yet had time to tarnish with the passing years.

He chuckles, and it’s sincere. Like he knows how to handle this situation and like he’s done it a hundred times before—charming the older woman, never realizing the danger he’s flirting with. You can’t help but notice how easily he fits into this moment, how the energy between you feels almost too comfortable for something so unexpected. His youth, his vitality—it’s intoxicating, and yet, you know it’s only a matter of time before you have to draw the line, to remind yourself that he’s playing with something far more fragile than he understands.

You meet his eyes again, and for a second, you let yourself indulge. He’s not just handsome; he’s magnetic. And though you’ve seen his type before—young, reckless, full of life—there’s something different about him. It’s that smile, that easy confidence as if the world is nothing but a playground for him to conquer. Your heart stirs involuntarily, the edges of something you thought was long gone starting to flutter back to life.

"So, do you always travel alone?" you ask, your voice a little softer now, more curious than before.

His grin widens, pleased by the shift in your tone. “Not usually, but this time I decided to take some time for myself. I needed a change of scenery.” He leans in a little, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. "It's nice to get away from it all, you know? To meet people who don't know your story."

The irony of his words doesn’t escape you. Here you are, a stranger in a new city, with a lifetime of stories you no longer tell, and yet, his openness makes you feel like you’re both speaking the same unspoken language. You could tell him everything, share the years of love and loss, of heartache and healing, but you don’t. You keep it hidden, tucked away where only time and memory can touch it.

“That sounds familiar,” you say quietly, glancing down at your glass again. Your fingers trace the rim absently. “Sometimes it's the only way to find peace." You don’t know why you’re telling him this. It’s not as though you’ve shared your soul with a stranger in a bar before. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something open and unafraid, that makes you think—just for a moment—that maybe this conversation, this meeting, isn’t entirely by chance. Something you haven’t felt in…a long time.

“Do you usually travel alone?”

You hum. “I do now.”

“Why now?”

“Because my husband doesn’t come along with me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He sips from his own cup, but when he puts it back down, its fizziness tells you it’s just coke.

You take a moment to reply, unsure if you should trauma dump on a stranger. But he did ask. “Because he’s dead,” you simply comment, leaning back in your stool and gauging his reaction.

But he doesn’t show a face of surprise or a face of regret. He doesn’t offer his unwanted apology. He nods, humming softly in thought. But his eyes change—and you think for a second that it looks like a silent sense of understanding—like he’s lost someone too before. “And what was his name?”

Your cheeks pinch up, smile widening in fondness. Looking down at your left hand that once housed a beautiful, golden ring. “Masamichi.”

There’s a stillness in the air for a second, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy but rather reverent, as if time itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your words. You look at him through the corner of your eye, seeing how his gaze softens—not with pity, but with something deeper, something far more intimate. It’s the kind of understanding that doesn’t come from words, but from shared experiences, and you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, in some quiet corner of his heart, he knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but there’s something in the way he leans forward that tells you he’s listening in a way that feels different than the usual casual conversations you’ve had with strangers. His eyes are fixed on you, almost as though he’s waiting for you to continue, to say something more, but he doesn’t push. He waits—patiently, and respectfully. "Masamichi," he repeats the name softly, as if he’s testing it on his tongue as if it’s a secret he’s now been entrusted with. “That’s a really cool name, sounds like he was a hardass.”

You chuckle lightly and nod, not trusting yourself to speak again for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He was, but he had his moments.”

“When were those?”

“When he’d call me pretty names.”

“Like?”

You bite your lip, smile wavering a bit as you recount ever beautiful name he used to call you. One always stuck out. “Well, he used to call me a fairy.”

He chuffs. “Why a fairy?”

"He told me I was delicate, elusive, like something too beautiful to be real. He used to say I’d flown in from some distant place, where the sky was always clear and the air was always fresh." The words feel like they’ve drifted in from a different lifetime, a time when love was a constant companion, not a faint, distant echo. You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. "I think he liked that idea, that I wasn’t tied down to anything—just... floating through life, free. He said I made him believe in things he never thought possible."

His gaze softens as he watches you, leaning a little closer now as if drawn into the quiet weight of your story. "That’s beautiful," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds like he saw you in a way no one else could."

You nod, the memory of his warm words filling the space between you. "He did. And sometimes... sometimes I felt like I was a fairy, too. Like I didn’t really belong to this world. But when he called me that, it made me feel like I was meant to be somewhere, meant to be his." A quiet moment hangs between you, the air heavy with the soft intimacy of shared vulnerability. You meet his eyes, feeling an unexpected connection—the kind of unspoken understanding that can only exist between people who have known the depths of love and loss.

Then, just as you’re about to pull back, he asks, with a gentle curiosity, “Do you still believe in fairies?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. The question seems simple enough. You shrug, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I don't know if I believe in them, but... I like to think that maybe they’re real, in some way. In the things we can’t see, in the moments that take our breath away."

His eyes seem to light up, almost as if he’s surprised by your answer. There’s a long beat of silence before his lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes. "Maybe you’re still a fairy, then," he says, voice warm with something like wonder.

You shake your head. "Yeah, maybe."

The words hang between you, filled with something gentle, something fleeting but real. You feel the stirrings of a connection, fragile and unexpected, like the wingbeats of a fairy. There’s a hollow space in your chest where his memory used to sit, and it takes everything in you not to let it show, not to let the quiet ache spill over. The ring on your finger is long gone, but the phantom of it lingers—an unspoken promise that can never be fulfilled, a history you no longer share with anyone. “What about you?” You shift the conversation, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of vulnerability you’re teetering on. “Do you have someone, someone you’ve loved the way you were loved?”

His smile falters a tad, a flash of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia—passing through his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the easy grin you’ve already grown accustomed to—the one that doesn’t let anyone get too close. But the silence that follows speaks volumes, and you almost feel like you’ve crossed some invisible line. Fearing that you’ve peeked into a part of him he didn’t mean nor want to reveal. "I did," he says quietly, almost to himself, the words hanging between you both like a secret. “But sometimes, we love people in ways they can’t love us back.”

The weight of his words sits heavily in the space between you. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that contradicts his earlier bravado, and you find yourself wondering how much more of him there is behind that smile, behind the charming facade. In that moment, you see something that mirrors your own grief, your own loneliness, and it’s unsettling. “Is she still around?”

“He’s not,” he shakes his head.

You take a sip from your glass, the sharp bitterness of the alcohol grounding you, and give him a small, knowing smile. “Well, I suppose we all have our stories.”

His eyes lock onto yours for a long, unspoken moment. You wonder if this is one of those rare moments in life where people truly see each other—not just for the faces they wear, but for what’s buried beneath. What they carry in the silence. “I think you’re right,” he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet tenderness that wasn’t there before. "But not everyone’s story is meant to be told in one night."

Your heart flutters for a reason you can’t quite place, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as cruel as it’s always seemed. Maybe, in this strange twist of events, you weren’t meant to run away from the past after all—but to face it, alongside someone who understands what it’s like to love and lose.

“I’m too old for you,” you laugh off his subtle suggestion, looking over to the opposite corner of the small, dim-lit bar. There are two girls sitting at the booth with obviously wandering eyes toward your new, unexpected companion. “Maybe them.”

He follows your gaze, his eyes flickering briefly to the two girls in the corner, before turning back to you with that signature, easy grin—unchanged, unaffected. The playfulness in his smile doesn’t reach the depths of his eyes, though. You wonder if he’s seeing something entirely different than the charming stranger you’ve made him out to be. You can feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s testing the waters of your words, gauging how much of this is just casual banter and how much of it has an undercurrent you aren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe," he replies, leaning back slightly, but there’s a glint of something else in his expression now, something that makes the air between you feel heavier. "But you know, I’m kind of having some fun with you right now." His voice drops, a playful edge softening into something more serious, and it makes you wonder if he’s teasing or if there’s something deeper in his intentions that hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

“I don’t think we’re having fun.”

“Then what are we having.”

“A simple conversation, nothing more, nothing less.”

He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting his head towards you. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, noticing a small twinkle. Your eyes move down, analyzing his features. He lets you do so in an untimely manner and when he sees that you’re looking lower at his arms, he playfully flexes. An amused snort that almost sounds like a scoff leaves your lips. “Young enough to be my son.”

“Do you have children?”

“And if I do?”

“Then that’s even better because I love MILFS.”

You scoff for real this time, eyes narrowing at him. “I don’t, but what you just said further proves my point.”

The air between you both shifts, like a quiet storm brewing, though neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it. His words hang there, an almost careless suggestion laced with mischief, but they are impossible to ignore. You try to brush it off, laugh it off, but something about the way he leans in—his proximity, the way his gaze never wavers from yours—makes it harder than it should be. There’s something in his demeanor that says he’s not just playing, not just following the familiar rhythm of flirty banter. It feels like he’s pushing against the boundaries you’ve set, testing them in a way that catches you off guard.

He watches your every reaction carefully, his smile just a little too knowing, a little too calculated for someone so young. You can feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers, catching you off guard in a way that leaves your words hanging in your throat. His comment about MILFs—joking or not—makes your skin prickle uncomfortably, and for a second, you wonder if he’s being more sincere than you care to admit. But you can’t show it, not when you’ve already drawn the line, already told yourself this was just a fleeting moment in an unfamiliar place.

You clear your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to familiar ground, but the awkwardness lingers. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here with a woman who could be your mother.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he says, the playful edge in his voice softened by something deeper. There’s a sudden, subtle weight to his words, as though he’s no longer speaking just to entertain or to flirt, but to convey something more. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it catches you off guard. His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. The playful front cracks, revealing a hint of something you can’t quite name.

You shift uncomfortably, your thoughts creeping in again. "Well, you’ll find plenty of people who can keep you entertained around here." You gesture vaguely to the bar, the people milling about, the noise, the chatter. "I’m not the one you’re looking for."

His expression dampens. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe I’m just looking for someone who sees me, you know?”

The words hit you harder than they should, a soft pressure in your chest that you quickly try to dismiss. What is he saying? He doesn’t know you, yet he’s almost acting like he does. "I see you," you respond, your voice quieter than before, the weight of the statement hanging between you both like a truth neither of you is willing to face.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes darken, the smile fading into something more thoughtful, more introspective. You begin to think he might say something that cuts through all the barriers you’ve put up, something that challenges the notion that this is just a casual encounter between strangers. But instead, he shifts in his seat, taking another long sip of his drink. “I don’t know if you do,” he finally says, his voice lower now, the playful lilt gone.

When he puts his drink down, you blame it on the alcohol from the way your skin flushes in a girlish way as he leans in—his breath fanning your ear. You also blame it on the alcohol when you’re reciprocating his advances, meeting his stare with an equally heated one of your own. And finally, you blame it on the alcohol when you tilt your head to whisper something in his ear.

“Do you want me to look harder?”

That was the first night you went home with him—the first night you indulged in the warmth and pleasure a man—Satoru—can bring you. And even after sharing your ages, that never stopped. It somehow…never stopped you either. You found yourself giving in—almost craving the way his hands grip your hips, the way his slim and long fingers dance along your ribs in a soft manner.

You didn’t expect yourself to be falling over the edge, finishing on just the tongue of a man younger than you. You always prided yourself on wanting—needing—an older man. And god, you were really missing out, weren’t you?

But it wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way his mouth knew exactly how to undo you piece by piece—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were something untouchable, yet here he was, holding you, ruining you, worshipping you in ways you hadn’t let anyone do in years.

It was intoxicating.

You told yourself it was just a fling, something fleeting, something fun. A vacation romance, a secret indulgence that you’d tuck away once you boarded your plane back home. But Satoru wasn’t the kind of man you could forget easily. His touch lingered, his voice echoed, and before you even realized it, you were answering his calls. Responding to his texts. Finding yourself in his arms again, even when you swore it would be the last time. You found yourself smiling at him when you believed he wasn’t looking, stifling a peal of laughter at his stupid jokes that he only said so he could see the way your eyes crinkle at the edges—you were finding comfort in him.

A warm, tentative comfort that only one other man had brought you before.

There were times you felt guilty, believing you were still bound to your late husband even in death, and at times—you almost compared the two. However, you know Masamichi would’ve wanted you to move on and care for yourself in ways he couldn’t do anymore. He would’ve smiled and encouraged you to find pleasure in your life.

And you did.

Because somewhere between those nights tangled in silk sheets and the hushed laughter over shared meals, you forgot to remind yourself of the one thing that mattered most: this was never meant to last.

But at the same time, you almost didn’t want it to end. You enjoyed the way he kissed your knuckles, moved strands of hair out your face, and complimented you when you felt at your lowest. He was seeing every part of you—the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. You were letting him.

One night, after a particularly passionate session, he’s running his fingers along the curve of your spine. Naked bodies huddled next to one another, and the sheets offer a nice little coverup. The moonlight peeks through his blinds, the plush mattress sinking further underneath your weights. He kisses the top of your head softly before moving to your temple. Once again, you’re smiling. Tracing mindless circles on his bare chest, your foot rubbing up and down his calf. No words are spoken, there usually aren’t. But the silence doesn’t feel deafening; it feels comfortable. You found yourself snuggling closer to him. “Satoru?”

“Mhm?” he hummed back, sighing lightly, his smile never wavering.

“Where do you…see yourself in ten years?”

He hums again, this time in thought, his fingers never ceasing their lazy tracing along your spine. You feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, steady and unhurried. You wonder if he’s really thinking about your question, or if he’s simply enjoying the feel of you against him. “In ten years?” he finally repeats, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. “I don’t know…Happy, I guess. Settled down; I’d like to have kids by then.”

Your fingers pause against his chest. You don’t know why, but his answer catches you off guard. Not because it’s shocking—he’s young, full of life, full of potential—but because it’s something you’ve stopped thinking about for yourself. “Kids?” you echo, tilting your head up to look at him. His pale lashes flutter slightly as he meets your gaze, and there’s something soft in his expression, something almost wistful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a small chuckle escaping him. “A couple of ‘em, maybe. A little girl who’s just as stubborn as me, a boy who’s just as curious. Someone to pass everything down to, y’know?” His hand moves from your back, up to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he exhales. “I think I’d be a good dad.”

You don’t doubt that. Satoru is many things—annoying, arrogant, childish at times—but he’s also deeply caring. He loves with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. You can see him being the kind of father who carries his child on his shoulders, who spoils them with sweets, who makes bad dad jokes just to hear their laughter.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to say that out loud. Instead, you settle for a noncommittal hum, lowering your head back onto his chest, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Ten years from now, he’ll have a family. He’ll have everything he wants. And you won’t be part of it.

That’s when reality hit for you. You’re holding him back. You can’t give him what he wants, what he longs for. It’s a bittersweet, brutal reminder that this little world you’ve built was only meant to be temporary. That the laughs, touches, kisses, the sex, it’s fickle. You’ve blinded yourself and let yourself sink too far deep to understand that what Satoru wants…he can’t experience with you.

And so, it started small. Days spent out with him, your eyes would flicker around, moving from one woman to the next. Pointing them out to him in an encouraging way.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” “Maybe you should go ask for her number.”

“You’re both tall, you would go well together.”

It honestly hurt to push him away—to open his eyes to the other fish in the sea while a small part of you wished he could only be yours. But you’d never ask him to stop following his dreams of becoming a family man for your own selfish desires.

At the start, he humors you. Rolls his eyes, scoffs, plays along like it’s just another one of your little jokes. “She’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs when you point out a woman at the café, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sips on a cappuccino. “But I prefer my women a little more…experienced.” He flashes you that cocky grin, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

You laugh, but it’s forced. You ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. But then you do it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch on.

One evening, when you offhandedly comment on the cute waitress who just served your drinks, something shifts in his expression. His smile dims, his fingers drum idly against the table. “Y’know,” he says, tone too casual, too light. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.”

You feign ignorance, sipping your wine. “Doing what?”

“Trying to set me up like some kind of matchmaking service.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You got tired of me already?”

You force back a sigh. The way he says it—half-joking, half-serious—makes your stomach twist. “Satoru—”

“No, really,” he cuts in smoothly, tilting his head. “Is that what this is? You pushing me away? Guilt-tripping me into realizing you’re too old for me or whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself?”

Your fingers clench around the stem of your glass. He sees right through you. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Looking out for me?” He leans back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Or making decisions for me?”

You hate how much that stings. You hate how right he is.

“I just…” You exhale, setting your glass down. “I just don’t want to hold you back, Satoru.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. You think he’s going to tell you you’re being ridiculous, that he wants you, that he doesn’t care about the future you keep running from.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really that convinced this can’t work, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

His lips press into a thin line. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his drink. “Message received.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts.

Colder.

More distant.

Like the beginning of the end.

Your heart drops, looking back down at your wine. For a second, you felt like you ruined things. But it’s better to nip things in the bud than let them bloom, is it not?

Even after that, he was still adamant about seeing you. You let him, deciding to relish in these last few tender moments you may have with him. The sun was shining and beaming down on you two as you ate your brunch. It was a pleasant day. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made you wonder how someone like her could even exist in this world. The type of beautiful that turned heads and left impressions. The type that had Satoru slowly following her with his eyes. You tell yourself this is a good thing. That this is what you wanted. That you should feel relieved that, finally, he’s looking at someone else the way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

But it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

You lift your mimosa to your lips, taking a slow sip, pretending you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her. She’s stunning—long legs, flawless skin, a radiant smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, and long black hair. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not in a small café, laughing at something her friend just said.

You force yourself to smile. “She’s exactly your type.”

Satoru’s attention snaps back to you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. He blinks, then exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “I’m just saying, you should talk to her.”

He scoffs, pushing his fork around his plate. “Yeah? And then what?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Satoru sets his silverware down with a quiet clink, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s say I go up to her. Get her number. Take her on a date.” He shrugs, giving you a half-smile. “Then what? I sleep with her? Take her on more dates? Marry her?”

You stare at him, not sure where this is going.

“And then we have kids,” he continues, his tone light, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, cutting right through you. “That’s what you want, right? For me to find someone younger, someone who can give me the future I want.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, tell me something.” His voice drops, softer now, almost vulnerable. “If I wanted all of that with someone else, don’t you think I’d already be doing it?”

Your breath catches.

He waits.

But you don’t have an answer.

All you can do is encourage him to go up to her.

And he did.

He was reluctant, of course. Only doing it to shut you up.

But you saw the way his expression softened, the way his dimples poked out when he’d talk about her. You were there on the side, watching what he once thought would be a simple meeting, to finding a woman he’d started to fall for.

It was like watching a slow-moving car crash—one you orchestrated with your own hands. You had done this. You had led him to her, pushed him in her direction, knowing full well what it would mean. And yet, knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The texts started. Little mentions of her here and there. You caught the way his face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before, the way he spoke about her with that quiet sort of wonder like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he never expected to solve. You were still a part of his life, still, someone he made time for, but something between you had shifted irreversibly. The stolen moments, the lingering touches, the whispered confessions under moonlit sheets—they grew fewer and further between, replaced by something… distant.

She was such a kind and lovely woman, her voice made of butter when she spoke to you about him. And when you caught him smiling at his phone one evening, thumb idly tapping out a message to her, you knew.

He had found what you wanted for him. What he deserved. What you couldn’t give him.

So why did it feel like you were the one being left behind?

“Are you happy?” you had whispered, holding him tight in a hug, eyes beginning to water.

He held you back, arms secure around your waist. His icy hair tickled your skin, and he planted a soft, reverent kiss on your cheek. Pulling back to look at you, he didn’t have that fiery, teasing sparkle in his eyes like usual. No, this time, all that was there was just…him. Just Satoru.

“I am,” he had said with a genuine finality.

The trickle of warm tears slid down your cheeks, his thumbs swiping softly at the skin. “Good, I’m…I’m happy too.”

Truthfully, you were. Because if you had to let Satoru go, if you had to let him be the man he should be, you knew he was doing it beside a woman that was worth it. She was worth it. And you were beginning to be okay with the fact of being a memory to him, as long as it meant his wishes came true.

You left him, never once looking back, answering his texts or his calls.

You don’t know how you had the strength to do it, how you managed to pull yourself away from the man you’d poured so much of yourself into. There was a time when you thought you’d never be able to let go—when you believed you’d somehow convince him that the life he envisioned with someone else wasn’t worth pursuing. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep holding onto him, not when the weight of your love was slowly suffocating him, not when you knew that he needed to step into a future that wasn’t tied to a past that could never fully be his. You didn’t want to be the one who held him back, no matter how much it hurt.

The hardest part was the silence that came after. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were doing him a favor, letting him breathe, letting him live without your shadow hanging over him. But the quiet was unbearable. Slowly, the hole he left inside you grew wider, the void left by his absence swallowing you whole. It felt like a slow, silent death—a death that had to happen for him to thrive, even if you weren’t ready for it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

But somehow, that was for the best. He was with her now—his beautiful, young, hopeful future. And you? You were learning to accept the peace that came with being the past. The bittersweet relief of knowing that you had let him go, even when it felt like a piece of you was missing forever. You were learning to find happiness and acceptance with that. But you knew deep down, a part of you would always love him. And that part would remain tucked away, hidden, safe in the quiet recesses of your heart where no one could touch it. Because, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life moved on, Satoru would always be the one who made you believe in the fleeting beauty of something that could never truly last.

Seven years had passed, and time had etched its marks on both of you. You were different now—wiser, perhaps. Life had moved on, as it always did, carrying you forward in unexpected ways. You found a home in Japan, a little place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect reflection of the peace you had slowly cultivated within yourself. It was the kind of home you never thought you'd need after him, but somehow, it filled the emptiness that had lingered for so long.

When you saw him again, it felt like a thousand memories rushed back to you in a single moment. His shock was palpable—eyes wide with disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of the woman standing before him. The same Satoru, yet different in small, subtle ways. His features had softened, a few lines around his eyes that spoke of time passing, of laughter shared, of a life fully lived. He was healthy, vibrant, the man you’d once known and the one who had continued his journey without you. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet at first, unsure if this was real or just a figment of his mind. His gaze swept over you as if trying to understand how you could still exist in his life after everything.

And then, he smiled. It wasn’t the same playful grin that had always been there, the one that had once made your heart race. This one was softer, warmer—gentler. It carried the weight of the years apart, but also the familiarity of someone who had once been an integral part of your soul.

And you smiled back again.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the embrace as natural as it was unexpected. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reunion, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you both. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting strength of his hold, the warmth of his body that you once thought you'd never feel again. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the undeniable connection that had never truly disappeared. It was as though time had been kind to you both, erasing the pain and replacing it with something softer, something more peaceful.

“Satoru,” you muttered softly, almost in relief.

"You look good," he said softly, pulling away just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms as if testing the reality of this moment.

You feel something cold pressed against your arm, looking down…there’s a golden ring on his left ring finger. Your lips parted with mild surprise before looking up at him with a sense of blitheness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way he loved—loves. “...is it her?”

He nods, glancing down at your own hand. And look at that; he’s not the only one with a gold ring. “And what about you?’ he asked, a softness in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, bringing your hand up and admiring the band around your finger, the diamond saying hello once more. Memories of your husband’s gruff voice, his frown that he tried so hard to keep etched on his face, the spiky black hair you loved to comb your fingers through, the scar on the corner of his mouth that you loved to kiss. “His name is Toji.”

He nodded with a wave of approval. “How long?”

“Three years. And you?”

“Four.”

You guys laughed simultaneously. The sound of your shared laughter fills the quiet space between you two, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. There’s an ease to it, an old familiarity that you never quite lost, even with the years between you. The weight of everything that had happened—your separation, his journey, your own—seems to melt away, leaving only the lightness of the present moment. It feels almost surreal, standing there with him, both of you changed yet still the same in many ways.

You glance down at your left hand again, the ring catching the sunlight that spills through the window. The cool metal seems to hum with its own kind of quiet significance. Toji.

But now, standing here with Satoru, there’s a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with contentment. You never imagined this—standing side by side with him, sharing your worlds as they are now. When you look up at Satoru, you see the same softness in his eyes that’s always been there, but now it carries with it the weight of time. He has a family, a future that doesn’t include you, and that’s okay. There’s peace in that. He’s found what he was always meant to have, the thing that once felt like an impossibility between you two.

“Four years,” you repeat, your voice soft, taking in the new ring on his finger. “That’s beautiful, Satoru. I’m…I’m so happy for you.”

He grins, that same playful glint in his eyes, but this time it feels like it’s tempered by something deeper, something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “She’s incredible. I’m really lucky.”

The warmth that spreads through you isn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or anything like that. It’s something else entirely—pride, maybe. Or relief. You always knew that Satoru was meant for something bigger than what you two could have together, but seeing him happy now, seeing him settled with someone who makes his eyes light up the way they used to with you, it’s the closure you never thought you needed.

“You?” he asks again, as though sensing the unspoken question between you two. His gaze shifts to your hand again, then back up to your face.

The words come out easily now. “He’s my rock,” you say simply, the affection in your voice unguarded. “He makes me better, makes me whole.”

Satoru’s expression softens, and you see the flicker of that old tenderness—the way he used to look at you before everything got complicated. But it’s not painful, this time. It’s not heavy. It’s just… understanding. Like he’s happy that you’ve found that kind of peace. The kind of peace he’s found with her. “You both deserve it,” he says with a nod, as though sealing the quiet approval between you two. “You deserve everything good that comes your way.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. The unspoken acknowledgment that the two of you, after all this time, have moved on, and have created lives for yourselves that reflect who you’ve become. And for all that has happened, all the loss and the love that came and went, there’s something beautiful in knowing that this chapter—this shared history—is now something you both cherish without needing to hold on to.

He invited you over that day and you accepted.

His wife runs up to you, hugging you like you’re an old friend. “Oh my god!” she exclaims in a gasp, her red-tinted lips curved up into a wide smile. You hugged her back, mirroring his reactions. “It’s so great to see you again, Miss. Satoru and I have never forgotten you.”

“Utahime…” he mutters with slight embarrassment.

You chortled and patted her back. “I haven’t forgotten about you too either.”

She pulls back, removing her arms from you. Satoru places a warm arm around her waist and brings her to his side. The display of affection has you melting on the inside, head tilting in fondness. Satoru looks at you. “So, there’s someone we want you to—”

The sound of little pitter-patter against the hardwood cuts him off, all of your attention being dragged to the little girl with white hair and auburn eyes like her moth bounding up to you in excited familiarity. Her tiny gasp as she looks up at you with wide, innocent, twinkling eyes. She looked up at you as if she had known you her whole life, bubbling with a sense of jitteriness, cheeks glowing with a youthful flush. You couldn’t help but crouch down to her height, head tilting. Your eyes glazed over with tears, holding a hand to your mouth to hold back the broken laugh you almost let out at the question she asked you.

“Are you the fairy?”

a/n: this story is inspired by "a love not made for me" by aryana rose. please go hear her speak it, she tells it so beautifully :(((. anywho, thank u guys for 2k really. i love u all and I'm incredibly grateful for all the support and love and patience :))

i couldn't do it without yall. <3

411 notes · View notes

bjlipss · 6 days ago

Text

— the limit does exist or, gojo getting turned on by you explaining his cursed technique and powers;

cw: nsfw, filthy smut, gojo calls you ‘sensei’ cos he is kinky, praise kink, power kink, desk sex, unprotected (don’t do it), infinity play, a little degradation, a lot of obsession, overstimulation, fuck i forgot mild choking

miyan’s notes: i don’t know what happened but i would die if this happened to me

he’s not even pretending to hide it now.

you’re halfway through the lesson when you start to feel it—that low buzz in the air. not cursed energy. worse.

satoru.

“as i was saying,” you continue, trying not to let it throw you off, “the six eyes allow him to process cursed energy with incredible precision—he can see it, control it, and refine it to the point of near-effortless output. that’s how he’s able to keep infinity running almost constantly without burning himself out.”

a few students murmur, some take notes. you risk a glance toward the back of the classroom—

—and there he is.

sprawled in a chair like he owns the building, long legs spread wide, sunglasses perched low on his nose so his eyes are fully visible. and he’s looking right at you.

like he wants to eat the words off your tongue.

your stomach flips, but you power through. “infinity isn’t just defense—it’s a manipulation of space. the closer something gets, the slower it moves. it’s not that things stop—it’s that they take infinitely longer to reach him.”

there’s a pause as you flip to the next slide.

and satoru, ever the menace, tilts his head and moans under his breath.

softly.

deliberately.

you don’t miss it—but the students, thankfully, do. you snap your head toward him with a look that could kill, but he just smiles.

wide. smug. a little feral.

you swear his pupils are dilated.

he likes this. dirty bastard.

“… right,” you say, throat dry, “so infinity creates a measurable buffer between him and anything else. even air particles. theoretically, nothing can ever actually touch him.”

you hear the low chuckle he lets out, it slips under your skin like static. like the way he brushes against you when he passes, just enough to make your breath catch.

he’s thinking about you touching him.

and now you’re thinking about touching him. or worse: trying and failing not to.

he’s got his hand on his thigh now. not moving. just resting there. like he’s enjoying the weight of your voice, the rhythm of it, the unintended praise—because that’s what it’s starting to sound like. and he knows it.

you finish the lecture on autopilot.

you’re not even sure what you said in the last ten minutes. the students are clapping, thank yous and bows exchanged—and then the door closes and you’re left alone in the room.

with him.

you turn around slowly, arms crossed. “you good, gojo?”

he’s still lounging like sin made flesh. “mm. not really.”

you arch a brow. “something wrong?”

“you explaining my powers in that voice? yeah. it’s a problem.”

he stands—stretches, back arching slightly, eyes locked on you like a man starving. “you know what it does to me when you get all academic about my technique?”

“you have a praise kink for your own cursed technique,” you say flatly.

“mmhm.” he steps closer. “especially when it’s you saying it. sounding all smart. passionate. authoritative.”

you can feel him now. his cursed energy thrums like a second heartbeat, and there’s something sharp beneath it—hungry. dark.

“you should’ve seen yourself,” he murmurs. “talking about my infinity like it’s divine. i almost—” he cuts off, eyes flashing. “you want me to say it?”

you exhale slowly, heart hammering. “gojo—”

“i got hard,” he says, matter-of-fact. “hard as a fucking rock, sitting there in that chair, listening to you lecture like you own me.”

silence.

he leans in.

“explain it to me again,” he whispers. “tell me what i do. make it sound like worship.”

you blink, resisting the urge to melt into the wall.

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter.

he grins, all teeth. “yeah, but you like me this way.”

he doesn’t give you time to retreat.

before you can move, he’s there, pressing into your space with that easy, lazy swagger that hides the sheer intent underneath. the door’s locked with a flick of his fingers. cursed energy pulses in the walls—nobody’s hearing a thing.

“you really got off on that,” you breathe, not backing down even as he corners you against the desk.

he hums, slow and deliberate, eyes hooded. “of course i did. you were talking about me like i was untouchable. like a god.”

“you are untouchable,” you snap.

his grin sharpens. “not from you.”

his hand lands on your waist. there’s no pressure—but you can feel the control there, coiled under his skin like a live wire. “say it again,” he murmurs, “say what you said earlier. about how nothing can reach me. say it.”

you stare at him, throat dry.

he leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “go on. teach me something, sensei.”

“…infinity slows everything down,” you say, voice low, breath catching. “the closer something gets, the slower it moves. it can never actually touch you.”

he inhales, shaky and turned on.

“and yet here you are,” he whispers, hand sliding up under your shirt, fingers grazing your stomach. “touching me anyway.”

you shove at his shoulder, but it’s half-hearted, more heat than anger. “you’re such an egomaniac.”

his hand trails up to your chest. “know what’s sick?” he murmurs, “i was sitting there, fully hard, while you pointed at diagrams about me. i wanted to drag you onto the desk and make you explain domain expansion with my cock inside you.”

you choke. “satoru—”

“shh,” he coos, voice rough now. “you wanna touch me? see if i’ll let you?” he flicks his fingers, and you feel the air shift.

he’s activated infinity.

your hand lifts automatically—to his chest, just to push him back—but you don’t reach him. your fingers stop in mid-air, hovering over his shirt, skin tingling.

you gasp, blinking down.

“see?” he murmurs, stepping in close, letting his body press to yours while your hand stays caught in that invisible distance. “you can’t touch me. nobody can.”

“satoru—”

“but i can touch you, sensei.”

and he does. he palms your ass roughly, lips catching your throat in a hot, wet kiss, licking into the space just under your jaw like he owns it. your breath stutters.

“turn it off,” you whisper. “let me touch you.”

“mm. say please.”

you glare, panting. “please.”

“say it like you said it in the lecture.”

you bite your lip. your pride’s bleeding all over the floor, but gods, the tension’s been too thick for too long, and he’s got you wound up with just a few inches of space.

“please, satoru,” you murmur, “let me touch you. i wanna feel what infinity protects.”

a moment—the barrier vanishes.

your hand flies forward and lands flat on his chest.

he exhales like he’s been punched.

“fuck,” he growls, dragging you forward and hoisting you onto the desk in one fluid movement. “do you know what you do to me?”

“i do now,” you breathe.

“yeah?” his hips grind into yours. “then get ready for a practical demonstration.”

and you barely have time to process it before he’s got your thighs in his hands and your back arched off the desk.

his grip is greedy, like he’s waited forever for this. like he’s dreamt about it for nights on end. he probably has.

and his mouth—oh god, his mouth—

he kisses like he’s starving. like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you with his tongue. messy, unrestrained, all teeth and heat as he groans against your lips, one hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back.

“fuck, you sound so good when you’re talking about me,” he mutters, grinding against the curve of your body. you can feel him—hard and thick—pressing into you through his pants. “so smart, so serious. makes me wanna ruin you.”

“then do it,” you pant, dizzy with how fast he’s moving. “you talk so much, gojo—do it.”

his grin is sharp and dangerous. “oh, baby. don’t threaten me with a good time.”

he flips your skirt up like he’s unwrapping a gift and groans when he sees what’s underneath. “fuck. you’re already wet.”

“you were moaning during my lecture.”

he laughs, voice low and rough. “god, i was. i couldn’t help it. watching you pace in front of that whiteboard, all bossy and smug, talking about how nobody can touch me—except you.”

he slides your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you like he owns the place.

your breath breaks.

“so tight,” he murmurs, kissing your throat as he pumps them slowly, deliberately. “so wet. is this what happens when you explain infinity too long?”

“satoru—”

“nah, don’t talk,” he grins, curling his fingers just right. “unless you’re gonna start another lecture. c’mon. explain to me why i’m the strongest.”

you whimper, back arching, his thumb brushing your clit in those slow, lazy circles that make your thighs tremble. your brain is melting, but he keeps pushing.

“use your big words, baby,” he coos. “i know you got a whole thesis in that pretty little head. don’t make me pull it out of you, sensei.”

you glare, breathless. “you’re… you’re the strongest sorcerer alive. you control cursed energy with almost no output. infinity is a passive technique that—fuck—”

his fingers hit something.

his eyes flash. “there it is.”

you’re gasping now, fingers clawing at the edge of the desk.

“keep going,” he growls. “tell me what i do.”

“you—your cursed technique manipulates distance—you can stop anything from touching you—except me—satoru, please—”

he pulls his fingers out, slow and sticky, and hums as he tastes them. “mm. fucking perfect.”

you don’t get a second to breathe before he’s unzipping his pants, pulling his cock free—thick, flushed, leaking—and pressing the tip against your entrance with a low, reverent groan.

“you sure, sensei?” he asks, breath hot against your cheek. “i won’t stop once i’m in.”

“don’t you fucking dare.”

he thrusts into you in one, smooth push.

your head drops back with a near silent cry.

he’s big. too big. it burns just enough to make you squirm—but he’s holding you still, whispering filth into your skin like a prayer.

“tight little thing,” he growls, dragging his hips back just to slam into you again. “taking me so well. so fucking deep.”

your brain blanks. the stretch, the heat, the sound of him—it’s all too much.

“you feel that?” he grits out. “that’s what infinity can’t stop. me, fucking you so deep you forget your own damn name.”

your nails scrape down his back. “satoru—god, please—”

“that’s it,” he pants, thrusts growing harder, sharper. “say my name. let ‘em all know who’s got you dripping like this.”

he’s filthy with it now—sweat dripping, voice wrecked, muttering against your skin like he’s obsessed. like he’s waited years just to get inside you once.

and when you tighten around him, sobbing his name like it’s a curse, he loses it.

“fuck—gonna come—gonna fill you up, yeah? make you mine? let everyone know who you belong to?”

you nod, frantic, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts, the way he pounds into you like he’s trying to bury every bit of himself inside you.

“say it.”

“you,” you gasp. “you, satoru, i belong to you—fuck—”

and he breaks.

he comes with a ragged moan, hips snapping deep as he spills inside you, holding you tight while you fall apart around him.

satoru doesn’t give you a second to recover.

barely a minute after his hands loosen their hold on your hips, he’s already tugging you back to the edge of the desk, turning your head to meet his eyes with that maddening, cocky grin of his.

��you think we’re done?” he murmurs, voice like velvet and fire. “baby, i’m just getting started.”

you blink—dazed, shaky, and the fucking smirk he’s wearing makes your stomach tighten.

“you wanted me to fill you up,” he continues, his fingers brushing through your hair, pushing your head back to expose your neck. “so here i am. and we’re not stopping till you’ve begged me.”

your breath catches as he leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice thick with heat. “begged me to fuck you till you can’t remember your own name.”

the tip of his cock presses against you again—too soon. you can’t even form words, but he doesn’t need them.

his hands grip your waist and he slams into you once more.

it’s fast. brutal.

the desk creaks under the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your breathless moans. his hand reaches down, fingers brushing your clit as he moves, every thrust pushing you closer to that dizzying edge.

“you wanted this,” he growls, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. “you wanted me so bad, you couldn’t even keep it together during my lecture.”

“satoru—” you gasp, your words slurring into a moan.

“you—” he snaps his hips against you harder, “—wanted me to fuck you senseless. didn’t you?”

you nod. “yes. please, yes.”

“yes, what, sensei?” he pulls almost all the way out, and you whimper in protest, but before you can beg, he’s slamming back into you, hitting that sweet, deep spot that makes your knees weak.

“yes, satoru,” you sob. “yes, fuck me, please.”

he laughs—a sharp, cruel sound that makes you feel even smaller, even more desperate for him. “god, you’re so fucking perfect. begging for me like this… think you can handle more?”

his hand grips your throat, just enough to cut off your air. you’re gasping now, nails digging into the wood of the desk as he fucks into you, each thrust harder, deeper than the last. he pulls you to him, lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts.

“feel that?” he growls, squeezing tighter around your neck. “that’s what happens when you belong to me.”

you can barely breathe. but you love it.

your vision blurs, your body trembling under the force of his thrusts, the way his cock fills you so completely, you don’t know where you end and he begins.

“satoru—please—god—”

“please what?” he grins, enjoying the control he has over you. “say it.”

“please, satoru, make me come,” you beg, barely able to keep your voice steady. “fuck me harder, make me yours.”

“there it is,” he hisses, finally releasing your throat, watching your chest rise and fall with each desperate gasp. “mine.”

he pulls out again, just to tease you, and you let out a frustrated whimper. he chuckles darkly, shaking his head as he strokes his cock in front of you, already soaked in your arousal.

“patience, baby,” he whispers, slipping back inside with one hard, quick thrust. “you wanted me to fuck you till you forget everything? I’m gonna make sure you do.”

and then he slams into you.

he’s relentless now—no slow pace, no mercy. just raw, urgent need. the sound of him slamming into you fills the room, accompanied by your desperate cries and his low, guttural groans.

“fucking perfect,” he mutters, watching you writhe beneath him. “look at you. completely fucked out. only for me.”

you’re already so close—so fucking close, and he knows it. his hand slides back to your clit, rubbing furiously in time with his thrusts.

“you want me to make you come?” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “want me to make you scream my name, make sure everyone knows who you belong to?”

“yes,” you sob. “yes, satoru, make me come. please.”

he grins, teeth flashing in the dim light, and then—just as you’re teetering on the edge—he pulls you up into his chest, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

you come with a scream, shuddering as pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. your body shakes uncontrollably, and satoru doesn’t stop—he fucks you through your orgasm, pushing you toward a second one, his hands never leaving your body as he pulls you even closer.

“good girl,” he whispers, fucking you through it. “so good for me.”

you can barely think, let alone form words. all you can feel is the way he’s stretching you, the way he’s pushing you past your limits. you don’t know how long it goes on—but you don’t want it to stop. not now. not ever.

when he finally comes again, it’s with a deep groan, his hips stuttering as he fills you up once more. his hand grips your waist, pulling you into him, forcing every drop into you. you can feel the heat of him, the rawness, the way it feels like he’s taking over your entire body.

he collapses against you, both of you panting, skin slick with sweat.

“fuck, you’re incredible,” he breathes, his voice low and rough as he kisses the side of your neck. “couldn’t stop if i wanted to.”

“you’re insane,” you mutter, still shaking from the intensity of it all.

“nah,” he says, smirking as he presses another kiss to your lips. “i’m just obsessed with you.”

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ieirism · 2 years ago

Text

intertwined. | preview

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

setting: omegaverse!au, university!au

genre: angst, smut, some fluff

contains: yandere, estranged childhood friends to enemies to lovers, mentions of self-identity issues, dubious consent, obsessive behavior, loss of virginity, mutual(ish) pining, gojo is bad at expressing his feelings so he’s kinda a jerk, lovesick!gojo

summary: you just want to lose your virginity, no strings attached. how could you have known that gojo satoru is in love with you?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

release date: tbd | ask for taglist if interested

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Satoru’s cocky grin wipes clean off his face. His stare goes blank and his jaw drops open comically wide. For the first time in the twenty-one years you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru is at a loss for words.

“We never have to talk again afterwards,” you add quickly, your cheeks starting to heat up in embarrassment. “This is just gonna be a one-time thing.”

Satoru is silent, expression tense as he observes you carefully. His crystal blue eyes seem to darken a few shades as he takes your hand in his. His thumb strokes once, slowly over the back of your knuckles.

“Just a one-time thing,” he repeats languidly, lips stretching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Perhaps if you weren’t so focused on the rapid, frantic beating of your own heart, you would’ve noticed Satoru’s gaze wander—only to lock right on the clear patch stubbornly covering your neck’s scent gland. You would’ve seen the way his pupils dilate and his tongue swipes over his lips, with hunger written all over his face.

“Well then,” he all but rasps out, voice thick with desire. Without warning, he pulls your body against his with ease, trapping you in the warmth of his arms. Satoru rests his forehead against yours, letting out a groan that is too soft, too vulnerable, too intimate.

He’s so big, you realize. You can hardly believe that you once stood a whole head taller than him. Satoru towers over you, his lean frame completely dwarfing you. His large hands squeeze at your waist as he presses a barely-there, tender peck to your forehead.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, sweetheart.”

You’ve heard stories about what he’s like in bed; it’s inevitable that as the most desired alpha on campus, he’s gotten around. You don’t expect tenderness or care; if you did, Gojo Satoru is the dead last person to approach. You’re waiting for him to start man-handling you, tearing your clothes off, chasing after the carnal pleasure that only sex can bring. You’ve prepared yourself for that.

Instead, Satoru cups your pretty face between his large hands, running his thumb along your cheekbone. His blue eyes are a swirling pool of emotions, burning with not only lust but something deeper. “Been waitin’ so long for this.” His hushed whisper falls on deaf ears as he leans in to kiss you.

You let out a surprised squeak as his lips press against yours; this isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re not here to play romance with Satoru—yet, the slow gentle kisses he’s giving you and the gentleness with which he’s holding you are cutting it too close.

“W-Wait,” you gasp out, pulling away to catch your breath. Satoru is panting too, cheeks flushed pink as he stares at you like a man dying of thirst discovering an oasis. His hand trails down your side to rest on your waist, pulling himself forward so he can drop his head against your shoulder. “What are y—“ your words die in your throat as you feel his nose nudge against the most vulnerable part of you.

“You smell so fuckin’ good…” His groan against your neck reverberates through your entire body, shaking you to your very core. Your internal alarm flares to life, blaring loudly in warning. You can’t even pay much attention to that, though, not when—

“Y-You do, too…” The words leave you before you can even process them. You knees feel like jelly as his scent washes over you, deep, musky and addicting. Satoru stiffens against you, huffing out a short breath of frustration.

“You’re gonna kill me.” You feel it. You feel his teeth scrape against the spot your mating bond would be. Satoru knows just as well as you do that you don’t have one, and that if you had things your way, that would never change. He teases the edge of the bandage covering your scent gland, rolling it between his teeth. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging nervously.

“N-Not there,” you protest, stumbling over your words in panic. Satoru pauses, and for three very long seconds, neither of you move. The only thing you can hear the is the pounding of your own heartbeat, his shallow pants against your neck, and the hum of the air conditioning.

He’s close, too close—you’re terrified of what he’s capable of, only because you don’t know if you can count on your own willpower to stop him. You’re slowly going limp in his arms, becoming nothing but putty in between his fingers—you’ve never felt so weak.

You hate how he makes you feel. You’ve always hated how he makes you feel. Weak. The world has always told you that you are. You’re nothing but a little omega whose only fate is to be a strong alpha’s obedient mate. You’ve fought back, resisted, protested—yet, Gojo Satoru has always managed to put you right back in your place.

This time is no different. Once again, you find yourself at his mercy. Your stomach boils with bitterness, with anger, with hatred… with longing.

Too slowly, he pulls away from your neck, only to lock eyes with you. “Right.” Satoru’s lips quirk into a crooked grin. “This is just a one-time thing, huh?”

You recognize that smile.

It’s the one that Satoru gave when he broke his mama’s favorite vase and blamed the cat. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he stole a candy bar from the store and got caught by the cashier. It’s the one that Satoru gave when he claimed you were no more than a stranger and left you to fend for yourself through high school.

He’s lying.

Far too late, you realize you’d made a big mistake.

author’s note: i can’t even lie this little word vomit was just a way to get some gojo thirst off my chest. i’m not even sure if i’ll ever get around to writing a full fic because i’ve been planning this in my head for weeks and there’s so much i want to include. yet i have too little time because of uni :(

if you are interested in being part of a taglist just in case i ever actually get around to writing the full fic, just let me know in the replies.

thank you for reading this far :)

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #jjk x reader #yandere jjk

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solrabi · 6 months ago

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Gojo is your insufferable boss who is also in love with you.

Note: female bodied reader, reader is referred to as princess at one point, angst to fluff, they argue in the end but all is well. This is NOT proof read so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes. I’m still in the process of editing it.

Edit: this is an old fic. Excuse the corniness and grammar mistakes

Word count: 2.8k

-•-

Click clack

Gojo was counting down the steps of your echoing heels from the other end of the corridor. His heart stirred as he took in your attire- pencil skirt, crisp blouse without a single crease, and a simple smart watch adorning your wrist. In your hand, you were holding your bag for the day and Gojo’s iPad that you used to organize his plans.

His smile grew as you approached closer. He knew that crushing on his assistant was unethical, but could he really help himself? The way your tone changed when you’d find out about him skipping important meetings just made you seem more irresistible to him. It didn’t help that you had the kind of beauty that was seen born once every century (in his humble opinion).

It was obvious that Gojo had a thing for people that commanded attention and authority. Except you didn’t see yourself as that kind of person.

“Good morning, dear.” The cheeky CEO was grateful to be wearing shades in doors because who knows what you would’ve said if you found out that he was checking out how your breasts looked in that blouse. “Good morning, sir.” He inwardly groaned at the term. You oblivious that you were undeniably attractive to this man.

The entire day he would only stare at you. During meetings with potential investors, he’d ask for your opinion out of the blue, catching you and the the attendees by surprise. It was said behind closed doors that you were the true head of the company as Gojo always asked you first before making any important decisions. It irked many of his clients but they knew the man grew up spoilt.

It angered female employees to see that you were getting special attention from him. You even had your own coffee machine by your desk because he didn’t want you to go all the way to the employee break room. He would even send his chauffeur to pick you up if you called in about the train being too late. Of course, he’d be in the car too. He doesn’t want you alone with any man for too long.

However, there were negative aspects of receiving his undivided attention too. He’d make you stay late at the office for extra paperwork, so you would both end up working together and even sleeping on the employee couches at times. He would always call you at lunch time to eat and work with him, often letting your homemade lunch go to waste. And last but not least, he would make you work with him during all his recreational and wellness retreats because he couldn’t stay in the office for longer than a week.

You were exhausted and you wanted to quit to pursue your long term goal of starting your own small business. As gorgeous as he was to look at, he was a chore to work for. All you needed was an excuse.

Unfortunately, you had him wrapped around your finger and didn’t even know it.

Which is why you were surprised when he asked you out on a date. And he was even more surprised when you declined.

“Why not, princess?” It was 12 am and this man was on your doorstep, drunk and on his knees. He had discarded his usual suit jacket and his shirt had two buttons unbuttoned from the top. His sleeves were rolled up and his hair was a mess, almost like he had been running his hands through them all night. He looked like the definition of a drunkard.

“For one, sir, you are my boss and second, you are drunk. It is obvious that you are not well.” You had taken care of him when he was drunk before but it mainly involved dropping him off at this apartment after he had one too many drinks at a hotel bar. Never a situation where he would come to your place by himself.

“Then I’m firing you.” He slurred, eyes glossy from the tears of rejection.

“Sir, please, this is after work hours and I would like to sleep on time for at least one night. I don’t know how you got here, but I’m calling your chauffeur.”

“No! Don’t call Ijichi! Just give me 5 minutes and I’ll leave. I need to tell you how I feel.”

You sigh and nod. Your patience was running out but you decided to listen to the poor man. He stood up (still slightly wobbly), rested one arm against your door frame and leaned in dangerously close to your face to the point where you could smell the Pinot noir on him.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were going to be my wife. I knew I couldn’t let you go.” His glossy eyes bore into yours as his eyebrows furrowed. You could tell he was feeling particularly rough today.

“You know what kind of a man I am. I have no discipline. I’m rash. I’m a flirt. But you-“ he lifted his finger and pointed it right above your chest.

-you straighten me up. I felt like a fucking loser. I had no direction but when I’m with you, I feel like I have nothing to lose.” Your seething anger was replaced with curiosity. Why was he having all these feelings for you out of all people?

“You have no idea how much I like you. I’ve had to pinch myself to not kiss you when you tell me to take my meds on time.” Your eyes widened at his words.

“I’ll make you happy I promise.” He whined as he toppled on to you. His legs had finally given out. You huffed and puffed as you dragged the 6 foot something man to your couch. After sending a quick text to Ijichi, you handed him a glass of water. “Ijichi will be here soon, sir.”

“No, no, no, don’t do this to me. Let me finish!” He began whining again. You sighed as you sat next to him. He took that as a sign and leaned his head against your shoulder. You didn’t have the energy to complain so you let him stay there. “You’re one of the only people who is honest with me. Everyone tells me what I want to hear but you tell me what I need to hear. Thank you.” You could hear him slur a few more confessions before he fell asleep.

You couldn’t help but think about how lonely it must have been to live life like that. To rely on your assistant because no one else seem trustworthy.

You would be lying to yourself if you said that Gojo didn’t provide you with any sense of companionship. But at the end of the day, he was your boss and you were just an employee. It was wrong and unethical.

So why are you letting him sleep on your shoulder?

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out to scratch his head. His hair feels softer than it looks (courtesy of all the hair treatments he invests in. You would know since you’re the one who schedules them). His arms suddenly wrap around you and you’re stuck in one position.

As wrong as it was, it felt like the two of you were destined to be this close to one another. The warmth his body gave you was like any other and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way his muscular arms fit around you.

“Just tonight.” You whispered to yourself, hoping that Ijichi would take his sweet time driving to your place.

The next day at work was the same as usual. You walked in, greeted Gojo, gave him his hangover medicine, he thanked you as he downed another large cup of coffee, told him about his plans for the day and you went back to your desk.

However, there was a certain shift in Gojo’s energy. He wasn’t directly looking at your face nor was he making the same flirty remarks he usually made. You had a feeling that Ijichi might have filled him in on the details from the previous night (you didn’t tell the man about Gojo confessing to you so you were hoping that Gojo himself didn’t remember anything).

And lucky for you, for the first time in a while, he hadn’t forced you to work during lunch. It was the perfect time to hand in your two weeks notice. He was away on some personal business and wouldn’t return until a couple hours later so you emailed him your resignation.

You walked into his office and left a white envelope.

An hour later, you could see all your colleagues rush into their work spaces. There was still half an hour left before lunch ended. “What’s going on?” You asked Ino Takuma from Logistics. “Gojo’s mad. I don’t know why but everyone’s scared because nobody has ever seen him like this.”

You had a feeling that it was because of you. A few minutes later, you could hear him stomp through the hallway toward your office. You immediately stood up and bowed to greet him.

“Good afternoon, si-“

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His tone was sharp and his voice was deeper than usual.

“One minute I’m getting a suit fitted and the next I find out that you don’t want to work for me?” He sounded betrayed. You almost felt bad what you were doing but you knew you couldn’t handle the mental stress of working for him.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to his office. Usually you’d be standing across his desk but he stood you in front of the panoramic window. “Look, I’m sorry for last night, that was wrong of me. Hell, I’ll never drink again. I might’ve accidentally told your address to the taxi driver because Ijichi picks you up all the time but I swear it won’t happen again.”

You inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t remember.

“Do I not pay you enough?”

“It’s not that, sir.”

He started pacing around the office now.

“Are you getting married?”

“I don’t have the time to date, let alone get engaged.”

“I see, I see. Loan sharks after you? I can pay them off for you.”

“Sir, it is none of the reasons you have stated. It’s personal and I would like to start with the hiring process for your next assistant as soon as possible.”

“But why?! What’s so bad about me that you want to quit?” He whined and you were reminded of the previous night’s events.

“I don’t have enough time for myself because of this job. I’d like a break from the work force.” You reluctantly answer him. You knew he would keep pressing until you nudged so you decided to give him what he wanted anyway. His spoilt nature won again.

“I can just hire a second assistant, take all the vacation days you need and just come back to work.”

“Sir, that would be unfair and unethical.”

“You don’t get it, you’re the best I’ve ever had.” He said as he walked towards you. “I don’t think I’ll find anyone like you again.” For moment, it felt like he was saying what was in his heart. His big blue eyes were tantalizing to stare at. You could clearly see his pupils dilate. How could you not realize that he wanted you sooner?

However, you couldn’t let your heart tremble at his unintentional seduction so you used your most professional voice. “There are many dedicated individuals out there. And I’m sure I’ll find someone even more capable.” You smiled.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to compile a list of potential assistants.” You said as you walked past Gojo. His heart sunk as he saw you leave his office. He was going to find a way to keep you whether you liked it or not.

He immediately pulled out his phone and dialed the number of his best friend/lawyer.

“Gojo, you son of a bitch, wouldn’t you be able to date her if she resigned?” Gojo’s lawyer, Geto Suguru, said through the phone. The man had decided to use the law to keep you with him. “Yeah but, now is the easiest time for me to show her that I can take care of her! Find a way!” The lawyer groaned and hung up. He could only take so much of Gojo’s tantrums.

Gojo decided on the next best thing to dig deeper into the exact reason why you didn’t want to stay with him.

He walked out of his office and called you out. You got up in your seat and bowed to him. “You’re staying late today.” He commanded and went back into his office.

Great. Overtime.

You were sitting with your laptop on one of the couches in Gojo’s office while he was signing a few papers on his desk. You groaned because your back hurt from sitting in an uncomfortable position for hours on end.

“Get used to it. It’s gonna be like this for two weeks. I’m behind on a new acquisition.”

You ignored him. You had two weeks left till ultimate freedom so you didn’t want to sour your mood by clapping back.

A few minutes later, an agitated Gojo walked towards you and stood right in front of you, commanding attention. He was almost like a child when he wanted something. “Your boss is standing in front of you and you’re choosing to ignore him?”

“I’m doing what my boss wants me to do- work.” You failed at clapping back. So much for being at peace.

His hand pulled your laptop away and he put it on his desk. To say that you were annoyed was an understatement. You were sleep deprived, hungry, dehydrated, and in pain and this man wasn’t letting you cater to any of it.

He plopped himself next to you and folded his arms. Staring at you. You stared back at him. This moment felt like deja vu, reminding you of the night before.

“What are you gonna do once you leave the company?”

“Do you really care?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to start my own business. I have a lot of ideas but first I’m gonna look for space to rent.”

He chuckled to himself.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because, my dear assistant, I own more than half the commercial spaces in this city. You will eventually be working for me anyway.”

Of course he did. Being such an influential man came with the perks of having so many properties. You were bound to run into him and you forgot to factor that in. And unfortunately enough, you didn’t have enough funds to move to another city.

You stood up. “I think I need some water.” But before you could leave Gojo’s office, he stood up and pinned your arms against a wall.

“Quit playing games with me, Y/N.” His hands moved down to your wrists and held them firmly. “You’re unbelievable. You’re never gonna leave me alone, are you?” You asked him.

“Darling, I know you want me too. I didn’t forget what happened last night. The way your hands moved against my hair said a lot.” His usual smirk was gone and he looked serious.

You couldn’t believe he manipulated you. Oh who were you kidding? You should’ve seen it coming.

“You’re an insufferable man. You’re spoilt, conniving, scheming, obsessive and-“ you couldn’t go on because Gojo planted his lips against yours.

At first you were angry. How could this man just shut you up with a kiss but a second later your body began reasoning with you as you leaned into him.

“And somehow you put up with this spoilt man, didn’t you? Working for him for years and seducing him so easily.” He whispered against your lips. You could only look away but he was quick to find your lips again, this time, taking his sweet time to enjoy the feeling. His mouth worked slowly against yours as he swallowed your moans. His tongue licked your bottom lip and he used his thumb to pull down your chin so he could explore your mouth.

His other hand went around your waist, pressing you further into him.

Your hands move from his chest to grab his face to pull away.

“This still doesn’t mean that I’m going to keep working as your assistant.” You breathe out.

“Works for me, no code of conduct violated.” He said as he stared down at your swollen lips. His ego swelled because he knew that he was the reason behind it.

You were starting to look forward to overtime.

-•-

Idk what I did with the ending 🗿

P.S. you cannot tell me this clip doesn’t scream Gojo

#gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #gojo fluff #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk au #jjk fluff #jjk

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egglain · 6 months ago

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Go Ahead & Cry (I’d Wipe Away All Your Tears)

incl.: nanami, choso, toji, gojo, geto, sukuna

summary: for a group of men who kill for a living, they’re awfully sweet… most of the time. AKA: how the jjk men comfort you

a/n: ngl i’m writing this bc i’m finally processing the US election results & i just… can’t deal. my heart goes out to all of you. pls take care of yourselves & enjoy the drabbles 🫶

Nanami

Nanami would be the first to notice something is off.

Whether you’re both at home and you’re just a bit too quiet, or he hasn’t heard from you by his lunch break while at work, something is distinctly off.

He wouldn’t be the nosy type, or the type to press. He’d bring home a sweet treat and a sentimental good (a potted flower, a stuffed animal, something that reminded him of you) without a word.

He wouldn’t pity you; far from it. And he’d never want to make you feel like that. So he’d leave the gifts on the coffee table and greet you with a kiss to the forehead, like always.

He’d sit in silence with you as if nothing was awry— allow you to feel your emotions. He’d put on a movie you like, something mindless and upbeat, without asking. Drag you to his chest and hold you there, keeping you warm and grounded in his touch.

If the waterworks start up, he’d rub your back with a large hand and press kisses to the part of your hair.

“That’s it. Get it out. I know.”

Choso

Choso is either too emotionally in-tune or completely clueless until the tears start.

But when he knows you’re upset, he feels it too.

He gets it wrong a lot of the time, at the beginning— tries to pry the cause out of you so he can minimize it. In his defence, he does it with good intentions; tries to help you see that the perceived threat is small in the greater scheme of things, that everything will work out.

But when the tears start welling, he knows he’s fucked up.

And god, is he so sweet trying to fix things.

“So sorry—“

He’d kiss the salty tears off your cheeks without hesitation.

“How do I make it stop?”

His bleeding heart is his biggest weakness and his greatest strength.

You wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of the day, as he tries to make things up to you. Cooking (though he burns the bottom of the pan), cleaning (though he spills the food and has to clean again), and cuddles would be the itinerary.

Though he loves to be little spoon, he’d let you rest in his arms as long as you need it. And once you find a spot in his arms, he wouldn’t dare move.

Toji

Toji is not great with words. Or gifts. Or quality time, really.

Despite his best intentions, he always manages to fuck it up somehow. Usually by minimizing your feelings with a “what now?” or a “‘s not a big deal.” or a “nothin’ to cry over.”

It’s not his fault you cry over the little things & that you look so cute doing it. Those fat tears and reddened cheeks scratch the sadistic part of his brain so good.

That being said, he’s learned what you like over the years. Even stopped scoffing when he senses you’re feeling down.

No, he’s developed a plan.

At the first signs of distress (he’s gotten really good at recognizing these), he’s got you in his arms. If he’s at work, you better bet he’s speeding things up and hauling his ass back.

He wrestles you into his big clothes; don’t even think about fighting him on this. He wants you comfy and cozy. He’d be setting you up on the couch, dragging the comforter down from the bedroom to wrap you up. He’d sit there with you for hours, massaging your feet or calves and ordering food in. Your favourite fast food— and a whole lotta ice cream.

Don’t take advantage of his kindness though; he’s still Toji. Any snide comments, and he’d be quick to snap back.

“Shut up n’ let me take care of ya.”

Gojo

Gojo’s a little… misguided when cheering people up most of the time. That is, unless you find his goofy antics comforting.

He’s known for draping himself over shoulders obnoxiously, pinching and pulling cheeks, and light jabs that crack (only) him up.

When that doesn’t work, it’s a quick fix— thanks to the seemingly unending pit of his black card.

Gojo Satoru, at his core, is a gift giver.

Nothing pleases him more than sharing things with you that he thinks will bring you joy— whether that’s an expensive physical present or a luxurious vacation abroad.

He’s wrapped around your little fingers and a sniffle would have him buckling at the knees and fumbling for his wallet.

While this might look like a cop out— a way to get out of emotional intelligence duty— it’s just one part of his approach. The man is actually quite sensitive and understanding once you dig beneath the layers of persona. And he can be surprisingly mature— though he’d never want to show that side to most of the world.

He’d always listen to your yapping, validating your feelings— he’d take your side always. And he is a pro at shit-talking. At the end of it, you always come out feeling a little bit better. A little bit stronger.

You are the strongest together, after all.

Geto

Suguru is a problem-solver.

He’d sit and motion for you to lay your head on his thighs. Long elegant fingers would make gentle work of your roots and scalp, and the tension would be melting away. When you’re relaxed enough to breathe, he’d want to hear all the venting.

“Now do you want solutions or just my ear?”

He’s your rock; always puts things into perspective if you ask. He’s always got advice— though sometimes clouded by bias. Still, it’s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone who actually listens.

Understands.

The flipside, however, is the darkness you find in him. He understands what to do because he’s hurt too. You can see it in the way he carries himself, in the bags under his eyes and the shake of his hands on the bad days.

But you care for him like he cares for you— braid his hair back, let him talk it out, gift whatever advice you can muster.

And as soon as you’re both feeling better, you’d be getting crêpes with the girls.

Sukuna

The King of Curses does not understand human sadness.

Perhaps he had empathy for it, centuries ago, before he became the Two-faced Spectre.

But now, seeing you upset, all he can think of is how pathetic tears look in reddened eyes.

He’d wipe them away with a big thumb, clicking his tongue.

“Unsightly, pathetic little thing.”

Yet, the way he speaks down to you holds a softness. A protective nature he rarely gives voice to.

He’d treat you like a porcelain doll; a prized possession. No measure was inconvenient when it came to appeasing you— though he’d be quick to reprimand entitlement. And vehemently deny any sort of feeling towards you.

When the tears come, he’d be signalling for Uraume to draw a bath and cook your favourite. You’d find your room tidied, trinkets left on the foot of your bed as if dragged in by a wild animal— an ornate dagger, gold jewellery, incense.

He wasn’t one to demonstrate affection— but he’d keep you close on the tough days. Whether it be making a seat for you on one of his hulking thighs or allowing you to sleep in his quarters, he’d allow you to do as you please.

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kamiversee · 1 year ago

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 56 || The Official End

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, & semi-angst.

[ { A/N } ] ➤ This is the last chapter.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 6.4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——AS FOR THE MAN WHO lost in the game of winning your heart, Gojo Satoru patiently waited day by day for that fateful phone call of yours. He wasn’t sure when it would be but he knew you’d call sooner or later.

The journal had to be burned. He needed to make sure it was, promising to himself that burning it would be burning the horrid things he put you through. It’d be the death of something so very toxic and would leave the two of you truly free from the list. That, and Gojo saw burning the list with you as his way of finally letting you go.

So, patiently, he waited. Every day he’d check his phone to see if your contact name would appear across his screen, his heart aching for the inevitable. Gojo was lost in a space of wanting that day to come as soon as possible and also wanting you to take your time to get to that point.

At the end of the day, burning the journal was your way of letting him go too. You needed to burn it with him just as much as he needed to burn it with you. Whatever it was that still floated in the air between the two of you needed to die along with the cursed words written upon those pages in your journal.

If not, other things, such as your relationship with your boyfriend Choso would soon crumble if truths he never wanted to know were revealed to him.

So yes, the end was near— closer than anticipated, and only you and Gojo knew that.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Which is exactly why you took your sweet time in calling him.

Not days and not weeks did you wait but two months. From the day you started dating Choso, you tried to put all thoughts of Gojo in the back of your head, only ever thinking about him whenever you remembered you had a book to burn.

Sometimes you’d look at your phone and debate on calling him to plan the whole burning process out but ultimately, the sound of your boyfriend saying something would pull you away from those thoughts.

A perfect example would be currently as you stood in Choso’s apartment on a Sunday morning in his kitchen, attempting to prepare some kind of breakfast as he slept in his bedroom. The two-month mark of your relationship with him was nearing and things couldn’t be better.

If you weren’t able to see him throughout the week because of school, either of you always found a way to be with each other by the weekend. Most times it was at his place since you had a roommate and by now, you’d practically moved in with the man.

Not that he minded of course. What better to wake up to than you in his arms? Or what could top noticing your feminine products begin to take permanent place in his bathroom? Then there was the occasional time he’d find your clothes with his as he went to do laundry.

He loved every moment he realized you were starting to take over his apartment day by day.

So today, when he gets a strong waft of pancakes swirling into his nose, he wakes up smiling because he knows it’s you in his kitchen. Choso’s eyes cracked open and he let out a heavy yawn, his arms and legs stretching out as he woke himself up some more. Despite knowing you were in the kitchen, he did prefer waking up to your body heat against his and you pressed into him.

He doesn’t know if you’re aware but you’re more clingy than he is when you’re asleep. Throughout the night, Choso would sometimes wake up to drink a bottle of water but the very second he shifts away from you, you’re tugging him back and grumbling something in your sleep with this cute little pout on your face.

God, Choso was so in love with you. Everything you did made his heart race. Every laugh shared, every lingering touch, every joyful glint in your eyes— you were the embodiment of perfection in his eyes. Never would he view a woman in the same light he views you. And to think you’re his girlfriend? What did he do to deserve you?

These are the kinda’ thoughts he has nearly every morning, today more so than others. Because just why are you out in the kitchen humming to You Rock My World by Micheal Jackson and cooking up a storm of breakfast with not a care in the world?

Choso’s getting out of bed without a second thought, rushing into the bathroom to brush his teeth and cleanse his face before heading out to you. As he walked down his hallway, the sound of music grew louder and louder until he was near his kitchen.

Then there was you. Oh the sigh of joy he lets out at the sight of you is so lovestruck. Your back was to him and you had a spatula in your hand, clearly making eggs as your hips swayed from side to side along with the music playing and sweet little hums left your lips along with the tune.

Choso couldn’t help but smile, wondering if you knew that you really did rock his world just as the song was saying. His head is nodding along to the music before he realizes and he begins to smoothly make his way over to you.

You’re so wrapped up in your cooking and vibing to the music that you don’t even realize Choso is approaching until his hands slide onto your waist. You inhale sharply in reaction, jumping only a little in shock before you turn your head back to look at him.

“Mornin’ baby,” Choso hums with a happy little smile on his face. His morning voice gives you butterflies and you flash him a smile before he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

“Mh, Good morning, Cho,” You reply, “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet y’know…” You say suddenly as you turn back to the eggs you had cooking on the stove, “I wanted to surprise you.”

Choso chuckles and he’s behind you dancing slightly to the sound of Micheal Jackson’s voice, “Should’ve closed the room door then,” He responds, “I’m a simple man y’know— I smell pancakes, I come running.”

You giggle at his words and feel his hands slide down to your hips as the two of you sway slightly against one another. He starts humming to the song and seems to be enjoying himself as he dances against you and watches you finish your breakfast preparation.

An intrusive thought comes to him and he’s speaking before he thinks it through, “Y’know, you’d make a good housewife baby,” Choso says suddenly.

You begin to plate all the food you’ve cooked and raise a brow at his words, “Would I really?”

“Yeah-, sorry, is that weird to say?” He asks curiously, tilting his head a bit before sneaking up a piece of bacon into his mouth.

You send him a look because of him eating despite you not being finished and then roll your eyes at him teasingly, “No, it’s not a weird thing to say. But y’know, in order for me to be a housewife I’d want two things,” You claim before stepping back a little to reach into one of the drawers for utensils.

Choso hums, “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“One,” You turn to him with a telling look, “A ring on my finger,” You explain.

He nods with a smile on his face, “Obviously. And two?”

“A man who’ll do everything I don’t,” You say vaguely, “Y’know, like pay for whatever I may need since I wouldn’t have a job, and basically-“

“Take care of you?” He interrupts unintentionally, “So for you to be a housewife, you needa’ man to take care of ya’?”

You shake your head, “Not need, Choso, want.” You correct, “I could easily provide for myself and just get a job but,” You find the utensils you were looking for and place them with the plates of food before turning back to look at your boyfriend, “If a certain someone wants to make me a housewife, he better come with those two things.”

The man laughs at your words and then throws his hands up defensively, “Hey, I didn’t say I wanted to make you a housewife. I want you to do whatever makes you happy.” He explains, shrugging a little, “And I was jus’ pointing it out that you’d be a good housewife,” Choso leans a little closer to you, “If that’s what you choose to be.”

“Uhuh,” You hum casually before slipping away from Choso’s grasp with two plates in your hands, “Well, isn’t it too early to talk about that kinda’ thing anyway?” You ask as you place both plates down on the coffee table in the closeby living room.

Choso’s over in his fridge now, swiping up something to drink for the both of you, “Mmmmh, too early to talk about marriage?”

“Yeah,” You chuckle, “It’s only been a month, so-“

“Two months baby, this Friday it’ll be two months,” Choso corrects as he exits the fridge with your favorite drink in hand, “And it’s never too early to talk about marriage— that’s what people date for, no?”

“I mean, yes but…” You shrug, “I dunno…”

Choso quirks a curious brow and starts to walk over to you while you’re moving used dishes into the sink. He stops you from moving by wrapping his arms around your waist and popping his head over your shoulder.

“Baby, are you dating me for some other reason?” He asks.

You blink, “Hm? What do you mean?”

“I mean like… Y’know I’m dating you to hopefully marry you one day, right?” Choso questions.

“Oh, well… I just don’t really think about marriage, Cho.” You explain with a sheepish shrug, “I’m dating you because I fell in love with you,” Turning your head to look up at him, “Is that okay Mr. Kamo?”

Choso smiles, “Yeah that’s jus’ fine, Mrs. Kamo,” He murmurs playfully.

Your entire face flushes in heat and your eyes widen, “Ohh, do nottt call me that.”

Your boyfriend smiles, “Why? Should I be calling some other woman ‘Mrs. Kamo’?”

“Well, no,” You answer, brows tensing and lips poking out to a pout.

“Alright then, if you’re gonna call me mister anything then I’m gonna call you the accompanying missus,” Choso tells you cheerfully.

You stare for a moment and his smile deepens before you roll your eyes and look away, “Whatever, Choso.”

“Ohhh, now it’s back to Choso?” He taunts, moving to your ear, “I kinda’ liked Mr. Kamo, y’know.”

“Did you?” You ask in return, smiling a little.

“Mhm,” Choso hums, “But you can only call me that if you let me call you Mrs. Kamo,” He tells you.

You giggle, “I dunno if I’ll let you call me that but it does have a nice ring to it…”

Oh his heart swells at those words, his smile getting impossibly wider as he gushes, “Yeah? Y’like the sound of that title?”

You nod a little, “Mhm, it’s cute, I guess…”

“Ohhh baby don’t tease me like thatttt,” Choso whines, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and starting to kiss you, “Either you like the sound of my last name being yours or you don’t…”

You chuckle at both his words and the way he starts kissing your neck so sweetly, lips locking with the area that always makes you squirm in his grasp, “I do like the sound of it, Cho-, love it, but,” You suddenly turn around to him and he pulls his head away from his neck, “It��s too soon to be talkin’ about this kinda thing.”

“It’s not,” He shrugs, “I didn’t say hey let’s get married tomorrow or in a few weeks,” Choso explains through a chuckle, “I just said that I’m dating you to eventually do so. That could be years from now but I do want you to know I’m thinkin’ about it from time to time.”

You stare up into those pretty brown eyes of his, your hands rising to his face and moving to squish his cheeks, “Right, so is this your form of reassurance?”

“Mhm, I love you so much, princess and I hope to get down on one knee and propose to you one day in the future when we’re both ready,” Choso proclaims.

The smile that spreads across your face only deepens that loving emotion Choso has for you. “Aww, how romantic.”

He pouts, “S’that all I get in response?” Choso mumbles tauntingly.

You scoff, “Oh yeah you’re pretty great too.”

“Baby,” He frowns.

With a roll of your eyes and a giggle, your arms wrap around his neck and you lean closer to him, “I love you even more, Choso.” You say before kissing the tip of his nose, “You’re my happiness, my reason to smile, my peace,” Your lips move to his cheek and then they ghost his lips, “My everything. I hope we stay happy and get married one day too.”

His face is red as if he didn’t just request that you say all that to him. Swallowing hard, “Much better,” Choso teases.

“Shut up,” You snicker before kissing him.

It’s a passionate one with Choso leaning into you and his arms holding you tightly as your lips slide over one another, your tongue soon pushing into his mouth and earning a hum from him. Choso’s lips twitch into a half-smile mid-kiss and he steps forward with you, causing your lower back to hit the counter.

His tongue slips over yours and he maneuvers his way into your mouth, one of his hands sliding down to smack and then grab your ass, the contact making you jump.

“Choso-,” You gasp in between his lips, “Food’s gonna get cold,” You mumble against him.

Choso’s hand squeezes your ass and he tilts his head, slightly ignoring what you just said and kissing you more aggressively. You unintentionally moan when both his hands grab your ass and he smacks it yet again, clearly having a thing for playing with your ass.

“Cho,” You whine against him.

He pulls away from your mouth with a bit of saliva sticking to his lips, “Hm? Yes baby?”

“Our food is gonna get cold,” You whisper.

Choso nods, “I know but, we can warm it back up,” He says before suddenly dipping down and then lifting you up onto the counter.

You shake your head, “Nope, we’re not doing this again.”

“Not doing whattttt?” Choso drags out innocently as he parts your legs so that he can stand in between them.

“You can’t keep eating me out and calling it breakfast Choso,” You say sternly, referring to the past few occurrences this has happened with him, “I made you real food for a reason.”

Your boyfriend laughs and tips his head to the side, “Is your pussy not real food?”

“No, dummy, it’s not,” You tell him, tone playful.

Choso rolls his eyes, “Fills me up perfectly fine tho’,” His hands slide down to your outer thighs and he drops to kiss your neck again, “I won’t take long, I promise.”

“But I made you breakfast and if you don’t eat it I’ll be sad,” You murmur to the man, your words making him freeze all movement.

Slowly, Choso lifts his head from your neck and his eyes meet yours, “Seriously?” He asks curiously, a hint of worry in his voice.

You nod, “I told you I wanted to surprise you…”

Choso nods his head understandingly, “Alright, alright, my bad baby, I’ll eat you out some other time then. Let’s go have breakfast together like you wanted to, yeah?”

A cute smile grows on your face and the worry he had instantly fades. He carefully pulls you off the counter and gives your forehead one last kiss before you take his hand and drag him over to his living room.

There was some show the two of you had recently been watching together so you wanted to do that as you ate. Quickly seating yourselves and putting it on to enjoy a cute little breakfast together.

It was wonderful. Such a nice couple's moment shared with one another that would forever live inside your head. With a bunch of laughter and silly little comments shared between each other, you and Choso spent a great day together.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Sometime later throughout the week, there was this feeling you got in your heart— a feeling as though there were doors still open that needed to be shut.

The doors in question were ones that led to halls of feelings and memories with Gojo Satoru.

This all spurred on Tuesday when you were cleaning your bedroom and came across that locked drawer of yours, the journal lying idly inside. Choso was lying on your bed, taking goofy pictures of himself on your phone and not paying attention to what you were doing at all.

If you were going to see Gojo again, you should tell your boyfriend, right?

Turning to him, you see him messing with the point five option on your camera and you laugh at him, earning his flustered gaze of being caught as he tossed your phone down.

“You didn’t see that, right?” Choso mumbles to you.

You’re snickering, “I did. You’re so unserious and I love it.”

He flops his head down into your pillows and groans, “Well my girlfriend’s not showing me any attention so I had to distract myself with something.”

“Oh? Is my boyfriend feeling needy for me now?” You say suggestively.

“Yes,” Choso hums, voice muffled by the pillows.

You sigh and stand up, walking over to him before plopping down on your bed beside him, “Well, that’s perfect timing because there’s something I wanna talk to you about.”

His head pops up like an excited little puppy and Choso’s eyes are wide on yours, eager to hear anything you have to say to him, “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Well, it’s somewhat of a serious conversation…” You hum nervously.

He tilts his head for a moment and then moves to sit normally, “What is it, baby?”

Taking a deep breath, you try to remember that Choso’s rather open to anything you have to say so there’s no reason to be nervous, “Okay uh, remember that other guy I told you about…”

“My competition? The one who got you that necklace on Christmas?” Choso asks for clarification.

You nod, “Mhm. Well, it’s about him.”

“Okay…” Choso says, awaiting your explanation.

“I have to see him,” You explain bluntly.

He blinks, “For…?”

“There’s… There’s this-, this thing we had together…”

“You’re not secretly the mother of his child are you?” Choso blurts out teasingly.

You snort, “No!”

Choso chuckles, “Okay, okay, so what’s the thing?”

“Uhm, it’s a journal…” You murmur timidly.

Your boyfriend tilts his head and raises a brow, “Of?”

“Memories.” You answer.

He nods, “Uhuh…”

“Memories that he and I promised to burn together.”

“Ohhh,” Choso’s brows raise and then he nods again, “That’s uh, that actually sounds rather peaceful.”

“Does it?”

“Mhm, sounds like a good way to let someone go,” Choso comments, “Why’d you feel the need to tell me?”

Your brows pinch together. Why wouldn’t you tell him? “Because you’re my boyfriend?” You say in an obvious tone.

Choso blinks, “So?”

“I-I dunno I just thought you should know!”

“I appreciate that but, I trust you.” He laughs a bit, not seeing why you got so serious over this topic, “You don’t have to tell me every little thing you’re gonna do with some guy.”

“Even though he could be considered an ex-lover?” You question.

“You’re going to completely end things with him, I think I’d be fine if you told me after the fact or not at all,” Choso claims with a shrug, “But since you did tell me, when are you gonna go do this?”

“I’m thinking tomorrow…” You explain your thought process on the matter and he nods along with you.

Then, another brow rose, “Why tomorrow? Is it some important day?”

“Well…” Your gaze drops to your lap for a moment as you think back, “Tomorrow’s Wednesday.”

“Okay…”

“It… His complicated relationship with me started on a Wednesday.” You explain.

Choso coos, “And you wanna end it on a Wednesday?”

“Mhm…” You hum.

“Alright,” He shrugs yet again, feeling so very casual about this, “Do I need to do anything or…?”

“No, I just wanted to let you know.”

He nods, “Okay, thanks for telling me.” He says with a pleased grin on his face.

And that conversation pretty much ends there— just like that. You had to blink a few times to make sure this was real because you’re still trying to get used to problems or confusion getting solved and cleared up so quickly.

That was so much easier than you thought it was going to be.

Which is exactly why after that, Choso asks if you were gonna call the other guy and you told him you would sooner or later— to which your boyfriend insisted that you call him ASAP.

Then, before you could argue him down, Choso got up and said he’d give you space to make that phone call. He studies your body language and facial expressions all the time so he could tell that this was the kinda thing he needed to push you to do or else it would never get done.

And with that, Choso left you in your room.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

It was hard to make that phone call.

Like, really hard. Even once the call was made, hearing Gojo’s voice after so long made your heart ache. You don’t know if he realized it but he sounded so much more at peace over the phone.

The last time you spoke to him, he seemed anxious and ready for something bad to happen but this time, Gojo sounded so relaxed and at ease. It seemed as though his heart had gotten the proper time it needed to heal.

But then again, that’s just how he seemed over the phone.

“Tomorrow?” Gojo asked softly, “You wanna do this tomorrow?”

“Yeah, is that okay?” You question in return.

“Course’ it is,” He hummed, “I was wondering how long it was gonna take you to call me.”

You chuckle, “Sorry it took me a while…”

“It’s alright,” Gojo says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhm…” You hum almost longingly.

“Cya, sweets,” He dismisses.

You sigh heavily and your voice is barely even there as you utter the word bye— to which he ends the call.

You’re unsure of why but you didn’t want things to end yet. This was really the last page of such a headache of a story, the rolling credits of a heart-wrenching movie…

Just as quickly as that call went by, so did the rest of your day. Choso pointed out how gloomy you seemed and he knew it was because of what you had to do the next day. Even so, he just comforted you and told you everything’s gonna be okay-, that this is for the best.

You agreed with him, knowing that this wasn’t a weight you could carry on your shoulders forever. Despite not ever learning the truth, things would just have to end here.

If anything, Gojo did promise that he’d give you the truth in some years if you still cared. So, there would always be that to look forward to…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The next day was cloudy. Large fluffy gray clouds decorated the sky, small peeks of sunlight escaping through the cracks every now and then. Honesty, the weather matches your mood.

Gojo sent you this location of where he wanted everything to take place and you drove out to him by yourself. Choso told you to call him if you needed him for anything and again assured you that everything would be okay.

Somewhere deep down inside he was worried that this final meeting with an ex-lover of yours would or could change something between you and him but ultimately— Choso’s trust in you overpowered that worry. You’d shown him how much you loved him too much for him to doubt you now.

As for you… You don’t think you were ready to even lay eyes on Gojo yet, having sat in your car parked not too far from the spot he’s in for roughly thirty minutes. It took some real strength for you to get out of the car and head over to him.

He was in this park-like area but it seemed rather abandoned. It wasn’t ominous or anything, just dull and void of recent activity. There was this small river that you spotted Gojo nearby and in front of him was a large metal trash can— an item that seemed to be used numerous times to burn things.

Part of you wondered if Gojo had done this kinda thing before. Yet, all thoughts went out the window when you heard him humming to something.

Raising a brow at the lanky white-haired man, you notice he’s got headphones in his ear, casually humming along with whatever he was listening to. You were smiling at his cluelessness about you being there before you even realized it.

The closer you get, you notice his music is rather loud and he’s not paying attention to anything at all. Gojo had Sober by Childish Gambino blaring in his ears and you watch as he just stops nodding his head and then his shoulders raise and fall whilst he sighs heavily.

Gojo’s head tips back and his eyes shut— lost to his thoughts and oblivious to you approaching him. He was such an angelic-looking man and you hated to admit it but even now as you approach his side, you couldn’t help but admire him.

He seemed slimmer than the last time you saw him and as you studied his face, there were eyebags beneath his sockets, the sight making your brows furrow. His hair was a mess, seeming as though he didn’t even bother to brush it into a presentable state, and yet he still managed to look as beautiful as ever.

You do nothing more than nudge his arm and Gojo’s eyes flutter open, his head slow to turn and look down at you. The eye contact lasts for a long moment and it’s like you watched his eyes light up for a moment only to dim again. Not that they dimmed negatively but, they certainly weren’t as bright on you as normal.

Gojo heaves out yet another sigh and then moves to pull his phone out and pause what he had been playing. Then, he takes out his headphones and pockets them, “Hey,” He greets simply.

You swallow, “Hi Satoru.”

Gojo pauses, smiling for a moment before chuckling, “We’re really doing this, huh?”

You tilt your head, “Yeah, why? Are you not ready?”

The man shrugs, “I dunno.”

You simply stare up at him with pretty wide eyes, the sight making his heart skip a beat as he looks off to the side.

Something comes over you and you step closer to him, lifting a hand to his face and forcing him to turn his head to you again. His eyes are slow to drag down to your expression and he’s breathing oh so softly.

You frown at him, “Have you been getting any sleep?”

Gojo chuckles nervously, “Of course-“

“Don’t lie to me,” You cut off sternly.

He eats his words and then shakes his head, “Sorry. I’ve had a few restless nights here and there but I’m fi-“

“Please Satoru, don’t tell me you’re fine when it’s so painfully obvious you’re not,” You plead, shoulders sinking, “How am I expected to ever be happy if I know you’re hurting?”

His heart jumps at your words. Why is it that you care so much? Gojo smiles a little, “I’m not hurting, I promise. I just… I can’t sleep sometimes but I’ve had that problem long before you.”

“I’ve never seen the bags under your eyes this heavy before,” You point out before removing your hands from him and sliding the bag you brought with you off your shoulder.

“Why do you pay so much attention to me?” He asks.

As you drop the bag, you bend down to pull out the highlighted item of this meet-up. “Because I care about you, dumbass,” You voice out passive-aggressively.

Gojo gives you a dopey grin, “Yeah?”

You roll your eyes at the man and then move to smack his arm while you stand to your feet, “Yes. As much as I don’t mean to, I do. I care about you a lot.”

He frowns and rubs a hand over where you hit him, dramatically acting like you actually hurt him, “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“I do. But I’m allowed to care about you.” Your words left you as you approached the metal trash can and placed the book on top of the pile of previously burned items.

Gojo nods and reaches into his pocket for a lighter, “Fair enough.” He hums, stepping toward you and the item and staring at it for a moment, “How discreet; writing on the cover ‘list of people to seduce’.” He teases.

“Oh shut up,” You whine playfully, “I was stressed when I wrote that, okay? Hop off.”

Gojo snickers, “My bad, sweets.”

Then, he flicks the flame to his lighter and reaches in his other pocket to pull out some small bottle— the liquid inside presumably lighter fluid as he then pours it over the book and proceeds to light the item on fire.

Both of your eyes have a glint in there as the flames ignite— the warmth caressing the surfaces of your faces.

Silence overcomes the two of you and you guys just watch the journal burn. It feels like there is so much and so little to say at the same time.

Eventually, Gojo just blurts something out at random, “Both.” He hums.

You chuckle and turn your head to him, “W-What? Both what?”

“You once asked me if I love you because I blackmailed you or if I blackmailed you because I love you and my answer is both,” Gojo confesses as he turns to meet your gaze, “Through my blackmailing, I fell for you but I also did it because I loved you from the start.”

You simply blink, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does, you just won’t understand it.” Gojo hums, smiling a little.

With a sigh, your eyes grow pleasing, “Then help me understand, please.”

“There isn’t much more for you to understand.” He states, “I’ve given you every answer I have, love.”

“But you haven’t.” You emphasize. If it’s all over, why can’t he tell you now? “You’ve given me everything but the answer.” You say.

“Answer to what?” Gojo taunts.

“Why. Why you did everything you did?” You ask.

He snickers and is casual with his answer like always, “Because I love you.”

“That-“

“You asked for an answer and I’ve given it to you nearly every time.” Gojo cuts off, “It’s always been that and it’ll never change. I did what I did because I love you, why is that so hard to accept?”

“Because that doesn’t make sense.” You argue with a scoff, “You fell for me amid your blackmail and yet you blackmailed me to begin with because you're in love with me?

“The answers are in your question.” He tells you.

Another sigh escapes, “What?”

“I’ve sacrificed everything for you, y’know.”

“How? What’s everything that you’ve sacrificed, hm?”

“You. I sacrificed the woman I love to make her happy.” Gojo admits, and of all he’s said thus far, that feels like the truest statement.

“I could’ve been happy with you.” You remind him.

He laughs, “Yeah well, I’m an idiot.”

You scoff, “That’s all you have to say?”

“Yup.”

“Satoru, I-“

“There’s things I should’ve done differently but I can’t take it back. My mistake was loving you and my happiness is also loving you but, only in letting you go will either of us find peace.” Gojo explains finally, “You know this.”

“I do.” Shaking your head, you shrug, “But, there’s so much unanswered.”

“There isn’t.” The man chuckles so sweetly, almost in a way that says he knows it all— which he does seeing as he simply keeps you in the dark.

Groaning a bit, “Satoru-“

He just cuts you off again, “I’ve given you my truth. There’s nothing else to it.”

“Okay, fine.” You result in saying.

The soft crackle of flames engulfing the journal fills the air accompanied by the two of you breathing softly. The reflection of the flames could be seen in either of your eyes and both of you simply relaxed yourselves.

He wasn’t going to give you any non-confusing answers and, y’know what, you were okay with that. Gojo promised one day he would and you believed in said promise.

So, now it’s quiet-, peaceful even. The journal was burning and burning, all known evidence of the list and memories that came with it being ridden from the world only to lay within the minds of you and Gojo Satoru.

How it started, how it ended— only the two of you would remember-

“Y’know…” Gojo suddenly speaks, breaking the silence and lightening the mood all of a sudden, “Before we part, we should name it.”

You scoff and glance at him, “Name what?”

“The list.” He clarifies.

Blinking, you raise a brow, “Why? It has a name already; the list.”

Gojo rolls his eyes and he moves to nudge your arm, “Oh come onnnnn, that's so plain. It needs a title.”

“Why? It’s burning.” You point out bluntly.

He’s smiling, “Okay, and the title of it can burn into our heads.”

“I don’t understand the importance of a-“

“The Hit List,” He suddenly spews out.

You freeze for a moment before letting out a cackle, “The Hit List? I was seducing people, not assassinating them.”

Gojo chuckles, “Alright thennn, The Lust List.”

“Mmmh, no.” You hum.

“No? Why not?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders as he does so.

Tilting your head, your eyes ogle the burning book a bit more, “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Uhuh…” He nods, “Okay how about The Lewd List?” He suggests as he wiggles his eyebrows in a silly manner.

You laugh at him, “Hell no!”

“Alright then picky lady, you come up with somethin’,” Gojo says with a pout.

You fold your arms and hum in thought, “The Kiss List.”

“Did a lot more than kissing though, didn’t you?” He comments under his breath.

You smack his arm and he laughs. “The Sex List, then. Since I did more than kissing.” You mock him, purposefully making your voice deeper.

Gojo’s got this big smile on his face and the sun has emerged from the clouds to shine over the two of you. “That one’s not too bad but, no.”

“No?! Well then this naming bullshit is stupid.” You result in saying as you frown playfully.

His cheeks are all flushed from both laughing with you and the heat from the flames before him, “You’re stupid.” He responds with the same energy.

“Nuh-uh.” You hum.

Gojo snorts, “Yuh-huh.”

Giggling at the banter you still have with this man, you sigh, “Okay, whatever Satoru. Come up with a name or else-“

“Oh! I got it!” He suddenly claims with a snap of his fingers.

You look at him and tilt your head, “Yeah? What?”

Gojo laughs, “Oh this is perfect.”

“What is it, dumbass?” You urge.

He freezes dramatically and gives you a slow head turn as if he were offended, “Well if you’re gonna be mean to me I’m not gonna tell you…”

“Satoru.” You blink.

He blinks twice to mock you, “Sweetheart.”

“Just tell me the damn name already.” You sigh.

Gojo, being the dramatic king he is, steps closer to you and tosses an arm over your shoulder. He leans down so his voice is near your ear and he smiles, “You’re gonna like it.”

“What is it?” You huff out impatiently.

With one last snicker, Gojo tips his head over to rest it against yours as you both watch the book burn into its final ashes— both of you smile at its destruction and then he sighs.

“When you first asked me what you’d be doing with the list of those names, what did I say?” He asks as you both keep your eyes on the idle ashes.

You relax under his touch, “You said I’d be fucking them.”

“Right so, naturally,” Gojo pauses just to build up your anticipation, “The name should be rather simple.”

Nodding, you await him to say it, “Exactly…”

His smile grows into something softer, more at peace, “So we’ll remember it as…”

This gentle exhale leaves your lips as you wait for him to just say it already.

Gojo’s careful as finally tells you, “…The F*ck List.”

“That’s…” You blink, “That’s perfect but why’d you say it like that?”

His brows furrow, “Like what?”

“Like you censored the u in fuck, it sounded like you said The Fck List instead of The Fuck List-“

“Shhh,” Gojo shushes playfully, “It’s more aesthetically pleasing the way I said it, okay?”

You giggle again, “That doesn’t-“

“Sweetheart, please.” He interrupts.

“Fine fine…” Rolling your eyes, you shrug, “I guess that’s the name then.”

“Yup, and also the end.”

“Hm?”

“List is complete, you’re happy, I’m happy, so…” Gojo’s voice softens, “That’s the end.”

Feeling happy for some reason, you’re smiling as you speak, “Is it really?”

“Mhm…” Gojo hums and the two of you watch the dying flames as he truly speaks his final words on the matter, “…The end of The F*ck List."

mlist || previous chapt || alt ending || extras

tags;

@blognicole @suguruologist @luqueam @ivoryviness @sinaxalui @rxnnie18 @carlacujo @gods-landing @bitchysouljellyfish @miles4hour @sinaxalui @annananamin @heart-snow @kiyomizzx @hanuh @acehyacinth @mccookiemonster @tojis-ball-sack @cartwheel6869 @mariluvsusstuff @addie1010 @slammynics @actualz0mbie @hisbitchhh @kay-xle @cunttee3 @voids-universe @raininglovelyfire @itsbokutosjuicyass @peaceoutbritta @barbielani @gennaray @r3inae @kfmcykdy @camiihutt @tokina @curtin81937 @hopefullydecent @nameless-shade @ureuphoriasworld @forgetfulmachine @legbouk @lilliaannn @clementineee0-0 @divinelseraph @didibxx

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seijorhi · 1 year ago

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Etched in Red: Vermillion (Part One)

Event Masterlist

Okkotsu Yuuta x female reader

Part Two

w.c 1.4k

tw: yandere themes, kidnapping, implied dub/non-con, non-explicit gore

There’s nothing… wrong with being weak.

It isn’t a moral failing or anything to be ashamed of, it just is. For most people – normal people – that’s okay. They accept it, adjust their lives accordingly and move on.

The thing is, most people don’t actually need to be strong, not in the physical sense.

Most people aren’t jujutsu sorcerers.

Yuuta frowns, watching you laugh as Inumaki offers a hand to haul you up to your feet, brushing the dirt and grass of your skirt once you’re upright. Another sparring session that ends the exact same way all of them do; you, flat on your ass, wholly at the mercy of whichever of his friends is standing over you.

Problem is, they’re going easy on you; Maki leaving her left side wide open, Panda practically telegraphing his hits. Lately, he’s noticed it with Yuji and the other second years, too. It’s like an unwritten rule that they never go too hard, never push you too far. Trying to help you without hurting you in the process.

Because the simple, painful truth is, you aren’t strong enough to take it.

And believe it or not, he does get it… sort of. When Gojo dragged him into this he was petrified. Useless. He got thrown in the deep end, first first with Maki and then with Inumaki, and he had to figure it out fast, but… he also had Rika.

He also had his cursed technique.

Three years in, with graduation looming, you’re a step above a window. Still a grade four, although unlike with Maki it’s not some political, sexist bullshit keeping you there.

For right now, that’s okay. They’re your friends, none of them think any worse of you for it. They cover you on the missions you’re sent out on, and that’s not gonna change any time soon, but–

“Everything okay, Yuuta?”

He exhales a shuddering breath then straightens and turns your way with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” he asks, idly toeing at a rock by his feet. Maybe you won’t notice the flush colouring his cheeks. “Looked like you hit the ground pretty hard back there.”

You laugh, waving it off like it’s no big deal, and to be fair it isn’t – you go through this multiple times a week, but that doesn’t mean it rankles him any less when you say, “Nothing I can’t handle. Toge was taking it easy on me.”

You don’t know the half of it.

“C’mon,” you tell him. “Panda says you’re up.”

—

Forty minutes later, breathless, aching and bruised all over, Yuuta shuffles with you and the others back to the dormitories to shower before eating when a familiar head of white hair pops into view.

“Yuuu-taa,” Gojo greets in a sing-song voice, altogether too happy for the group of exhausted, hungry students glaring back at him. “A word?”

Not remotely a request, considering he’s got an arm looped over Yuuta’s shoulders, steering him away from the rest of the group before he can get so much as a word out.

Leading him into an empty classroom well away from the dormitories, Gojo props himself up against one of the desks, leaving Yuuta to stand awkwardly in front of him, trying his best not to feel like a misbehaving child about to be lectured.

When he speaks, there’s no trace of levity left to soften the blow. “What happened?”

Gojo isn’t talking about the training session outside.

Yuuta swallows, stiffening. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You read the report. As long as she’s with me, Rika and I–”

“So you expect the higher ups to send you along on every mission she’s assigned?”

His cheeks flush again, this time with indignation. “They can’t send her alone! She’s not– she… ” Isn’t strong enough.

At his floundering, Gojo lets out a heavy, over-dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders alone. “Yuuta, you’re a special grade. Do you really think they’ll let you play babysitter just because you have a crush?”

His heart squeezes, a thick lump lodging itself in his throat. He doesn’t deny it, there’s no point. Blindfolded or not, Gojo sees everything.

Not that his Sensei has room to talk about crushes.

“I don’t care, I’ll go anyway! I’m not letting her get hurt.”

“Special grade or not, you won’t be able to stop it,” Gojo tells him, a strange sort of smile teasing at his lips. “They’ll smell her coming a mile away, that inexperience, overconfidence. Such a weak, tasty little sorcerer. Easy pickings. She’ll draw them in like flies to honey, one after another, until there’s too many to fight all at once – that’s what happened last time, didn’t it? You lost focus.”

Yuuta stills entirely.

Gojo tugs at the bandages over his eyes, revealing one brilliant, blue iris. “She dies. That’s the only way this goes. You understand that, don’t you?”

—

It kills Yuuta that Gojo turns out to be right.

The body lying on the cold, metal table can barely be called that. Half a torso and a leg. That’s all he got back after getting rid of the curse.

“Okkotsu,” Ieiri’s calm voice breaks through his reverie, and he glances up to find her tired eyes boring into him from across the room. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think she looked concerned.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, letting his head tilt back to fall against the cool tiles. “I’m not the one who died.”

Ieiri opens her mouth, only to close it a moment later. “Of course.”

And so it goes. Inumaki, Panda and Maki hover, quiet and subdued. No one knows what to say, but none of them are surprised, he can tell that much through the thick, strained silence.

Death is pretty much a constant for them. Jujutsu sorcerers don’t tend to lead long, happy lives, but this isn’t just losing a classmate seven days out from graduation. A pang squeezes at his chest and he doesn’t bother holding back a heavy exhale.

“I’m tired. I’ll… catch you guys later, I guess.”

Yuuta doesn’t wait for an acknowledgement, turning on his heel and leaving them there outside the gym, staring uselessly after him.

But he doesn’t head back to his room. There’s nothing for him there.

No, Yuuta walks for a long, long while. Back to civilisation, to the city teeming with people and curses, each step more surefooted, eager than the last.

By the time he reaches the apartment, he’s pounding the pavement, and takes the stairs two at a time. His hand shakes as he slots the key into the first lock and twists, then the second, his heart’s halfway to his throat when he pushes it open, heading straight for the bedroom–

The knot in his chest loosens, a relieved sigh escaping him at the sight of you, spread out in his sheets in nothing but your underwear, fast asleep. Safe, where he left you.

It takes him no time at all to toe out of his sneakers, shed his jacket and climb up onto the bed next to you, mindful not to jostle you too much, not to disturb the thick metal links coiled loosely at the bottom of the mattress. Your eyes are still puffy, cheeks wet with the sheen of tears when his fingertips glide over them, intent on smoothing your hair back from your face.

Poor thing, you must’ve tired yourself out.

Yuuta has every intention of letting you sleep for a little while longer yet – he’d meant what he’d said to Maki and the others, there’s a bone tired weariness that’s been clinging to him since he dragged himself back to campus that morning, and it’s only now, here, lying next to you that he feels it start to leach away, like poison syphoned off.

A small, soft smile tugs at his lips.

Perfect, beautiful girl.

Gojo was right. You had to die. There aren’t enough sorcerers to deal with the increased curses plaguing the city. Weak or not, they would’ve kept sending you out, and he wouldn’t always be able to guarantee that he’d be there to protect you.

You had to die so they’d leave you alone. So that he could keep you safe.

Nestling closer, he thumbs at the curve of your cheekbone again and brushes a kiss against your lips, doing his best to ignore the hot pulse of want that burns through his blood, coiling tightly in his guts.

There’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now he just wants to lie here with you, safe and tucked away. Together.

It’s better this way. You’ll see.

#yandere jjk #yandere okkotsu yuuta #yandere okkotsu yuuta x reader #yandere yuuta x reader #yandere yuuta #yandere jjk x reader #tw: dubcon #etched in red

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lordsukunas · 1 year ago

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jjk men & you: nail appointment!

tldr: gojo, geto, nanami, ino, choso, toji, sukuna + mahito going with you to your nail appointment.

cw: fem!reader. sukuna refers to reader as ‘woman’ once. and mahito.

a/n: this was fun lowk. might do it for jjk boys, depends on my motivation. idk if mahito particularly counts as a man, but he’s here for my mootie. time to sleep now, enjoy!!!

✿ — gojo:

first things first, he’s paying for your nails. which sounds like a good thing, until you realize he’s insisting on going along with you. he’ll pester you the entire time, suggesting colors and styles (how does he know so much?!) and then doing anything to get you to laugh or look at him. sometimes it results in your nail tech getting a little lot frustrated because he keeps making you squirm. eventually, tho, he’ll stop and let the tech finish up your nails.

“they’re cute. would’ve been cuter if you let me pick, buuuut... still cute.”

✿ — ino:

he’ll flex his knowledge about nails like it’s something revolutionary or suggest a style that he swears is completely unique, only for you to correct him and realize that it’s really just basic information. he’ll spend the rest of the appointment scrolling through pinterest and instagram, trying to find inspo for your next set.

“ooh, baby, look. these are nice, right?”

✿ — nanami:

only pays if you want him to, and only goes if you want him to. is content to let you pick whatever style you want, but likes to pick out bold colors and suggest designs based on your interests or adding charms. always tips the tech, and once your nails are done, he gently grabs your hand and kisses the back of it.

“these suit you perfectly, my lady.”

✿ — geto:

at first, he is nawt going in there. unless you find a sorcerer nail tech, he’s going to be slick the entire time. he’ll side-eye everyone else getting their nails done, judge their taste (“why would she choose that shit-brown?”), and stand up the entire time. he doesn’t want the germs. once you’re done, he’s pulling you out of there as quickly as possible.

“here, take this. ... yes, it’s hand sanitizer. you don’t want those monkey germs, right?”

✿ — toji:

only goes because you told him if he tagged along, you’d pay. in reality, he was going to go all along, just to make sure nobody tries anything. he will slap the shit outta somebody, including your nail tech. sits in a tiny chair by your side, massive head resting on your shoulder and arms crossed, absolutely knocked out. he’ll only wake up if you shrug your shoulder or if the appointment ends (he has some kind of sixth sense for that shit).

“huh? ... nah, i ain’t sleep. you cute, now c’mon.”

✿ — choso:

kind of like gojo, clingy asf. he won’t make suggestions (bro has no idea, pls bear w/ him), but he’ll praise any and every decision you make. his arms will be wrapped around your waist the entire time, earning him lots of ‘awhss’ and ‘look at them! so cute.’ tips the nail tech for “making you extra gorgeous.” his words, not mine.

“you look good, i swear. i like the colors, and the shape, and the design, and your hands...”

✿ — sukuna:

has a personal nail tech. you think he maintains them black nails by himself? no. threatens his nail tech to do good on your nails, otherwise it’ll be the last set they ever do. makes minor suggestions, but is content to sit back and let you decide for yourself. he does have a preference color, though, either black, red, or dark purple. gets a weird urge to nibble your fingers once your nails are done. please don’t ask why.

“hm? you look fine, woman. nothing rivals your natural beauty, so quit ya whining.”

✿ — higuruma:

he’s awake for the entire prep process. watching you pick your colors, decide on a design, get settled in the chair. the second the nail tech actually gets to work, though, he’s tapped out. just like toji, he’s sitting in a chair beside you, head either resting in your lap or on your shoulder. if he could sit across from you, his head would be on your chest. only wakes up when it’s time to pay (he tips!) or if something goes wrong.

“... mm? oh, those are nice, sunshine. i like the little designs, very cute.”

✿ — mahito ..?:

a lil shit the entire time istg. doesn’t care what you pick, will poke and squish and pinch and nuzzle you the whole process, annoying both you and the tech. considers getting his done to match yours, but realizes he could probably just morph the shape of his soul instead of sitting there.

“those are, like, so cute! ... no? you don’t like my valley girl accent?”

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seiwas · 2 years ago

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₊˚⊹｡ do you believe in love? | gojo satoru

wc: 808

summary: you’re both 23 when you first ask gojo about love.

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are mentioned, a bit of sad, there is a swear, kind of a will-they-won’t-they, alludes to some of gojo’s possible internal struggles, might feel a bit ooc? but i like to think gojo does have serious conversations once in a while

a/n: the kind of gojo i envision in this is inspired by all the teen dad/dad gojo fics that i’ve ever read, most notably 'teen dad gojo' by @seravphs and 'keeping up with the fushiguros' by @/augustinewrites. this isn’t an addition to any of their works, but the way they write and characterise gojo has shaped the way i understand him (and ultimately how i write him) in these little blurbs of mine :’) please do check their works out if you have the time, it’s some of my favourites!! :’)

collection masterlist: conversations on love you are here -> 02. tell me about love (show me how)

“Do you believe in love?”

You don’t think he hears you at first, but that’s impossible; the night is quiet, with only you and Gojo sitting by the steps of the dormitory entrance. His dangly long legs brush against yours, lingering barely.

Since Suguru’s defection, Gojo’s gotten a lot more contemplative. He hides it a lot, especially with Megumi and Tsumiki around, but there are times that you catch him spacing out. There’s a far away look on his face and his demeanor completely shifts, rambunctiousness fading into something more restrained, if only in that moment.

Other times, you’re let into that space with him, like now.

“I do.” he replies, uncharacteristically succinct. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it.

You weren’t expecting it, to be honest. With everything that’s happened to him so far, you were ready for a flat out cynical ‘no’. But—

“But,” he continues, “not for me.”

There’s the ‘but’.

He turns to look at you, eyes covered by the bandages he’s been opting for more recently. You’ve known Gojo since you were both 15, and somehow, you’ve gotten good at guessing what he’s always hiding.

“You wanna tell me why?” you nudge. You figure this is good for him—or at least you hope it is.

Getting Gojo to actually sit and have a real conversation with you has been increasingly difficult since Suguru disappeared. Taking in the Fushiguros, then the higher ups assigning him missions back-to-back-to-back—it’s been a lot. And you worry about him, if he’s even been able to sit down and process everything, if he’s even given himself the chance to feel for once.

“Not really,” he shrugs, turning back to the garden in front of you. There isn’t much to discuss, it either fits in his life or doesn’t. When he’s meant for a purpose much larger than himself, small wants remain at just that: small, negligible.

You huff, unable to hide your disappointment, “Okay.”

But, you respect him and what he wants (or does not want) to say.

As you stare out with him, Gojo eyes you from the side, the pout on your lips a teenage souvenir you still carry now at 23. He breaks into a small smile, the corners of his lips curving up slightly, fondly.

“It’s just not meant for me, that’s all.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says that, too.

You slowly avert your gaze from the grass in front of you, focusing on him instead. His smile is still there, although it feels resigned, like he’s accepted this long ago.

Gojo has never been meant to handle something so delicate and fragile—his divinity keeps him untouchable from such pure things.

Still, you want to tell him that that’s not true. That you think love is meant for everyone, even in this fucked up, cursed world—especially in this fucked up, cursed world.

You want to tell him that love is meant for him too.

“Do you wish it were?”

He hums, arms stretching back as he leans on his wrists. His head dips back, looking at the sky. There’s a pause, then an exhale before he continues, “There’s no point thinking about it, I guess.”

A non-answer. You take what you can get; it’s hard enough getting Gojo to be honest with you, much less talk about things like this. The night continues this way: you exchange anecdotes about your latest missions, then talk about Megumi’s most recent involvement in a school incident. Serious questions pop up here and there but you don’t push, and Gojo is willing to share what he can.

You are 23 when you first ask Gojo if he believes in love, and he does, but what he doesn’t tell you is this: that he only believes it because he sees it in you—through the things you do, for Megumi and Tsumiki. For him too.

There’s always been this unspoken thing between the two of you. He doesn’t know what to call it—never has, but it’s comfortable and safe, so he tries to keep it that way.

Suguru has left an unpatchable hole inside of him that only you can seem to touch, softening the jaggedy edges so it doesn’t cut as deep. When he first showed up with Megumi and Tsumiki that one Friday night, you had all the questions in the world; he could see it, feel it in the furrow of your brows and the tapping of your foot. But instead, you asked this: “Have you guys eaten dinner yet?”

Gojo cannot afford love, not yet. Not when there’s still so much at risk, still so much to do. The cons significantly outweigh the pros on both ends, so this will have to do for now—this unspoken thing, that he hopes one day, he can finally call for what it really is.

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo #satoru #shotorus.writes #help my fingers just started typing and they wouldn't stop ahahahahah #me: writing gojo is so intimidating he's so complex #also me: what are gojo's thoughts on love maybe i should write about it and try to unpack why he feels that way about it #col

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dee-writes-anime · 1 month ago

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We Are Actually Meant to Name It?! With Yuta Okkotsu

FEATURING Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

SUMMARY In which you tell Yuta that your baby still does not have a name and he responds by trying to name the baby after his mentor

CONTENT WARNINGS mild panic descriptions from Yuta, fluff and cuteness

AUTHORS NOTE my grand return has arrived! And on a day where I am procrastinating a final of course! I'll hopefully be back to a "normal" (for me anyway) schedule these days so please feel free to leave behind some requests! <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

Yuta Okkotsu was a lot of things—Jujutsu sorcerer, second-year mentor, all-around kind guy—but prepared for fatherhood? That was a different story entirely. Sure, he was excited. Thrilled, even. But the reality of it all still hadn’t fully settled in, even though you were heavily pregnant and waddling around the house like a determined penguin.

Which brought him to his current predicament.

You stood before him, one hand resting on your very round belly, the other rubbing slow circles on your lower back. Your face was calm, a little too calm, as if you weren’t about to drop life-changing news on him like a bomb.

“We still haven’t thought of a name,” you said.

Yuta blinked. Then again, harder this time, as if that would help process the words.

A name?

A name.

“For the baby? Our baby?” His voice cracked slightly, and the air in the room seemed to thin as panic set in.

“Yes, Yuta. For the baby. Our child. The small human I am about to push out of my body any day now.” Your words were patient, but your raised eyebrow suggested you were very aware of the way his brain was currently short-circuiting.

Yuta let out a noise—somewhere between a wheeze and a strangled gasp—and gripped the back of the couch for support. “Oh my God. Oh my God. We were supposed to name it?!”

You sighed. “Yes, Yuta. That is generally how babies work.”

Yuta’s hands went to his hair, pulling slightly at the dark strands as his eyes darted around the room, as if inspiration for a name might be hidden in the corners of your apartment. “I—I thought maybe it just… came with one? Like, when it arrives? The hospital hands you a certificate with a name on it?”

You gave him a flat look. “Like a Build-A-Bear?”

“YES! NO—wait, I mean—no, I didn’t think that! But maybe subconsciously?!”

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Yuta. We are about to have a baby. A real, living, breathing baby. And that baby needs a name. A name that we, as responsible parents, must come up with.”

Yuta took a deep breath and nodded, shaking out his hands like he was about to perform an exorcism. “Okay. Right. A name. We can do this. We’re responsible adults.”

You side-eyed him. “One of us just had a minor existential crisis over the idea that babies don’t come with pre-installed names.”

He waved you off. “Doesn’t matter. I’m back in it. I’m focused.” He smacked his cheeks. “Okay. What about… Yuta Jr.?”

You stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?!”

“I love you, Yuta, but we are not naming our baby Yuta Jr.”

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. What about something cool? Like… Gojo?”

“Do you really want Gojo to think we named our child after him?”

Yuta visibly shuddered. “You’re right. He’d never let us live it down.”

You both stood in silence for a moment before Yuta snapped his fingers. “Okay! What if we name them after someone we admire? Like Nanami?”

You tilted your head in consideration. “That’s actually not bad. But what if it’s a girl?”

Yuta gasped. “Nanami-chan.”

“…We are not calling her Nanami-chan.”

More silence. More intense thinking. More Yuta looking like he was trying to solve the mysteries of the universe.

“What about something simple? Like Aoi?” you suggested.

Yuta immediately frowned. “You mean, like, after Toudou? No way. Next thing you know, he’ll be showing up uninvited, calling himself the baby’s uncle, and trying to instill his ‘best friend’ philosophy.”

You shuddered at the thought. “Good point.”

Yuta groaned, slumping onto the couch, dramatically dragging his hands down his face. “This is impossible. How do people do this?”

“They plan ahead, Yuta.”

“Okay, yeah, that would have been the smart thing to do.”

Another long pause. Then, suddenly, you gasped, grabbing his hand.

Yuta shot up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “What?! Are you okay?! Is it happening?!”

“No, no, false alarm.” You waved him off before placing his palm against your stomach. “The baby just kicked really hard.”

Yuta’s panic melted into pure wonder as he felt the movement beneath his hand. His heart clenched in his chest, a lump forming in his throat. “Whoa… our baby’s strong.”

You smiled. “Yeah. Just like their dad.”

He exhaled, rubbing slow circles over your stomach. “We’ll figure out a name.”

“You sure?”

Yuta nodded, his panic finally settling into something softer, more grounded. “Yeah. We’ve got this.” Then, after a beat, he added, “But if it’s a boy, we’re absolutely not naming him after Gojo.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

A few days later, you found yourself cradling a tiny bundle in your arms, exhaustion weighing heavy on your bones but warmth flooding your heart. Your baby girl blinked up at you with sleepy, dark eyes, completely unaware of the absolute disaster her father was currently making of naming her.

Yuta, standing at your bedside, had a look of pure determination. “Okay, hear me out. What about… Thunderstrike?”

You closed your eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. “Yuta.”

“Or—or maybe something elegant! Like… Moonshadow?”

You gave him a slow, exhausted blink. “Are we naming a baby or adopting a warrior cat?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Okay, okay, no Moonshadow. How about… Excalibur?”

You groaned, grabbing a notepad from the bedside table and, without a word, scribbling something down.

Yuta leaned over, peering at the paper. “‘Aishiteru’…?”

You smiled softly. “It means ‘I love you.’”

His breath hitched, and suddenly all the ridiculous names he’d been suggesting melted away. Yuta reached out, brushing a gentle finger against your daughter’s tiny hand, his voice hushed with awe. “Aishiteru…”

You glanced up at him. “You like it?”

Yuta swallowed thickly, then nodded. “I love it.”

And just like that, your little girl had a name.

TAGLIST

@makingtimemine @strawbrrycat @soraya-daydreams @shokosbunny @saltypuffin1040 @danilights2021 @startwithrecords @obeythebutler @sparklykeylime @surielstea

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #gege when i catch you gege #jjk #okkotsu yuta x you #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #jjk yuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jujutsu okkotsu #jjk okkotsu

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belleshub · 8 months ago

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prompt 4

yanking them by their..

satoru g. — ear.

it may sound weird at first. satoru never lets anyone touch him. the strongest. he can’t be touched by his usual means of infinity.

so why did he let you do so? it’s a conundrum to him as well. why does he touch you, put on his flawed personality for display and be so vulnerable? because as much as he’d want to deny, he loves you.

he loves you so much, to the point where he in fact invited you to go shopping with him! sure, he probably would’ve done it with himself or someone else if you were to decline, but you didn’t.

that’s what matters.

youre glossing through the crowded mall, turning a head at anything that catches your eye - and that’s when you see it.

the perfect outfit, clad on the stores front mannequin. you’re just hoping and..

“that kid there has a digimon card—“

“you are such a nerd.” you throw your head back with a exasperated groan, fingers pitching the lobe of warm hearing vessels.

“cmonn, you’re not even buying anything.”

he whined. he knew very well that he was giving you an inch.

and you knew too.

immature, much?

“I was literally just looking at somethin’, what are you on about?” you bark back.

“okay, but like, I didn’t..”

“do you even know what you’re trying to argue about?” you furrow a brow.

“can’t you mentally bookmark it?”

“…” you two shortly find your way over to a gamestop. an embarrassing scene.

suguru g. — hair

more often than not, suguru doesn’t like when other people touch his hair. he meticulously grooms it, and takes care of it to the fullest. and if someone were to touch it - they’d have to be on the list of people he can tolerate. like his parents, or maybe shoko and gojo.. and without a doubt, you.

how could he not? suguru any touch of yours to be a grounding anchor to the reality he sometimes can’t even process himself. you’re his safe space. and he means it in every definition his brain could fathom.

and with you, it’s the same. you two were simply hanging out after school, and with how sassy he was - you two were prone to indulge in some banter.

sitting on some bench next to some convenience store, you chow down on some chips - him, observe the general public. it was one of those moments where, there isn’t exactly a set plan for the day - but rather more of a reprieve from your usual treacherous schedule.

so in short, you were just.. chilling.

while you were relaxing, you rant to him about your latest fixation, and then.. he gets a text message! from.. who?

“are you listening?” you lean forward, squinting as you tried to look at his screen.

“no, yeah..” he replies monotonously. you didn’t like that.

“I dare you to recount what I just said within three sentences—“

“I think satoru set me up, that snarky bastard.” his eye twitched as he tightened his grip on the flip phone. was he gonna break it?

“dude, relax, maybe he’s like.. I dunno..”

then you pause when you read the message.

“who the hell is misaki sato? and why does she have your number?”

“I told you, satoru set me up, I don’t know that girl!” he frowned, and you gently grab a tuff of hair, tugging just enough so you don’t place tension on his oh so tender scalp.

“oh shit! I think I know her!” your eyes widen, an accomplished smile gracing your features.

“was pulling my hair necessary?”

“shut up.”

yuji i. — arm.

you two were relaxing after just exiting from the movie theater. yuji just convinced you to watch a boring, dramatic and theatrical slasher. given that you genuinely had no other pastime, you took him up on his offer.

rookie mistake on his end, because for you, your knack for unconventional garbs was going to be the death of him.

“oh my god, oh my— yuji!” you exclaim. “it’s a flash sale, you know how much I love this stores stuff.”

“are you gonna even use half of the things in there?” he said sheepishly - until he saw merchandise. merchandise of his favorite movie!

“oh..it’s..its!”

you give him a side glance.

“oh, human centipede…”

“that’s like an entirely different thing!” he complains, and you simply push his back and your hand lands on his arm. circling around it, you pull him forth.

“my bad, that weird murder shit you like..” you correct yourself. awkwardly.

“it’s not weird!”

megumi f. — collar.

to be frank, megumi wasn’t to chatty type. he was more for the tiny things, the things that made it matter.

acts of service. that his niche. so.. why was he here.. crafting all these.. origami gifts.. why? because he wanted to surprise you. particularly because you just passed exams. he’s been routing for you, studying.. buying your energizers..

yuji brought up the idea, and megumi decided to entertain it. for once.

he presses the youtube video back, navy eyes narrowing further as he scrutinized the screen just one more time.

pink hair blurs his vision, and immediately, he’s over it again.

“maybe we should ask nobara. she’s a girl, she probably knows a lot about—“ yuji fell short of his exclaimation as megumi pressed him off to the side. he may or may not subtly have elbowed him in his side as well.

“I think I know my girlfriend, yuji..” he rolled his eyes, maybe at this point, he should give up. but if it’s one of your favorite..

clink.

the noise of a door unlocking throughout the dorm room sounds, and megumi feels like his soul has been snatched. hastily, he slams it close.

yuji, on the other hand, turned to the side, front obscuring the accumulated supplies in the front of them.

“ohh, heyy! we didn’t know you were..coming so soon?”

with your arrival, you don’t exhaust haste to trot your way over to megumi.

“the air in here doesn’t feel right.” you say.

“what the hell is that even supposed to mean?” yuji barked, hurriedly pushing the papers under the bed.

“I meant what I said! you guys are doing somethin’, and it’s suspicious! why else would yuji be in here?”

“I mean, he’s not always an unwanted presence..” megumi looks off to the side, a snicker escaping his lips.

“are you insinuating there has been times where I was a unwanted presence?” his friend yells, jaw hung low in appall.

you tsk, and pull his collar, trying to see what was behind him.

he didn’t seem.. particularly bothered by your proximity.

“now, what exactly are you guys try’na do?”

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captain-hawks · 10 months ago

Note

Coming in with an absolutely unhinged pair of Nanami and Choso… idk maybe Nanami walks in on something something going down with Choso and by God someone fuck that business man…

💋mojogojocasahouse

(i make no apologies whatsoever for what i just wrote, but i do wholeheartedly blame you<3)

— kento nanami x f!reader x choso

c: 18+ only, smut, threesome, fingering, masturbation, voyeurism, unprotected p in v, creampies, anal sex, double penetration in both holes

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — THREESOME EDITION!

“Oh my god.”

The first voice is your own, the words spilling from your lips in a breathy whine.

The second belongs to neither you nor the man with two fingers lodged between your spread legs in the middle of the living room—but rather, one unsuspecting Kento Nanami.

Choso is entirely unperturbed by the interruption, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of your cunt as he turns to glance at the sorcerer, who has seemingly decided the hideous painting on the wall beside the couch is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Gojo didn’t mention you were stopping by, Nanami,” Choso says casually, like he’s not currently swiping his thumb across your puffy, swollen clit.

You can’t fucking help it—you moan. Just a little.

Nanami twitches.

There’s a jingling of keys as Nanami flexes his hand and replies through gritted teeth, “He also failed to mention he has a…roommate now.”

Choso curls his fingers, toying with the spongy spot that makes your breath hitch in your throat, and you have to bite down on your fist. “Yeah, just for a little while.”

There’s a lewd, wet squelch as his digits slide through the fresh gush of arousal dripping out of your tight channel, and Nanami coughs. “He borrowed a book from me, I believe it’s on the shelf over there.”

“Don’t let us stop you,” Choso smiles.

Nanami’s on the verge of swinging around to face you, his lower half nearly turned around, but he seems to think better of it as he remembers the compromising position you’re currently in. “I can come back later.”

Choso slides a third finger into your cunt, and you gasp, fingers lodged in a death grip on the throw pillow. “Or you could join us, if you’d like.”

“I’m leaving,” Nanami says stiffly, swiveling toward the entry hall.

“Nanami—”

Maybe it’s a little unfair—the whiny, breathy way you say his name. But he freezes nonetheless.

The thing is, Choso is well aware of the stupid little crush you have on Nanami.

Gojo is well aware of the stupid little crush you have on Nanami.

Everyone, it fucking seems, is well aware of this crush you’ve been nursing on jujutsu’s most begrudging sorcerer besides the man himself.

“—please,” you finish lamely, well aware that this may very well be the world’s worst proposition of all time.

But fuck if he doesn’t slowly begin to finally turn toward you, eyes going a little wide as he takes in the full picture of you spread open wide for Choso as he knees on the floor in front of you, your bra and panties left discarded on the floor, breasts on clear display beneath your unbuttoned top, your skirt shoved up and out of the way.

As he approaches, you nearly pinch yourself—but the bite of Choso’s teeth against your inner thigh is enough to confirm that you’re certainly not hallucinating this fucked up scenario.

Nanami’s tie is loose around his neck, his glasses nowhere to be found, his normally tidy blonde hair finger-mussed after what you can only assume was a long day with Gojo. There’s a low chuckle as Choso rests one hand against your abdomen, raising his eyebrows as he feels the way you involuntarily clench down on his fingers while you shamelessly rake your eyes up and down the sorcerer.

“Did Gojo put you up to this?” he sighs.

This time, Choso does outright laugh, shaking his head. “You should feel how much more wet she’s gotten since you walked in.”

You watch the way Nanami swallows, likely in the process of weighing out the situation and realizing he’s now in too deep to act like this didn’t fucking happen. So instead, he begins to roll up his sleeves, which somehow manages to be one of the most erotic things you’ve ever seen.

Choso pats the spot on the couch beside you, and Nanami raises an eyebrow before settling down on the cushion, not at all subtle in the way he lets his palm drag over the now-tented erection at the front of his slacks.

“Come for him first,” Nanami tells you calmly, unbuttoning his pants and tugging his eye-wateringly large cock out like this is a fucking business meeting.

Without missing a beat, Choso ups the ante on the rhythmic plunge of his fingers into your wet cunt, using one hand to spread your legs a little further apart—just enough so your knee brushes against Nanami’s.

Normally, he might lean in and drag broad strokes of his tongue across your clit, or even slip a finger into your other tight, puckered hole, but right now, you don’t need any of that to speed up your journey to the edge of the orgasm he’s steadily been dragging you toward.

Because all you can hear now is the sound of Nanami’s spit-slick palm pumping his cock, which has the coil in your gut twisting so tight you can hardly breathe. Even Choso’s groaning over how goddamn wet you are, taking it upon himself to start stroking his own shaft as well as you make a mess of the blanket tucked beneath you.

But it’s when you turn to look at Nanami that you’re well and truly fucked—because if you were turned on before, you’re positively cock drunk now on the sight of his exposed throat, his eyes momentarily shut as he tips his head against the back of the couch, your name a quiet groan on his lips as he fucks his fist.

You come so hard, you nearly sob, every muscle in your body tensing as your climax pours through you.

And then Choso’s helping you up, Nanami’s arms wrapping around your waist as they both ease you into straddling his lap, and you can’t help but gasp at the feeling of the latter’s cock pressing lengthwise against your slick, sensitive folds.

“Fuck,” Nanami groans as you begin to rub your cunt along his thick shaft, one of his hands sliding up your side to cup your breast, thumb stroking at your peaked nipple.

“Want both of you,” you exhale, turning to look back at Choso, who’s still got a hand wrapped around his cock.

“Are you sure you can take it?” Nanami asks as he leans in, brushing a thumb along your lower lip.

You run your tongue along his finger, and he sticks it in further, groaning in approval at the way you messily suck at the digit.

“Two holes are there for a reason, right sweetheart?” Choso breathes against the shell of your ear, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, one hand caressing the globes of your ass.

You shiver, and Nanami’s lips find yours.

Some day, you’ll think about it more—the dizzying precision of Nanami’s kiss, like fighting isn’t the only place where he can find a weak point to bring someone to their knees. But right now, all you can comprehend is the feeling of Choso’s finger teasing at the rim of your ass, the sound of the bottle of lube sitting on the coffee table popping open.

Nanami’s grip on your hip is firm as he positions his cock at your dripping entrance, and it’s a battle in and of itself not to immediately let your greedy cunt take him in all at once as he eases his way into your tight hole.

When you’re finally fully settled, his shaft balls deep inside of you, he kisses you languidly as he uses both hands to help lift you as he begins to slowly thrust in and out of you, the stretch of Choso’s finger in your lubed-up asshole getting deeper all the while.

“You feel so good,” Nanami groans, leaning in and dipping his head down to run his tongue along the swell of your breasts.

“Isn’t she so goddamn tight?” Choso breathes out, and you whimper at the spark of pleasure that zips down your spine as he scissors your ass open with a second finger.

“So fucking tight,” Nanami rasps, mouth sliding across yours again, but this time he takes your lower lip between his teeth. “And so fucking pretty like this.”

Heat curls white-hot in your gut, every single nerve ending in your body strung tight like a rubbed band. “Choso, if you don’t hurry up, I’m gonna—”

It’s certainly not the first time Choso’s fucked you in the ass.

But either way, you’re not prepared for it this time—not when you’re already so full of Nanami’s fat cock stuffed in your cunt, eyes threatening to brim over with tears of pleasure as he kisses you hard and swallows down the moan that crawls up your throat while Choso eases his cock into your other hole.

It feels like both a second and a lifetime, waiting until Choso’s buried to the hilt, both of them murmuring “Good girl” and “Doing so fucking good for us” and “Could come just like this” as you tremble and whimper under the force of the heat blazing down your spine and between your legs.

And then they both start to move, and pleasure explodes inside of you, your mind going blank as the entire space of your existence is reduced to the euphoric feeling of having two cocks pumping in and out of your pussy and ass at the same time.

“She’s not gonna last long like this,” Choso tells Nanami.

“Neither am I,” he pants, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks up into your wet, sloppy cunt.

“Tell him where you want us,” Choso murmurs against your ear, hands roaming over your bouncing tits.

“Inside, inside,” you moan, the sound halfway to a sob just as your orgasm punches through you, an intense tidal wave of pleasure flooding through you and gushing all over Nanami’s dick.

“Fuck,” he roughly chokes out, his thrusts growing sloppy and uncoordinated as you come on his cock, and he responds in kind by plunging in deep one last time as he moans, ropes of cum spurting inside of you.

Choso’s hands join his atop your hips as his orgasm hits him a moment later, his cock pulsing as he fills your ass to the brim with his hot, sticky seed.

And well, as they both try to help you to your feet once you’ve all somewhat caught your breath, fuck Gojo’s brand new living room carpet—because there’s no saving it from the copious amounts of cum that immediately begin to leak out of both of your used holes, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor below.

spicy sleepover masterlist

#kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #choso x reader #choso x reader x nanami kento #nanami kento x reader x choso #spicy sleepover weekend #dee writes #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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